33 Stirling
In which our house is liberally adorned with light up plastic grapes,
$8, from Ming Ming’s variety store, you should know,
and a squat, white column for each of my twenty years and then some,
and giant concrete acorns on the bannisters to attract giant squirrels,
but all we lure is skinny junkies with giant habits,
and not the pious, god fearing kind,
and they’re not particularly kind,
with their shivs and their fear of sobriety and most of all their run on sentences.
I am squashed between a drum kit and a hard (structural) place,
and maybe I made the wrong decision because you steal the doona,
sprawl diagonally across the too-small bed,
and your innate dignity and moral compass strikes fear into my drunken, loose heart.
11:19 pm • 12 September 2011
I don’t know how to explain this to you.
Am incapable and
my psychiatrist says we seek therapy because
we no longer see the preacher man
(but I don’t go by what he says)
and I am only 19.
I am barely alive.
But there are holes in my stomach
where the anxiety has eaten right through.
11:18 pm • 12 September 2011
scott-gotankgo :
“…from Fallout , a zine put out by Winston Smith (the guy that did all the Dead Kennedys album covers). It’s from 1984…”
(via 200troubledteenagers )
8:10 am • 23 May 2011
VIDEO
We livin’ hand to mouth.
(Source: barrelmaker-music )
8:03 am • 23 May 2011
Stick and poke session number one. Don’t worry; the man wielding the needle is a paramedic. Ha.
1:16 am • 4 May 2011
No Aloha.
My inability to stand by any original content, ever, is a never-ending source of frustration. Everything eventually winds up deleted, usually out of equal parts embarrassment and fear of judgement. However, here’s to trying, once more. How about we ease in slowly?
Hello, internet.
p.s. Do or do not do, there is no try. May the 4th be with you.
1:15 am • 4 May 2011
