watercolours… on high-cotton yield 300gsm paper.
by Paul in Perth Western Australia.
Tis of my friend and ex Kylie, who rules.
This piece is part of a diptych (did I put the ‘y’ in the right place?)
The second work is ""For What They Have Seen":http://www.redbubble.com/people/pauldrobertson/...
The diptych… Blame Your Green Eyes, For What They Have Seen
The song that sang the title (I wrote it this yer sometime. I think.)
I have never got my shit together enough to record it.
yeah. oh well.
_You nail my guitar to the bedroom wall
You lick your lips promise me more
Take my nail polish, go out to score
But I can’t, I won’t help anymore.
That final appointment waiting in line
A scar on the flesh of your inner thigh,
A casual promise and a white lie
Where the old bridge splits the hot night sky
Our little deaths
Holding your breath
I’ll always be less
Always a mess
Ill never confess
To the cuts on my flesh
Or the tears on your dress
Are all we have left
You carry the heat all bloody and keen
Hot with this fever since you were 15
Stones you’ve kept for each lie you have been
Blame your green eyes, for what they have seen
We kissed on the beach last Halloween.
And now we’ll never forget the shit we have seen
The hell in the wall the gorgeous machine
The tiny mad children that we have both been_
And here is some truth that i peeled, all sticky and filthy, from my sleeve, where i wear my heart
(a story a tiny story but oh it is me oh it has slivers of my soul, sundered; surrendered into its folds.)
I am an alcoholic. i haven’t had a drink since ’98. This story is very dark and has BAD SWEARY WORDS. please heed the warning and don’t get upset by linguistic semantic vernacular.
Is a mellow song i wrote recorded sang and played. 1.6 meg. just click it will play, or download, or ask u if you want to… once it has open it by clicking or whatever it is mac ppl do.listen to it while you read this, if you will, if you would, if you can, if…
(Fill the clubhouse with blood and the halls with bone.)
Smells like rotting seaweed but sweet and tart in my throat. Glad I never lived there I mean it’s hard enough to survive a conversation with someone I don’t know let alone someone who’s got my whole life history on the tip of their brain. Walk into the shop my god I know this girl I remember her face half-blurred in warm brown spirits but beautiful still. Too late to walk out now she’s seen me pretend I’m looking at something, great walk right into the porn magazines mind seething in suggestion but turn around right quick before I follow that path.
Buy my cigarettes without looking at her of course I have to can’t help it and see myself reflected in her eyes contempt so huge it’s making her head bulge.
Get out fast blood draining from my face fuck it forgot my change she calls out and I have to go back (go back! Go back!) I think she sees the broken capillaries and swell of cheek hair sticking out in tufts and then I’m through the fucking door.
The rest is posted HERE
though i think that this bit might be from the middle. it’s only 3 pages long.