How can we not be so, territorial.

Listening to my old rock'n'roll makes me deep. Nostalgia, and I'm not even old enough. I am drawn in to its big, heartful sound. Why oh why dont we make music like that anymore, like Zepplin, The Who, The Band, Creedence, ahh... oh how I long to live in the past. Old rock makes me miss the ones I love, or have loved, or are falling for. Nobody ever said that you cant love more than one person at a time.
So here I am, with grand music in my veins, loving and alone.
The sort of thing that makes you heave a sigh, however much you try not to.

We've got to get together sooner or later,
Because there's something in the air.

All You Need Is Love

A while ago, I fell for someone's skeleton. I was watching him sleep, wondering what those bones were doing, aching to reach out and touch them. I didn't want to wake him, just let him sleep and watch him forever. A hot night, so he was on top of the blanket, stretched out at an odd angle, breathing heavily, still in his clothes. The boy was tired, so was I, but I was mesmerised, hypnotised. That night I fell in love with his skeleton, and I find myself missing it.

Skeletonisation

I'll leave you there. Lying where the wind can blow over you, covering you from head to toe in all manner of leaf litter and forest debris.
Within days, the bugs will find you. They will explore you,they will taste your flesh. They will become as intoxicated by it as I was.
Aiding in your decomposition, they will dine on you, taking that which is necessary for their survival.
When the creatures have done their job and your bones are bare, half buried by earth, bleached and smiling. I will return.
I'll gently uncover you and place you in a box, or maybe two, and take you home. There, I'll put you back together, piece by piece. You'll live with me in my closet and together we'll hide from the world.



To be serious, this is not. It is a fabricated story.

Shimm Shimmy

Shim shimmy sweet one, shake it like you mean it.
I'll give you some credit for being a bushranger.
You're backdated like me.
Perhaps even further off.

Mercy Is Non-Existant In A State Of Unconciousness

I had a dream last night that I shot someone. BANG! Close range between the eyes. They did not bleed, only fell to the ground, still talking, still expecting me to be like them. I felt no pity, no regret. They did not stain my carpet. I do not have fragments of them on my shoes, there's no gunshot residue on my hands.