It’s funny- in the end youv got to fucking eat don’t ya

virtually invisible

From the quiet natural surrounds of the bush and beach  I took a trip into a fairly foreign world to me. One of intense bustling Human activity.
 A world of glittering  lights and people all around. There is no escaping the human eye. But I am just a thing, a fleeting thought amongst all the bodies on the street, in amongst the movement and noise. A head, that is not really distinguishable from the pavement or glittering lights above. I am nobody, really I don’t exist. Wave after wave after wave of people, first it was cabramatta in the day. Immediately we were in deep amongst the ongoing traffic of people, weaving through the bodies, past the shops, past crying kids, people coughing as the passed you, a blur of sound and noise, commotion,shop after shop, humans in the shop, the owners, some looking like they were melded in with the backdrop. A weird intensity, like a rabbit warren. Down another little alley, jam packed with people and shops, fruit shops, asains of all ages and faces. An old man stares out of his continental looking Nick naxk shop as we pass. he seems like he is a spectacle , like he’s become an old possession of that shop. Opposite him, a man dressed in white still as a stature almost merged in with the backdrop in his cake shop Stares out at the people passing wildly.  I smile, and get a curious surprised one back.
There’s fish markets, fruit markets, vegan stores, a giant Asian store cram packed full of an insane unimaginable quantity of everything for  cooking. Foods, saucnes, fortune cookies, drinks, rices etc., enormous shady isles, people wandering through them like there pillers packed to the brim, buldging with products.
….   We ate in a dreamy little vegan resutrant. Still prosessing the magical new world I entered.
Then back out to the cool shops in the new world and people everywhere.
It seems were making eye context as we pass, but I’m no doubt just a blur, virtually invisible to them.
 One guy I passed who I didn’t make eye contact with had a vibe about him, one of calm.
All streets looked the same. It was like we had gone back in time and had restarted walking were we were 10 minutes ago. And all this this time I’m imvisable.
Probably completely invisible.
 Off  to Newtown.
To Sutherland, and on to the train.
Its all a weird system, snaking through a wasteland , gravel pits , concrete walls swarmed full of graffiti.
All the way to redfern. Then off to another train. Then shortly after newtown. The sun was going down, it was early in the evening.
It was straight back into this game of walking down the streets past the people.
Pressure in the head, im walking head on into this spotlight, people seem confident, not awkward.
Its weird. Are we all just not aware of anything but ourselves. This is how we keep cool.
Im not in with the streets and ways it seems. I’m not ‘a to b, and look like I know what I’m doing while I’m doing it’.
No one cares about been seen.
But its  just that were all probably just a blur in our egos narrow field of vision. I seem like I’m doing it wrong. . we made it too the pizza shop. In we all go lined up like cattle, we talk to who we know , cars pass, motorbikes, constant traffic down the street. We go into the pizza shop, and I seem to have entered a stuffy little dream. Music is loud, staff are busy people flood in and take there tables. The lights are dim, low hanging light bulbs are above.
As the night goes on, dinner is served, its loud, and stuffy, I’m seated and my senses are pressed  by all the activity around me. Its choas.
Eventually we get up and leave, and back out onto the street.
Its an ordeal, the street life is relentless I’m feeling naked at times like I’m the centre of attention, my face is been criticized by the Masses. I probably also look unusual in the fact that I’m wearing sunglasses at 930 at night. Its a field day for an artist and an observer. A photographers dream.
Its a strong addictive drug probably for many.
Its a high octane adventure
A Sometimes thing for me.

masks by punk band slipknot


at night

It had been a while since my last visit to the cemetery.

Over the last few months, cemetery thoughts in the dark background of my mind were to starting to glow again.

Catching my interest. I wondered if they would eventually pull me in.

Last night driving up the coast i wondered a little more about if my cemetery visits were over. .

It was around midnight, through the night i drove, winding back down the coast.

Over the bridge into gerringong, a few grave thoughts here and there.

I suddnely had the thought to check out to make a left turn, thinking id end up at the beach a place i visited probably a decade ago but i didn’t end up at a beach.

I completely, expectedly, ended up at a graveyard.

It was a fairly large one, on a slope overlooking the sea. It was late so no one was around.

I got out and decided to take a look around.

Soon i was touching graves as i passed.

Looking into the grave stone examing the  smiling photo of the departed.

Some were docters, mothers, fathers, some were buried next to each other “together for eternity”.

I had a thought; “bridget”

Walked over to a grave and a women named bridget had died long ago in the early 1900s.

Just me walking communing with the dead.










was pitchforked into society at a young age where people blindy did there part as cog all good tho, because i could see through the fog. through the ruin, and the lane they put you in to work hard and buy yourself things work hard at school, earn a crust go to uni and leave them no hopers in the dust get a good car, wear the latest fashion stick to the latest trends and dont really pursue your passions talk like the others, walk like the others, be a sheep and walk to the beat of the drum on the street with your head up your ass of your own importance You may have gone to uni and now you have job your killing it in life mate, to me your just a knob. I dont make a lot of money, i have a shit car, even tho my first car was a mercedes benz worth 130 grand with leather interior, i bought it second hand. I did think i was into that shit, but i wasnt really, i was just a cleaner, a gentle dreamer that evenutally died in a sense, i left school and my anxiety grew and grew my depression was dark and i saw the world a new- place a shit faced enemy i was paranoid and bitter day after day in my bedroom i would lay infront of the computer watching porn, with a grey third eye i was rotting in my own sadness and astonshing anxeity about life. ………. It kind of crawled up on me, a pyschotic type event.. Which led to help, not that my mind was bent but i needed help.. I died in those years. Eventually giving birth to jiru im still thomas james rowe but im not as well. Im a complex animal, sensitive, Happy, unhappy, i fell so deep, and i managed to climb up out in to the light of day. and we have all done that. Im very much a fringe dweller now. more delicate, but more stronger than before

the station master

The gas station was home for Mick.
He was born into this commitment.
He felt time was this thing; a lonely stretch of dirt road that went on forever.
But it had to be done. It had to be driven.
Just like his father had done. Right to the very end.
It was a stale existence.
But the station needed its master.
Silence… A paralytic warmth inside Micks head, something he grew to depend on.
It wasn’t natural being in the same room each day.
Its painful. gruelling.
Mick was 25.
He was an energetic guy, a closet room eccentric.
He wore a grey a grey steel cap and when his father died he planned to wear a opal blue ear ring.
The station was on the outskirts of a strange little town.

the sky was forever blue, locals hunted foxes and ran piggeries.
The station sold gasoline, as well as generic car oils and diesel.
It also had a small porn section and a few grocery isles.
Dawn, till dusk, mick managed the station.
He took great pride in his work.
There he sat, behind the wooden counter on an old body- weathered stool.
He looked outside through the window
A wicked little wind was kicking up dust.
He observed it, it disappeared off down the street.

He could hear the footsteps of an ant,
the yelp of a car tyre burning rubber somewhere in town.
This was his world, and he was a master of it.

Fuck love

I hate how love hurts so bloody bad

Everything is perfect then your sad

There was a split in the road

The timing wasn’t right

Everything was so daffer so beautiful and bright

To hell with love

It will just hurt you in the end

To hell with it

Let’s fuck and just be friends.

I fell in love

And i dug a hole for myself.

And now I have but only memories and a deep longing for her


james tee

harry price

thorne davidson

moonlight clyde

matlida wormhood

gary the creep


30 days of writing.

Each day,  for 1 hour, for 30 days i will write.

DAY ONE.(Yesterday)

I walked to the creek in the hot summer heat. The road was hot and sticky. Dead straight, it seemed to go on forever. Paddocks were either side of it. There were very few trees on the landscape. My feet were burning on the bitumen. I started to jog, merging into hot pockets of air.

Far ahead i could see the large T intersection.

Left was bridee ridge. A place of gamblers and retired miners.

Right was the road to casson gorge.  An old gold mine once used in the 1950’s. Ran by the Japenese. I was now at the T-intersection. The breeze was whipping through the tall grass shapeshifting into a land animal.

I would take the right road up towards the goad mine. The gorge was but a check point to finding the cool water of the gentle flowing creek.

clouds were gloomy way over in the far corner of the sky. Resting above the dry shadowy peaks of mountains.

Ahead, the tarmac would turn to dirt. the road cut through a grass field and continued.

DAY 2.

“Whats your plans for tonight” ?I asked Jay.

“I think im gonna’ go back to Cartrights.”

“I’v been thinking about it all day. ”

“That place is odd.”

“Well, yeah, i said”. “Its a graveyard.”

“And its not odd, its spooky.”

“Why would you even want to go back there anyway ?”

Jay looked aat me slighty shocked.

“Why wouldn’t you? you dont think its wierd what happened?”

“The feeling you got from the place? The new grave, and the owl?

“You dont think that was at all wierd how it didn’t move  on his grave like that?”

“No”. I said bluntly”. “I dont”.

“Owls hunt at night. “It was probably there looking for food”.

“But it didn’t even bother to move!”. Jay said anxiously.

‘Even when i was eye to eye with it”.

“Iv never seen anything like that before”.

“Maybe it was protecting that mans grave?” “His soul?”

Maybe, it knows something about the person we dont?”

Who knows, maybe it wants..

I cut jay off before he went on with any more of his theories.

“Why are you looking into this so much”. I said.

It was probly just a tame owl.

“A tame owl?” Youv got to be kidding me!

I was over talking about it again.

“Anyway man, i said, whatever, im off to get some lunch, il see you up here after lunch alright.”

(Page missing)- jay cannot stop him self thinking about what happened. and the mans grave they had read.

The lunch line was a massive move. I lined up behind some 12 people. I began to think about the jay and the cemetery that night.

It did strike me odd how unusally persistant jay had been in talking about what happened last week at sir cartrights cemetery. Ever since then he had not shutup about it.

I tried to stick with the facts in my own head.

We went in there because it was something scary to do.

we ran through past the big old grave stones, each one did a have a perculair presence of its own. That i can say was a fact. It was a scary, but definatly cool place. For a little while anyway.

We then ran up towards the back, and came to, which must have been an old over grown part of the graveyard.

And then thats when we both saw a fresh, new grave stone, gleaming in the moonlight.

It shine caught our eye. What more was upon it

A small greyish owl was looking at us. It didnt seem scared, nor at all alarmed  that we were moving toward it.

We both had said we just wanted to read the stone, and see who had died and when.


The owl stood still. Its black orb like eyes were frozen, fixed on us both.

A few feet away we could start to see the carvings in the graves stone.

I didn’t think it was a good  idea  to keep hanging around it, so i told jay we should go back.

But he didnt seem to hear me he just kept moving closer to the owl.

Him and the owl looked at each other for a while in silence. Then jay began to read aloud what the stone said in an unusual tone.

G- martin


to 17-2017.

The owls eyes seem to glow a little bit darker once jay had read it out.

Then i said, “comon, lets get out of here man this is wierd”.

And thats what we did. We left, jay was quiet on the walk home to me.

Jay was sitting alone wit his back against the demountable. He thought hed have lunch here until his next lesson. Try and think a some more about what had happened.

He had tried, but he couldnt seem to get the owls figure out of his minds eye. It wasn’t kind. He felt uneasy and nervous.








dont touch the dog with a hand made of cheese


dont touch the window if your afraid of the breeze

the rifle of timber was bendy and soft

a maingey old dingo repairs a car cleaning cloth