silverheliumballoon

[silverheliumballoon]

[silverheliumballoon]

[silverheliumballoon]

A good idea. Good ideas never quite came into Dagboy’s head, he thought looking over the deep winding canyon he’d been dared to jump, or else. Yet another thought came through as Dagboy’s black pupils dilated to make out the bottom, was there even water down there? I Mean nobody had quite come out alive, or at least alive enough to be considered alive. But what his mind now lingered on was the “or else” of this narrative. Or else what? He thought. It’s not like the older boys would kill him, the whole lead up to this mess was only over a cat call in the direction of Cindy Larper. And why should they care? Only one of the four is actually dating her, none of it quite added up, especially to the boy who had been held back two years for failing maths. Dagboy’s very brief and intensive train of thought was broken by the snapping of the four boys behind him, especially by the one on his left, who looked like he could turn Dagboy into a rather uneventful snack in his car, the left overs of which wouldn’t even be thrown carelessly into the passenger side foot well, but rather thrown and left to glide from side to side onto the bitumen like the weightless rubbish he was.

So of course, through the shouting, the anger, the confusion and the small, dark space inside Dagboy’s skull the question re appeared. Or else what?

“Or else what?”

A sudden and strange noise occurred, it was more of a non-noise, the blankness of expression, the deadlock of what exactly was going on. Nobody quite knew how to react. Cindy Larper’s boyfriend hadn’t a clue. Neither did the fat one. Come to think of it neither did I. And by the senile expression on Dagboy’s face, someone had just walked in on him during a thorough self-exploration of the pubescent boys widening prospects. My introduction to the scene presented a rather distinct problem to the crowd. The older boys would now have a witness to their potential manslaughter and Dagboy… well Dagboy didn’t really have much grasp on current events anyway, so it was more of an immediate issue to the mob.

“Who the fuck are you?” The middle one yelled from a timid and protected distance, he also took a step further back with my entry to the scene.  The other three remained silent and angry looking. And to be honest, although I was much more intelligent than Dagboy by a mile, I hadn’t thought this far ahead either. Fate had convened us, just as it was about to leave us on our own. I was only supposed to be watching the damned fool, the blackboy I was hiding behind looked like it was home to some thirsty ticks, similar to the ones that would hitchhike with me for miles at a time through the south Australian country town shit holes . “Um… I’m a police officer… yeah that’s right I’m a bloody copper, now get down or I’ll shoot you all and call the chopper!” shit. What the shitting damn bollocks was I thinking? A cop, so I’m an official boy in blue by demand of my imagination, sure it’ll do, I’m not sure for how long but it’ll work.

The older boys laughed. The fat one even chuckled heartily with his stomach in his sausage fingered hands. It didn’t work.

Leaping from the tick-ridden bush I once hid between, I yanked Dagboy by the hand and we bolted. I could feel the immediate anger of the mob gleam into my back, their widened eyes, and clenched fists, I couldn’t see them but I could feel them all as Dagboy and this police recruit ran with no regard for the chasm edge, the greater threat was behind us, and quickly catching up. The threat was catching up to me, not Dagboy. The lack of brains in the poor boy’s head had made him lighter and more aerodynamic as he strode away, I’ll give him this, the dumb bastard was quick, probably too quick as he kept running past the exit that led into the carpark, smashing his way right through a confused group of Swedish backpackers, they of course went flying, tent pegs and all,  yet Dagboy paid them no attention, his legs were set on god knows what, and his head was never really set on anything. I watched him stride off as the hand brake fell and my wheels spun, I wasn’t in a particularly attentive mood myself, and getting home was my main priority. Away from the chasm, away from the ticks, and away from the group of boys, that stashed knives, bats and all sorts in their own cars.

  SRH

[silverheliumballoon]

The writer

Sitting in his worn chair the writer broods

Overthinks the details and pays all towards attention

The ruinous attention

The poor writer has no other way to pay

Reflecting upon him and himself and the others

The air smooth, and placid

His back weak and misplaced

Eyes strained by the screaming of the page

Each touch and stroke so serious, so strong with desire, never gay

Fear not, not in this age, not today

The writer will show us his distaste

All can peer into his minds acid

Cure his heart.

For his sake

Cure our hearts

For our sake

SRH

[silverheliumballoon]

Strolls

Don’t quite look just now

As she walks by, as she strolls on by

Wait till she passes

Maybe glimpse a peak at what you miss

As she strolls on by, as she walks on by

She’ll ignore you every day, every day especially today

 Those velvet lips could meat mine like Valium

What could have been like a raging stallion

But of course, she’ll never know

Just walk on by, just stroll on bye

And she won’t even give me the chance to say goodbye

 That mind of hers swirls in mine like ecstasy

What she says

I’m sure she knows it drives me insane

Those words crawl under my skin

Those words of the others

Anyone but me

Why couldn’t it be anyone but me

 And she passes on by

She passes on by

Strolls on by

Decisions aren’t her forte

I can’t say goodbye

Draw the bridges and wait till I’m forty

SRH

[silverheliumballoon]

[silverheliumballoon]

still waiting.

[silverheliumballoon]

I'm not saying that what you do is boring, but do you do anything else?

[silverheliumballoon]

Don’t be distracted by a pretty face that doesn’t hide much

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Aw heck, just realised I can’t fuck you like the GFC

[silverheliumballoon]

If it’s any consolation I actually quite like pink.

[silverheliumballoon]

YOU’LL PROBABLY FUCKIN’ DIE

...

[silverheliumballoon]

Back by unpopular demand; existential crisis, everyone's favourite reality TV show!

Let go, nobody cares.

[silverheliumballoon]

TICK, TICK, TICK

Tick, tick, tick, I peered into the dimly lit recesses of the pantry. Discontent, tired. My eyes wandered from the undesirable and multiple cans of beans to the mouldy bread. Then back again over the beans to the strange absence of pepper, and an overabundance of salt. I thought to myself loudly, for a family that spends so much income on food and vacations we still have an empty pantry and a subtle despise for the working week. My hands took a different route.

"You have one new match on Tinder!"

still discontent. Still tired...still hungry. Tick, tick, tick. The small postmodern clock was the loudest thing in the house at this hour, each second echoed briefly, but felt eternal.

"New messages".

The nape of my neck fell, and the rest of my mind soon followed.  One hand scrolled. Tick, tick, tick. The other hung lifeless at my side. My eyes, as like my neck, felt heavy. It was late. The clock didn’t care much for time however. Plagued by nothing but its own existence. Tick, Tick, Tick.

Weightlessly I reached my left hand just out of view, my fingers that of Adam reaching to god. The faceless arm struggled for a moment, like a dying animal twitches before it meets its own demise, as if it had any choice in the discourse. As if it had failed too easily.

It stopped.

And for a just mere fleeting moment I was in control. master of time, master of mind. Cold. It was far colder than any ordinary June darkness, the steadfast saga of breathing seemed pointless. Then just as reasonless and precipitously as it began. My hand fell back passively to my side, 2 minute noodles and a 6 will have to do.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

[silverheliumballoon]

The only explanation of Baudrillard you’ll ever need.

[silverheliumballoon]

Steve

Paul wishes he could afford an education. Pete wishes he could be happier. Steve just bought a boat. Everyone fucking hates Steve.

[silverheliumballoon]

To the sane man you are nothing. For the insane one you are everything. And to me, you are exactly what I don't need