bellmusker

bellmusker

Melbourne, AUSTRALIA

Ink stains my fingertips most days.

I have a fondness for whiskey, a passion for Germanic linguistics and a scowl that could knock small animals off their feet.

I get cranky if I don’t write. It’s never pretty.

I listen to the blues every day and am afraid of crumpets. I once ate a rat and always know when the moon is full. I don’t drive. Men with salt and pepper stubble take my breath away and boys who swagger bring venom to the thirteen serpents tattooed on my flesh. That’s not pretty either. I like cowboys though; they smell good.

I was agoraphobic for two years and wrote my way out. Solitude and silence still sit at my table, and make my heart sing. I often cosset myself in my flat, pour the whiskey, and dive into dictionaries. The words entwine themselves in my hair and keep me afloat, wrapping conjunctions around curls and trailing ink through auburn.

I ask for little more than that.

Well, if you could throw in a honey martini and someone to brush my hair, that’d be spectacular too.

Oh, and I also have no stomach for people who walk on stilts. Sinister little fuckers.

I’m done now.

  • Joined: April 2007

Journals

The red notebook of 2011
About a month ago, I reached into my bag for my little red notebook, and came up empty handed. Somewhere, in a night of rockabilly quiffs and double basses, it had fallen out. It wasn’t the lost addresses or stories that had my head in my hands; all I could do was groan ‘All my quotes! My quotes of 2011!’ / So with the blessings of the eagle-eyed friend who found it, and the las…
Posted about 1 month – 38 comments
Open your mouth and speak
Posted 2 months – 43 comments
Tattoos, tails and a double bass
Posted 3 months – 25 comments
Berlin...again
Posted 5 months – 30 comments