Fruitys for Life*

The people in the computer

Your work has started a conversation
Teeth over teeth tattoo

Live fast, die pirate

Think of good things 15 seconds plus, think about how it made you feel!

Chuck black high heels
Cupcake with bow
Fruitys for life

Thanks to the health professionals and all other essential people.
Addicted to hair

Snake bite speeding cop body cam

“No matter how else you suffer, you will never have an itchy spleen.”

Cleveland butcher, torso murderer
What a Bobby Dazzlwr!
Ah struth — violence in braveheart

Ah beauty Jacqui’s mum

Writing is about the love of strangers
I don’t sit down to commit an act of literature.
Billy Collins

Jenna artist

Tattoo: a noose with the words hang in there

Experience furniture like never before

Increase simplicity
Increase flow state time
Increase time with people I love

“It doesn’t matter if you’re sick”
fuck you.

*This week I opened my Notes app and found the above collection of text. At various points I entered each of those series of words into the note, adding to it progressively, intending to do something with those phrases and concepts.

But what? I have no idea.

Regardless, I still get a kick out of the phrase fruitys for life.

Instead of anything sensible, please enjoy these photos from the 2015 Sydney Vivid Festival.

A poetry review poem

Review poem of Billy Collins Aimless Love

I’ll confess I don’t read much poetry.
I’m far more likely to recommend Australian non-fiction
or the latest John Sandford thriller, like Buried Prey.

But then I saw Billy Collins on a talk show,
reading from Aimless Love,
and fell for his great playfulness and depth.

Still, it took me two years to buy the book—
so much lost time! What a waste.

Collins reflects the world I know back to me,
its solemnity and humour, the inescapable crush of history,
framing it with remarkable precision:

‘But my heart is always propped up
in a field on its tripod,
ready for the next arrow.’

I can’t help taking the book to bed,
to sleep with under my pillow
or snuggled against my chest, like a stuffed bear.

And now I’m doomed to spend the rest of my life
asking strangers, ‘But have you read Billy Collins?’
and stuffing handwritten copies of his poems in their pockets.

 

First published by NSW Writers’ Centre