untitled/creamy sailboat

handkerchief. i am just looking at mine. it needs a wash, urgently. it invites a blow dryly though it is marked with old blows. i feel a kind of perversion in making the white lace discoloured. i've got a pair of lace knickers in my bag, they're not marked. infact they are so clean they smell like glue. they're creamy, my friend once called me that; creamy. i guess i'm quite creamy.

i've drawn myself a stencil of a tattoo on the innerside of my wrist, its a sail boat, simple shapes; halfcircle, stick, triangle. it means 'freedom', toward the light, and death. or so i've heard. its for peeping tom, if i ever get it. because he released me, in many ways, and i should remember it.

so my girl slash martian came today. we ate sugar, sitting on a sun-bleached rug by the river. i've told her some dirty secrets, and she's told me some. but she's essentially caked in sadness, i long to de-cake her.

number one reason to live: the possiblity of unending sex and chocolate. i've got to learn more about sex first.

symmetry

oh jesus hell, if there is something that gets you flushed its sex with peeping tom at midday.

full and empty

i've been thirsty. there doesn't seem a reason for it, but i have. my mouth is always gooey, overcompensating. such is life i suppose, an over compensating gooey mouth.

but that is neither here nor there.

peeping tom is here and there, cold and hot, coming and going. he is and he's not, it seems. he's special and ordinary. the other day i told him i was full and empty. he said that it couldnt be, little does he know that he is just the same, full and empty.

in the interest of saving time, i've got the sun coming at me through a bitumen. it is only a mesh curtain in reality, but i can still feel my forhead singing.

i have been watching 'last tango in paris'. i think i'm developing rather a crush on bertolucci.

this is superbly cathartic. i'm going for some poach'ds now.

untitled (for marion)

i don't know what this is like. i just had a frosty fruit because it feels like summer in the start of spring, and there's a wet dog smell. the jar i bought has got some dried stuff in, like quandongs (actually fifty bucks per kilo, but free where only i know where) and a dry moth, a couple of berries from the coffee/chocolate bush, some dried babybreath, and an origami star that says 'cunt' in pink pen.

the other thing is i have this friend who might be a lover/girl/mouse/martian, but maybe she'll see my terrible prose and feel compelled to contribute her terrific prose. it delights, like wagging school, or my lover's black underarm hair, or thinking about breakfast.

it's my most devious pleasure at the moment to wear really long skirts and no knickers. probably because the breeze is nice. but more probably because i'm waiting for my peeping tom.

i've got to go and be with peeping tom. i'm tom's fool, and it's something of a delight.

ps: marion i love you.