I'm here

(currently London)

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Do you remember, we walked so far out in to the forest, past the reach of the strobes, past the people making out up against trees and down in the grass, past all shredded toilet paper, past the point of having to tread carefully, past the reach of the treble. 

We found the tall trees and bass, and we laid down as the light was rising and the edges of the night were a warm soupy puddle of that neediness of human warmth and I told you that I’d missed you and you said, in the stern suddenness and with one intake of breath like that manner you reserved for those let’s get shit done conversations, the ones that start with ‘Right,’ and a pause, you told me you loved me. 

And I said I loved you too and I knew that you knew that we both meant different things, or did you? 

I should have made it clearer. 

Instead I fell asleep and when I woke up shivering, the soup puddle was scratchy and harsh and the warmth had worn off and I felt awkward and desperate to leave, it was all too illicit, running off in to the forest, who was I fooling. 

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They say writing things down is better for clarity of thought and the whole therapeutic process of getting it all down and I am inclined to agree. Typing, though, doesn’t it all happen quicker? There’s less time to self edit, the rambling is probably what I need.

Someone (a friend) mentioned to me recently about how some people (general observation) talk as they’re figuring things out, if that was a cute and acceptable state, figuring things out as you’re saying them, that’s ok, it is - I guess I’m less comfortable with the spoken word. Written, though, it all just falls out. Sometimes. 

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I took part in Lorenzo's photo booth outside The Photographer's Gallery a couple weeks ago, looking forward to seeing my picture! Would it be vain to get it framed for the wall? 

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Will and the People at Sofar Sounds, Golders Green lounge room, Thursday 11th Sept. Sam Griffiths played too, and he was a little bit amazing. Such a lovely eve! 

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The back of a Lexus, while hitching across Poland (with my friend who was also snoozing, if WikiHitch has a Do Not list, then this should top it), in one of Sydney’s proudest (and loudest) gay clubs, more lecture halls than I should admit to, and now the back of a motorbike, en route from Amsterdam back to London: weird places I’ve fallen asleep.

I don’t what it is about techno music that makes me do everything and anything to get to it, but Loveland was absolutely excellent and worth 10 hours on the back of a motorbike, through rain, lots of going the wrong way, and a bit of copped flak. But who needs friends who think this isn't a good idea? 

Where to next? 

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-So where'd you meet him? -Oh, he grew up with a friend of mine from home that lived in London for a bit when I first moved here... -Tinder, then.

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And with hands folded around ithingy, we solemnly swear to let you know we were in this moment.

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Where the Gulf of Gdansk meets the Baltic sea, Gdansk, Poland.

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Patsy (ies)

- self anethetists

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I can find everything in this city except a laundrette and a fix for regret.

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It's a tricky thing to keep updated but I'm already regretting not keeping a record of the travelling I've done since I left Australia.  Fifty-seven days, Madrid-Valencia-Benicassim-Madrid-Cordoba-Cadiz-Madrid-Zurich-Paris-Oslo-Berlin-La Rochelle-Paris and now, London!

Rooftop tea time after Notting Hill festival, welcome to the jungle! The amount of people here just out on the streets everyday is actually overwhelming.

But London feels good. It didn't take long to shake the sense of not knowing what I was doing here. Moving straight into a sharehouse of 9 other lovely people (lovely people who like to get down on street corners to pass the time) definitely helped, even if it's a temporary situation.