im at my desk.
im slowly slipping the skin off a firm mandarin.
you know that smell?
the one that will hint at everyones nose whether they like it or not?
and spitting out the seeds.

they're becoming cheap these mandy's
but today as i passed the fruit man i mourned the
loss of bananas, all bruised.
poor nanas. poor generation of little tykes that are missing them in they're toddler stages right now.

one of my best friends is a writer.
she writes all sorts of things, for newspapers. and she writes stories.
she teaches little ratbags to write, in greensborough once a week.
two weeks ago she disappeared and went off to the west to a womens prison. (clit clink)
yesterday she hung out with heroin addicts.
i often wonder how pretty anna k. (elliot smith rings in my head went i say that 'pretty mary k')
can do it. she gives so much to make people who read the paper a little smarter.
she says i have made her see things differently. im not sure how.

and i wish she knew how many people she has made see things differently.

i love her.

the pictures here are from WA
and they are hers.
and i love them.



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