Thursday, 30 June 2011

Tuesday, 28 June 2011

"netball? is that like netflix?"

Jacob Steinberg is fucking up our shit.

Cheeky lil bb

In light of this, the theme for this week is "America"

Monday, 27 June 2011

I am Revolutionising Poetry

Hello, I have just invented a new form of poetry. It's called "One Word Love Poems with Really Long Titles"

Here are a few examples.

I Caught a Woman Changing the Words in Her Hymn Book with a Sharpie in Church in a Dress in Me (I was Wearing Jeans)

I've Seen Under Your Skin in the Night and it is Beautiful Like a Dying Bee in the Garden Beneath a Daisy Planted by a Girl who Picks the Flowers for Her Dead Mother in the Sunshine

Oh Seriously Are You Kidding Me Right Now This is Total B.S. I Can't Believe You Would Even Go There After Those Things We Said Under the Blankets Under the Moon Under a Spell Under Your Underpants 

21st century hymns

i'm tired again
i'm so tired

let's put on songs from five years ago
and dance in the lounge
for 2.08 minutes

our mouths don't work
they are dangerous anyway
so we can't try
to qualify this thing for which there are no words
or i guess that's how it seems

do your hands smell like lemons
my hands smell like lemons

i liked it when i didn't know what my reflection looked like
and now i feel way too aware of it and everything else
and all the places i see have memories
and i make attempts to imagine my face reacting

the song is over already
change it to that sad one with the slow lyrics
and we'll collapse and your head will be close to my head

can we just listen
for a while

Sunday, 26 June 2011

pun lief

Saturday, 25 June 2011

this fits the theme, right

Hi I think i broke my hymn one time when placing my fingers inside my vagina i startedbleeding

Thursday, 23 June 2011

I've never been to a church service

I’ve been to weddings and funerals at churches

I used to get out audio books of bible stories because I liked the stories. Samson was awesome

In primary school I was in the school choir. It wasn’t a good choir and I wasn’t one of the best in it. The Christmas songs were my favourite. Some of them were religious and some of them weren’t

When I was 17 I travelled around Europe for 6 weeks with my family. We visited a lot of beautiful churches. I sat and thought thoughts that might have been prayers

I have a Christian friend who is very involved with his church. I went to his youth group twice. The first time was fun, the second not so much

There’s a great Hare Krishna about five minutes walk for my house. They play music through speakers there and all the songs have the same lyrics

A lot of the rappers I listen to wear iced out Jesus chains

Wednesday, 22 June 2011


i think about doing things
sweet things

kisses in places
eyelids, elbows

placing my hand on a shoulder
then another shoulder

i imagine
holding a face

like it is
a small hymnal
in my palms

i will take every part
of your body

into my two hands


if this poem was a body
i would pull it towards my body

if your body was a poem
i would read it aloud


my hair is longer now than when you knew me

Tuesday, 21 June 2011


the topic for this week is




Sunday, 19 June 2011

Poo Rap

you seem happy

the beach is near
there are dogs in this park at the beach which is near

try to balance on the edge of the footpath
not working

dogs run ahead of their owners
run ahead
look back
run again

not walking straight
i am looking out at shipping containers on ships
watching mini waves crashing onto themselves

two dogs are growling and biting each other
are they actually trying to kill each other
chasing each other
like they besties

it is warm today
and the beach and the park are both pleasant
via winter sun

another dog does poos
and i watch

Friday, 17 June 2011



Afternoons feel like mornings

Sitting on the porch wondering when the streets will stop smelling like poo
and the kitchen like
Soy sauce

Tuesday, 14 June 2011

40 drops of laudanum

Hi. Also I wrote this a while ago but it seems to fit the theme.

the doctors, they say her diarrhea is fulminant. it occurs suddenly, without warning. it is intense and severe. explosive. and the smell. oh, that horrible smell. it's rancid. all things considered, this fulminant diarrhea is an ailment with which she would rather not be afflicted. it has no advantages, particularly of the social variety. 

so on the evening of july 19, in the year 1837, as she is preparing for the dance of 1,000 gentlemen, her dressers wrap her asshole tight with cellophane. "what if it leaks?" they ask. "what if it leaks on HIM?"

"i will die of embarrassment," she tells them. "simply die."

then she prays. not to any god that you or i are likely to pray to; she prays to the lord of human excrement.

"do not forsake me, my lord, not on this evening. this one evening, my lord, i ask of you. seal my bottom shut."

then, as if in response to her prayers, a deep rumble reverberates through her stomach and colon.

"have i displeased thee, my lord? must you be vengeful on this very eve?"

and then splat. and rip and splat. the cellophane cannot contain the massive load of liquid shit. it's in her stockings, seeping through the fine silk netting. one of her dressers boldly attempts to stem the tide with her hands. the other vomits and runs.

she's in the bath now. clean again. a new dress has been fetched. her second choice, lovely but seen before. her bathers towel her off. she is cellophaned once more.

she arrives at the dance of 1,000 gentlemen, nervous, walking carefully. she dares not taste the shallot madelaines. 1,000 likely gentlemen do indeed fill the ballroom. twirling and smirking, their steps only outdone by their wit. handsome, all of them, but especially the one for whom she came. she waits.

half the night has slipped away and still she waits, vexing over 500 hundred would be suitors. her companions, the lady of redford and the lady of somerville, encourage her to dance. "practice," they say, "with an ordinary man." and well she might had she not the need to clench her buttocks so fully.

now he approaches, tall and of moustache. a pocket watch and a monocle. his conversation is joyous and clever. his dancing is in rhythm with her heart and not her heart. a part of her that is warm and throbbing. she has managed not to shit all over herself. she is happy.

then the evening comes to a close. the hall has emptied, partners have been chosen and not chosen and the laughter follows the crowd into the warm night air. he and her, flirting and he offers her a ride home in his carriage. she politely refuses, then with decorum dispensed, accepts.

in the carriage he holds her hand and inquires about the wellbeing of her father.

she loses control of her bowels.

again the cellophane does not hold. the carriage is filled with her fulminant feces. the stench is unbearable. he tries to outmaneuver the river of shit but he cannot escape his dreaded fate. it's on him. IT'S ON HIM.

she is horrified and she laughs. she cannot stop. she laughs and she laughs.

"can you not stop your laughter?" he says earnestly. "a terrible thing has happened."

"i cannot stop," she admits and then proceeds to laugh some more.

back at his house she is escorted to the bath. she is soaked and scrubbed. she is dressed in his sister's clothes.

she returns to find him playing the piano. he is playing it well.

"i must apologize," she says to him. "i have no control. it is a suffering that i shall know until the day i die."

"nonsense," he says. "there is a cure to be found. of that i am certain."

weeks and months pass before she sees him again. he has ridden the three miles to her house and he asks for her by name.

"these days without you i have been on a quest," he says. "and i have finally found a potion that will heal your rapid stooling."

"i have missed you so," she says, "and i do not want to doubt you. but housemaids and doctors have failed in this quest and i have come to accept it in my heart and in my colon. do not raise my hopes if there is no truth in your words."

"it is from the town," he says, "where they know about such ailments. it is laudanum and they say it is such that your bowels and your demeanor will be suitable for marriage."

"are you asking for my hand in marriage?"

"indeed i am," says the gentleman. "assuming this potion is good."

"let us begin immediately," she says.

at first she drinks but two drops with her tea in the morning and again two drops at night. within days her diarrhea is no more. her mind is clear and her pantaloons are clean. she is ecstatic.

the wedding is ordered and consummated and there is great passion between the two.

but slowly she increases her dosage. six drops then 10. he worries that it is too much. her mind is addled. she is confused and lazy. she does not dress until bed time and she dances without music. 15 drops now.

"i won't go back," she says. "i haven't shit in weeks."

"it's killing you," he says. "us."

15 drops becomes 30 and then 40. he threatens to deny her the potion entirely. she begs him. she will reduce her dose at least. he does not believe her. she says she will shit on his face.

and it is worse and worse. soon she is bedridden and catatonic. then she is dead.

he is distraught and he blames himself. he throws the empty bottles and the full ones out the window.

"ouch," says someone. it is her sister. the bottles have hit her on the head.

"oops," he says, out of the window. "sorry."

her sister has a lump on her head and she is attended to in the house. he apologizes. she talks to him and consoles him. she assures him that she is not with the shits. her stools are regular and firm.

not two months following the death of his first wife, the gentleman marries the sister. they are happy and they live on until they die.


thoughts re: poo


Monday, 13 June 2011

So I decided to post the macros anyway =s

The Mind Of Stacey Teagues

Sunday, 12 June 2011

Flash Lightning

Slick, sweet sweat dripped down the back of his spine, providing more irritation than relief in the humid summer. He stood exactly at the edge of the shadows: a thin line between the spiritless woods and the grassy plains. With the clouds obscuring the sun, the light/shade boundary was faint, invisible unless you knew where to look. But he wasn't looking at the pale shadows or the ground under his feet, instead his head was tilted as far back as it would go, craning towards the dark sky.
Regnant clouds processed past him, marching towards the horizon, away from here - towards better people and more interesting places.
I want to be part of the water cycle, he thought, and be evaporated, condensed and precipitated far away. Staring at the sky, he felt that this could happen, if only he focused long enough.


The first shot of lighting forked towards the earth. Throwing light onto the woods with an LED flash.
A few raindrops splashed across his upturned face and palms


Another flicker, weaker than the last. His head snapped forward to watch;
breaking his focus.

Thursday, 9 June 2011

The Dalai Lama has rectangular-shaped glasses with Transition lenses

it must be awesome being the
Dalai Lama

when he’s on chat I bet he’s like


that’s how he laughs irl

the Dalai Lama is so sweet
so chill
so content
and giggly!
we could learn a lot
‘cept how to hongi
(he forgot that)

sorry I forgot”
he said
and touched a nose with his nose

the Dalai Lama told me to be happy
he said be optimistic
he said some stuff about the earthquake
we mustn’t be afraid
everything that happens is natural


there is a pile of dust and plaster on my floor which I brushed off my bed
it fell out of the wall the other day in a big aftershock onto the person sleeping beside me


I dipped a nacho chip into some curry



Wednesday, 8 June 2011

Who Am I??

Monday, 6 June 2011


the sun smells
like pepper and honey
the sun feels like
a scarf wrapped loosely around my neck

in the rain
my hair fills up with water
forgetting our umbrella again

remembering our umbrella
i hold it above our heads
i am taller than you

when it is raining there are
ducks and worms
mud and shoes
blankets and waves
me and you

when there is sun and rain at the same time i feel very happy

out in the harbour
birds are flapping their wings
against the water

closing my eyes
i sew the features of your face together

tell me about your dreams
i will listen


James dominated weather.
I need to do another post to catch up with him.
I have some cloud macros
but I was saving them for everythingisfantastic
but maybe I should post them here.
But even if I do post them
it might not be enough.
I have been trying to be disciplined
about saving material for everythingisfantastic.
I don't know.
The last few days have been bad.
The weather has also been bad.
Usually I like the rain.
When I was little
when it rained
I would go out to the backyard
and lie under the table
and read my book
and listen to the rain around me.
Now I just feel lonely.
I am not allowed to say sad things to my friends.
H doesn't want to be my friend anymore.
R isn't here.
It is cold.
There is a black box inside my chest.
I drop things into it and they disappear.
Everything is gradually disappearing.
All that is left is the rain.
The table is gone
and my face is wet.