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Your little Aztec


this is not a death wish
this is my homage

my sacrificial

I’ll-do-anything-for-you-
declaration-of-love


all-my-skin-at-your-discretion-

scar tissue

(my ex ex ex

BCC)



It’s not a tattoo
it’s my

I-risked-everything-for-you-

manifesto
in skin

my scarface

my 42

look-what-you-did-
but-I-still-love-you-


sutures

all stitched up and
no regrets

my one my only…

(JP
loves
UV

forever
and ever)

xxx


till death do us





BCC – Basel Cell Carcinoma





The long poem below, The Immortals, is the key part of a video installation of the same name, created for the Manly Art Gallery and Museum, Sydney in 2015. It is the engine that drives the beast and allows the imagery to remain free to work on a more visceral level.





The Immortals


Let it begin like this:

not with minutes or hours_
but with the sea
and the first breath
sailing away


Let it begin with air and light
and the fabric of the stars
and the first song_



1

Perhaps it’s the high tide or the unaccustomed heat. Perhaps
I am tired of sitting
in one place too long.

I have imagined the whole mess of civilisation telescoped in
from a distance,
near at hand

through the wrong end of that instrument
like a miniature,
through shadowed glass.

Held it close, one eye squinting,
the entire span of human existence
held in the ball of the palm

like some sad jewel
examined for the beauty of its flaws.

Come with me now into the ocean.
Look how humanity recedes.
This is where the dream begins,

with this dim spiralling down,
as if movement was enough
to breathe life into the inanimate form.

Don’t be dismayed by how things fall.
There’s time to leave before it gets too rough.
There’s time to sit and listen with your heart.


Imagine the sea. Its blue/green light.
A pattern of waves like stained glass
falling.

Imagine a mosque, a church,
a synagogue;
the sea like heaven.

Imagine this: all our breaths.
Our children’s and our children’s children’s — sons and daughters/daughters
and sons — your mother’s and your father’s breath,

and all the animals and plants, and going back in time to the first cells.
Consider the tune that we share with the dinosaurs — our long bones
colliding in the dark
like submarines.


Everything that’s ever been exists as song. A cyclical force,
a chorus line that never stops; as inevitable
as the next ‘best’ thing.

Imagine, if you can, the weight of possessions —
how easily they spiral down
insisting on the song of atoms.

2

To close one’s eyes for the last time
and then
to be like earth
To end with nothing
or the promise to begin
(like dust or ash)
enlist the chemistry of the stars
to be a part of something larger than a single life
to reinvent
hold history in the palm
of what was once
your hand
to leave your life
as open as it began


To exert nothing
to become the working stuff of physical law
to travel beyond one’s own impetus
for the purposes of the earth
to be a working part
(of the engine) of the unknown
universe


To forget one’s own appetites
bear witness
to be compliant
like water is — its willing surface —
adopt the intangible
clarity of blue
To let a force exact its will
be ruffled
be smooth
to be like gas
ignite
reverberate

to liquify
to fall


To spiral endlessly (as in a dream)
to dissolve
to follow the prevailing current
to remain still if necessary
let oneself be used regardless
of consequence
allow the elements
to pass through
To be
without will
consumed by mass


To enter (particle by particle)
the capillaries of the plants
to be like rock
like sea
like cloud
to be a part of this
continuous
force


Again
to dissolve
liquify
to fall endlessly
to earth


3

This is what the world has given us: this perpetual gift to let go one’s life.
To reinvent the inherited universe.

Look at the waves, how willingly they roll. Every wave is spilling
its own impulse.

Don’t be dismayed by how things fall, this is where the dream begins —
with this dim spiralling down

as if movement was enough
to breathe life into the inanimate (soul).