the fly and the wax

we clear the table in the dark, washing dishes and our hands of whatever games we've played / shreds of clarity we've forged from second guesses. candles are extinguished and the water runs to cover over everything. from the door I watch you hunch over your camera and the table. some kind of fly caught in the wax of a dying tea light. who could blame your pause to take a photo? we live for spectacle to keep us from the mirror / doubt / ourselves. but I think about the scene in the candle through your lens / the way we are.

I am the fly and you are the wax. you make of me a funeral pyre. at your whim I'm trapped and slowly burning and your flame is beautiful.

like holy wine

on the back of a Kiefer postcard

of a painting you said you liked

I drew a map of home

Tasmania

with your face sketched on it twice

penning your name

thank you > sorry

as constant as whatever you like

my name

I hide it in the book you read all week

you’ll find it on the plane

we’re being grown up when it matters

saying goodbye in the rain.

our favourite toys

watching robots telling stories and their makers wash their hands. 'over the past year AI models have learnt to self regulate'. we don't know where we're heading but we probably can't keep up. convenience is dangerous and keeps us on the couch. the brain becomes redundant with the cuts in cost and layoffs. less spending and thinking. more hypnosis and dictation / bluelit oracles online.

what happens when we lose control of our favourite toys? 'ask the apes the risk of humans really taking off'. the tea leaves say extinction isn't off the cards. it hasn't ever been. the only question is which mess we've made will bring us to our knees.

in my dream I follow a friend downhill towards a playground. we are riding our bikes / laughing like kids with nowhere else to be. I want to dream like this forever. if I could wake without my phone...

looking for America

after church we walk down the rivulet. the platypus are hiding but there's at least a little wonder in knowing they're around. the mountain looms over everything in sight: monolithic and defiant to the elements of change. we follow the path through one of many valleys absorbed in our own significance and the current moment. I feel winter on my nose and think of the fire. 

sun fights through the clouds and trees. the leaves of one glow tall and golden against the mountain and the grey of rain to come. we talk about the fall of empire and how it's going to end. there's a good podcast I should listen to about tech giants / the spread of the digital plague / humanity and critical thought slipping down the drain. I think about my ignorance and this privilege to sit back and watch the it all burn. our ancestors went looking for America to forge a new world. they did so with poison, we reap what was sown. the masses choke and splutter. we keep scrolling while we can.

the theatre after death

in my dream dream I wake at 2 am to sterile sunshine streaming through lounge room window. a housemate lies horizontal on the couch a mask covers his eyes headphones in singing himself lullabies. the sky must have fallen whilst I slept. the world outside the house is silent like the theatre after death. not even the trams can be heard. am I the first to wake to see that night’s been stolen? I sit on my bed wondering what to do about the fall. without the stars without the dark how can I ever reach the moon? I think about the tides and hope they’re going to be okay.

the barking continues

a dog tied to the bus stop barks at passing traffic. we've nothing much in common but I think we both want answers. the current rushes on unbothered. I wish I could help. the barking continues.

deluge

the sky weeps rivers through the city. every road becomes a current spilling down each lane threatening to claim the floors of every store. we scatter like ants under colourful synthetic sheets, disorder at the whim of clouds. the rain does something to our systems: we all move faster a little more frantic any sense of direction lost to the elemental threat. as though we've never seen this. as though we don't know what to do when the sky starts to cry. strange to experience, funny to watch.

the masses lose their minds in water. the trams keep running. we see the rain so often in this city. watch us revert to animals even under umbrellas. maybe there's a reason. some kind of stunted survival instinct. we could be preconditioned to run from water when it comes. did the great flood really happen? did we ever change for good? or are our bodies all still waiting for the sky to swell and cleanse the earth? could we be beyond saving? I could never build an ark.