“The next day I was in my car driving along the freeway when at a red light another car pulled alongside. A white woman was driving and on the passenger’s side, next to me, was a white man. ‘Malcolm X!’ he called out – and when I looked, he stuck his hand out of his car, across at me, grinning. ‘Do you mind shaking hands with a white man?’ Imagine that! Just as the traffic light turned green, I told him, ‘I don’t mind shaking hands with human beings. Are you one?”

X, Malcolm. The Autobiography of Malcolm X: With the Assistance of Alex Haley . New York : Penguin Books , 1965.

Shake hands

“Well I’ll never be a brain surgeon” I joke.
They think it’s the D.Ts. I still don’t know what that means.
I hold my hands out flat and straight “that’s not shaking is it?” I ask because they seem pretty still today, even though I’m nervous.
In fact my hands are shaking. Constantly. Always.
It’s worse when I’m nervous, when I drink or when someone’s watching.

Maybe it’s the quiet anxious energy that moves inside me.
Awake. Aware. On guard.
Maybe it will get better, or worse, with age. Like most things tend to.

I’ve always been curious, to know what it is, but today I’m happy without another diagnosis

– Ghastly Robot

Boring with you

Another year, another ocean
But weren’t we gunna get together? Finally begin?
Just kids or yopros, shacking-up in sin

Room with a view, or barely room for two
You: Domestic god
Me: let’s get a dog

Grocery shopping with goofy grins
Sundays filled with sleeping ins
What a marvellous way of life
Sleepy cutie messy wife

Darling that’s a dream come true
Oh to be
Boring with you

– Ghastly Robot

Hysteria

She tugs at the thread
Fraying the elaborate folds that conceal her
While spectators’ look on with a familiar arrogance

Her rage vibrates through each and every cell
The smirk begins to waver
Panic creeps into the corners of its red mouth
Their brows contort with confusion and fear
Entangling her furious limbs

They coat her in foolishness
Desperate to drown out her dissent

They will her to cease
Mad, bad, hysterical woman

Logic is lost on you

– Greedy Crow

Little Monster

I’m going to give you some insight into what it’s like to have a little monster as your sister. Now my little sister is truly unique as far as little monsters go. This I am certain of. There could be no other more gifted in the area of driving big sisters mad. Her gifts are so that, since little sister was a child she has possessed the power to torment me merely by plastering horrid expressions across her face. On family road trips, little sister would ceaselessly sing Alicia Keys, Fallin’. This would delight my parents who, in the few intervals we had, would inform her of her brilliance. Little sister trained her dog to kidnap and annihilate my beloved soft toys, chewing and humping them to death. Little sister would steal the spotlight any chance she could, impressing my new friends with cartwheels and flips off the couch. Little sister never followed the rules of games that I had so meticulously designed. Little sister stretched my new tank tops over her little round tum and spilt tomato sauce all down the front of them. Little sister terrified and intimidated all of the neighborhood boys. She threatened them with grievous bodily harm for peeking through the fence. Little sister would follow me everywhere. Little sister would copy everything I said, and everything I did. Little sister would help me drag my bed into her room, because I was afraid to be alone. With a begrudging ‘yes I’m still awake’, little sister would comfort me when I couldn’t sleep. Little sister fed me when I was broke and hungry. Little sister passionately defended me against any onslaughts. Little sister listened to and consoled me when I cried of a broken heart. Little sister has forgiven me for my many transgressions against her. Little monster is my most loyal friend and trusted ally.

– Greedy Crow

you make no sense at all

Speak the fuck up

I’m going to spin you a tale about a moment in time that happens recurrently, which causes inner most turmoil and self-doubt. This is not a coming of age tale, but one that directly relates to the neo-liberal context in which we find ourselves. An environment where we are afraid to call it how it is. So it’s happened yet again, you’re cruising along, reveling in the deliciousness that is your mundane reality when, out of nowhere you’re ambushed. Some fool has gone and spat in your sweet daydream, leaving remnants of idiot in your mouth. Their offensive brain fart has brought you back, and now it’s on you. ‘Are you hearing this shit?’ ‘Are you going to take this shit?’ Yeah you heard it. They’ve repeated themselves for your convenience. Will you let it slide? The dilemma, know lets be clear that this is not a moral dilemma because you already know that morally, what they’ve said is fucked up. Yet you hesitate, and here lies the dilemma. You’re riding along with your friends, or eating dinner with the family, or having a tea break with the colleagues, and someone has just gone and put, not only their foot, but also their leg and groin into their mouths. Everyone grows silent, and awkwardness and tension taint the air. Perhaps you are able to brush over these moments and continue pondering whether you’ve already heard this song before, or whether you can squeeze in another helping of beans, or whether several cookies is too many. Or perhaps you’re fucking upset. When these moments occur, as they often do, my stomach lurches and I start sweating out of my ears. An internal battle has begun. It comes down to me guarding the convictions I hold dearly or saving the face of the person with their groin in their mouth. Your reality has been shattered and you’re no longer able to lurk in the comfortable confines of your privileged life. Some thoughtless person has drawn you out. The idiot has unwittingly challenged you, causing an inner dual. You stand there, palms sweating, mind blank, and then it happens. Someone, not you, calls them on their shitty remark. Immediate relief follows, yet it’s not as satisfying as you would have hoped. Sure, the awkward silence has been broken and you now chime in, giving voice to your criticisms, but a thought gnaws at you. You lost the internal struggle. Next time, you tell yourself.

– Greedy Crow

Crazy in love

Teenage ego maniacs.
Regular maniacs.
Crazy in love?
The definition of it.
But no B and J fairytale.
Toxic. Painful.
But we didn’t know any better.
And I agree with Cat – the first cut hurt,
But it just got worse.
Passing the ball from court to court.
Hot potato. No harm, no foul.
Years later, finally on the same team, we’re inching closer to our hip-hop-fantasy-power-couple dream.

– Ghastly Robot

Wake up call

Somewhere my alarm is going off.
Somehow I’ve woken up.
Alive. But not in a way you feel blessed and uplifted.
I’m not sick or dying, it’s not that kind of miricale.
In the way you know you could of died. Or worse.
Terrified. How could this happen? Again. I will never learn

I wish I could say that the morning was a blur. That I don’t remember the details; earrings, taxi, leather skirt, mesh top, daylight, the sea.
I’m not even late for work. It can’t be that bad!
It’s bad. You know it’s bad but somehow you needed one more night of confirmation.

One more night I’ll never remember, one more morning I’ll never forget.
What I don’t know can’t hurt me. Right? Wrong.
What I do know is; I’m that person again. That girl that I was trying so hard not to be. That wild animal. Uncaged, unchanged.

Alcohol seeps through my pours and last nights makeup doesn’t seem to fly at the Estée Lauder counter. Hot mess, at best, I try to go about my day but I feel like an anarchist in the eastern suburbs.
Sydney doesn’t agree with me.
Especially on Sunday mornings.

– Ghastly Robot