The op-shops here are amazing.

I have a 1960’s ‘Cosmopolitan’ magazine advertising cigarettes and showing a lot more bosom than the more recent editions.

I have now in my possession a white corset that fits perfectly. They sell thousands of old typewriters, TV’s, Radio’s.. the sort bound in leather and dipped in gold.

Old projector slides. Photographs of Surfers Paradise from goodness knows when.

Polaroids of Moscow castles. If the Tasmanians can do anything, its Vintage…

and its all just sitting there as if the locals don’t need such flamboyant accessories.

- 24.11.09

In sleep he’s heavier than bones

The cheek - and arm, either side of my nose

are like a pelvic jail.

I am born through his grip,

my lungs knocking together like cow-bells.

14.11.09

Wild.

Seeds

Wild

Rains

Wild.

Scraping bottle brush along your front and beating, beating

Branches, leaves and burning feeling

Love

Over the foliation

Loc-emotion

Compensation

It’s too easy to find my way. In fickle gaps-hole-up

Those fickle gaps

High gaps, lapping at the doors of Hades,

Closing your window only after your freezing

Softly,

Softly,

Softly,

my inner monologue wares thin at this time of the night

and still.

your nowhere to be seen

like an illusive cat

- C.

how we perceive ourselves.

I’ve been horse riding, walking, going to the osteopath, jumping in the river.

Productivity brings happiness.

xx