prolific

this will not be about love
why should it be?
when it is only dignified by the hearts in its wake
dignity that is questionable when the mind is sound
but tossed aside in wanton abandon 
when sensory and emotional overload
muddle conscious thought
I shall talk about me instead
not the the vital organ;
the silent killer
the size of a hand-grenade
damage akin; ready to implode under your skin
how I swore to turn a blind eye; a deaf ear
an ear weathered down by empty phrases
to teach it the art of imperative non-commitance 
as soon as glasses clinked and lips puckered
to usher in another 365 days to 
ostentatiously promise to promise
and make resolutions only to
break them a few days into the new year

I am acutely aware of my inadequacy
but my dependency on the wrong breed
on their hypnotic incantations
are blindingly obvious
to everyone but me
more often than not the bats in the belfry
pick at my scabs and drink from
the salty pools that collect in my ears
I cry as much as any ordinary person
maybe even less
but nothing chokes as bad as the 
onset of tears that will not give 
the honor of falling



This song has yet to make its exit out of my head and heart since Natasha Khan sang it mere metres away from me last Saturday at St. Jerome's Laneway Festival 2013. It was a day I cannot fathom into words, and I thank Jesus and St. Jerome whoever he is for granting me such an incredible experience. I am currently lacking severely in the adjectival department so 'incredible' is the best word I can think of. I fulfilled one of my lifelong dreams of watching Alt-J live and despite the technical error that rudely interrupted Joe Newman before he could sing 'My heart still thumps as I bleed", it was earth-shattering to be in their presence, grooving to the songs I've had on loop since I got into them.

Like all good fruit the balance of life is in the ripe and ruin, words that I think deserve to be etched permanently on my skin.

Not forgetting Kings of Convenience, Polica, Of Monsters and Men(who were ridiculously fun to sing along to) and Yeasayer. Despite my burnt back in dire need of the careful ministrations of a gentle hand and aloe vera gel, I look back at those 12 hours with immense fondness.

Nursing a very angry pus-filled ulcer near the web of my tongue and I feel an onslaught of sore throat, flu and the works impending. I am worsening my circumstance by eating biscuits and crackers and granola, as well as probing the little nub with my tongue every 3 seconds, but I am kind of reveling in the pain and finding myself wanting to fall sick so I can sleep the entire day or just waste away without a twinge of guilt. And I would love that.