I turned around and standing on the end of a leaf decided to slide into my calendar of events on the wall. That day was a pirate party but I was looking like a delirium. It didn’t worry my though, I just thought back in my mind somewhere of something to do with my family’s photographs. It felt special for some reason. Things have sure changed, I heard a voice say in my ear and I could tell it was coming from the little green grub I had released out on the lawn. I was then face to face with the little bugger. But I couldn’t feel for the right way to react so I started running and ran into a spongy freshly cooked banana cake. Always coming up to obstacles: wood, glass, brick, intellectual deficiency, it was wasting my time until I searched back into my memory and realised everything had passed even with the barricades still up.
A helicopter flies over the sky and I am looking up, but really all I am doing is looking in at the universe, back beside the pool, digging ink into my thigh, pushing in ink to form a symbol in Sanskrit that I don’t even know is correct. Why did I try to read those books? I learnt more from the frangipanis that were all over the fucking place. Everywhere you stepped, floating, falling, rotting, stinking the place up. The frogs and the dogs jump out from behind them. The dog follows me to a house boat where I take my beer to drink and laying down on the roof I try to throw peanuts in the air and catch them in my mouth. That is the first and last time I ever do that.
I step, hop, jump from picture to picture existing in a barren place of just black space. Is this really all I am doing? Is this the actualisation of neurons? I laugh because my hand is laying on the pillow next to my head as if it is an important part of my body, on an equal level with that of my mind. Quite possibly it is true. My eyeballs feel spiking pain as light sprays over them. I just want to go back to that story in English class my teacher read out loud.
Running through cane fields people are asking, "what are these plants?" A girl says "I’ve never seen someone talk and not breathe smoke out." People died here, in a head on crash. But if I keep going, the feeling of mud seeps into my skin. Bacteria, is it good or bad? Wrong, there are no opposites in the real world. What is existing now: latex mattresses, flower petals, gizzards and goon bags blown back up. I almost cry when I think of being dressed in plastic and sleeping in sand in the middle of a winter night. These things happen.
The bus stops, and as I get up I can tell you are looking at me, you always are. It’s mindless wandering of wanting to be entertained. Remember that it is ultimately forgotten.
Skipping home I see people drinking on a balcony, drinking in a lounge room, a prostitute strung out laying on the path and across the road police have pulled over an old man and his grand kid who is talking in an animated way which is cute and I laugh. Laughter being the result of relief after feeling scared.
Before I go inside I imagine paper in the room blowing all over the place, but looking through a screen I see a cat.
I leave, and walking down a dark path with overgrown plants, there are crumbling dark buildings once homes which sink into the surroundings. My mind is actualised and it has been passed into now, held in my hands, the hands I look at to remind me how long I have been living.