sundown/sunup

Josh, 30, Melbourne. skate .writing.

[wornoutweather]

K

do you remember this? I said you're the river to my ocean and you smiled politely do you remember this? even without wishing goodbye I'm already excited for your return I walked those oceans like a clock no midnight holier than though sunrise I remember this K what is in yours of which this knowing could be found? tell me in your raspy voice

[wornoutweather]

translatable

yeah that sounds horrible, though translatable knock my son and he will become one of you nothing more than a worse piece of dirt than you were born in knock me and I will be stronger than any ground beneath us love is stronger than violence love is stronger than all

[wornoutweather]

[wornoutweather]

‘almost’

i made a ring from the hairs i found on my t-shirt you made your own you drank from my eyes tiny spoons made of your smile collecting the bent branches that sway towards our 'Jerry' ankles you're a hive of bees wearing a short dress made of green summer i made friends with your past and acquaintances with your future i counted the steps on this hill of winter leaves sitting in the water with the window open will monday morning smell of lemon or old tea i chose barefoot for it all 'almost' almost something

[wornoutweather]

wonder//wander

it’s what they said

i had green eyes after their comments

on why i couldn’t

it gave me sparrows down my spine

a double flock

feathers the size of every ghost

i thought i saw when i was young

scaring me into never dreaming

of what to come

what i’d be, what i am, what i still have

time to achieve

my memory is going

it’s not spirits made of

rotten grapes to get me drunk

it’s just love lust

may it be my words or a painting or my voice

humming over beats i made before sleep

make them all, love yourself, we’re all just

slowly becoming the emerald garden our

mother spoke about

be the garden

[wornoutweather]

the loudest noise i remember

was you slamming the door

and forgetting my number

[wornoutweather]

there’s not enough morphine in any white wall hospital for a broken heart, there’s not enough cheap coffee downstairs for the morning after

jz

[wornoutweather]

miss

i miss my bookshelf not being a sky of dust

nothing to read or write on

not a feather in the room to brush my

weathered teeth with

i miss giving out love, i miss taking advice

sometimes i swap those two

give advice, take love

though not many let any of those two in

reality checks on walks with my dogs

they keep me in check with their

harnesses made of care

the night is always young, forget the clock

i miss foreign legs

hurricanes in black dresses

a terminal full of ‘should i haves’

greater goods are dressing rooms

made up of richer tunes

i miss days i don’t remember

i miss days i’ll never get to have

be it with my mother, brother, father or lover

youth is gone, scary as it is, though time kills

so i’m killing time

[wornoutweather]

night

i've draped myself in mondays i've thrown away rugs smelling of the past i've covered my sheets in how weeks feel i've had dogs under my bed lovers under my cover loved every single thing i came across because why not? i'm no man of knowledge though tips up to those that are learnt not to be deliberately nasty across the things we usually judge, judgement only causes bad staring contests with yourself i've had a few looks, a few hours against the best people you'll ever know hours against the mirror that can't lie your night is mine, the moon does not choose sides, worry is not needed

[wornoutweather]

june 25th

i've wasted lightbulbs and light spoken sentences on the thought of trying out for the A grade team you need me to be. lungs are smoke and my head is the dust that gathers between couches after a long weekend of too much of everything. some days i'm not sure if i'm chasing affection or chasing happiness, some days i believe these two are the same. other days i can't sleep worrying about the day my dogs die. i look at things differently to how i once did, now sitting by the smallest pond is a wonder and every person is an angel. i'm not sure if this is a good thing though it's better to be in awe of the small things around us than to not acknowledge them at all. i sit and wonder if anyone will remember me and that small voice tells me they will.

[wornoutweather]

things the mornings tell me #1

sometimes you have to force your belief in god, it might help your hands stop becoming fists but instead open palms full of smile old friends are old friends for a reason, take them in, do not let them fade little pieces of your voice are given out everyday, so know you're not so easily forgotten nirvana are still a fucking amazing band no matter how many of their t-shirts you see

[wornoutweather]

just like yours

i look at my bedroom floor like it's a jungle, i'm not sure if i can get out from underneath it's trees some mornings though somehow i always do. i sometimes sit reading the clock hoping that 12 isn't really the end. i use the carpet as a dance floor, mime my father's voice, become a kissing stand for the people that beg and the people that borrow from the wind, asking it for just the smallest of greetings. other times i'm a mirror, hoping other people will see me as i see myself. most tuesdays i sit, waiting for my throat to find god again, every trumpet is playing at once, just to know i'm alive, that a fox still sits beneath my knees, waiting to run. a bookcase is in my chest reading every novel in it's shelves, waiting to kiss those pages. my heart is just like yours, it's a sunday beach, a beehive in summer, eight owls in row sleeping at night, humming someone's name. my heart is just like yours.

[wornoutweather]

lessons of a sunday night 2

1. let your friend spill wine on your couch, let him sleep there knowing kindness is with him, his heart holds more importance than what some fair weather guest thinks of that stain he left from his cup. 2. even though the tree will drop fruit, it does not mean it's yours, it has no choice but to, do not be greedy, do not take these jewels just for the sake of taking them, it will turn you into your father's son. we are never locked in to that one night of love that brought us here. 3. that one person whose eyes transcend your sense of reason may be late or may never arrive, it may frustrate you though you are not them so cut everyone some slack and relax a little, just relax, their hells may be worse than yours, their heavens may not be as bright.

[wornoutweather]

lessons of a sunday night

1. do not hold doubt in your bones because you’ve been told that your palms are no longer holy, your hands are temples, do not share those houses of bone with the wrong person

2. the sun is coming up whether you like it or not, so like it, take in every person you meet, their words, eyes and smiles are what give meaning to the day

3. thinking of that someone that challenges your beliefs of being happy at 2am is not strange, it’s natural

4. do not hate sunday nights, it did not choose to be the end of the 48 hours where you feel free and alive again

5. fill your empty room with song and poem, open your window and let in the sound of the black bird, it only wants to be heard, like us all

[wornoutweather]

dusted.

some nights i feel like i've lived a thousand lives, loving one girl at a time during hot summers as the liquor store closes too early just as we're feeling that buzz we all chase, never quite getting the same 1-2 punch as throwing up in your half friend's toilet at 2am, fifteen years old not knowing a thing about what a man should be. some days i kneel against my bed and pretend to prey like i'm five again waiting for thunder or the sliding of piano keys, something to acknowledge my effort of belief, something to say you're doing ok just how you're doing it. to ring in my ears to sing in my stomach. rattling the gates never did no damn good. some mornings my heart races the way it does when i smile at that one girl i've got my eye on, other mornings my legs are dusty from friend's laughter as my palms are planted in the soft dirt next to their door, was last night a regret or a life lesson? don't ask yourself that too often. one dusk i was grouping my empty bottles into colours to see if they had become lanterns yet, they had not, but we had. like houses full of fruit trees we were lanterns full of match stick heads that were burning forever. i could never say if that dust will ever come off our bones but i can say fuck it if it doesn't.

[wornoutweather]

x+y

I've been to the local booze haunt enough times that now it haunts the cheap wood that covers my bookshelf, paperback greats are dusty, my room full of dull smoke that lingers as ghosts do around my open window as 5am summer heat does. one foot in the blanket one foot out. a few women have said the word love to me, one is my mother, that doesn't count as much because I have her cheek bones. that's a heaven sent parcel delivered from one night when two people thought they were in love. i got lucky on a deal I never made but would never go back on. I had beers with an old friend this warm evening and we talked everything from the bitter taste of the ale to great minds of the past. I won't name them because hopefully you know (fuck it, newton, einstein, galileo, wilde). a few things struck my mind during: one being we do not have any rules to actually like or love anyone, it's something that no real science or algorithm or fucking equation can truly dictate: two being that the company we keep is true in a sense of being able to look someone in their eyes and know the smile they show you is no resting expression, it's something they can't help but do in that exact moment. I came home with my own smile, a rising a sun in my mouth, setting somewhere a compass has not yet found for itself; laughing as strangers told me jokes from the 50's on an old train built for rusty, endless tracks

[wornoutweather]

green tea

my lungs are out on hire to a painted cardboard box, my inside voice is louder than ever, yelling has become a myth. the outdoors are making my hands become trenches, love and loneliness are partners in crime, one without the other is a nest with no bird I want to be wasted on 3am back porch lights that are too bright I want to be grateful for miami in the 80’s overpriced corn dogs and underpaid waitresses fresh popcorn at the first screening of star wars the first walk through the first park where you had the best and worst kiss of your life the smell in the air after your dad cut the lawns on a lemonade filled sunday the opening of a brand new matchbox car when you were too young to know about the road toll hindsight, unplanned vacations, late night cigarettes and morning green tea the taste of your first whiskey shot before you knew it turned you into someone you didn’t want to be not needing to cross your fingers because you know things are going to be amazing either way being at an age where the lightning grey in your hair no longer bothers you, now asking a beautiful young woman for a dance is simply asking for a dance when being bewildered becomes a beautiful thing. eyes are marbles, throats are gibson guitars. sing into the night because that night doesn’t pick sides, the moon is a greeting, just like your morning coffee smile, teeth brown, windows open, enjoy your dog while he’s here and love your mother’s laugh clear, god knows it ain’t gonna be around forever