Ethan Switch - Tuesday, April 10, 2007 - 23:52:25 - print it raw
Crack a splat of chocolate on the roads, it's another collection of tin foil, body wraps and the crunch of bones on the nation's bitumen strips. As Easter brings with it a time of reflection and the nudging of the slumber after three days in the dark, it's high time to remember where the score really matters. Of blood and broken guts with an increase this year in the number to pop a collar to jut at a round alphabet 26 for the whole of Australia.
Starting Victoria and Australia strong, a cyclist makes good on the spinning of his wheels and of life into death as he smears a mark as the first on the board. Others follow and even the lay over into a hospital was good enough for the numbers of Victoria to nab an impressive 10, seven over that of last year's paltry showing.
Read the rest of Easter road toll pockets a hole in the rise up from last year
Ethan Switch - Wednesday, April 4, 2007 - 23:05:09 - print it raw
Filthy scatters in the brush, with the severed hand flopping about ready to land in the bowl of dirt soup at the edge of the group. With a step and a pace quick to the beat of misery, she hands out the dead meat like a dwarf running up a hill made of marshmallow.
Her mere presence is the stuff of legend, reading off the cues and visions of others before to determine her mark and her bite. What she brings, nobody wants, nobody needs, nobody cares for. She is the bringer of death and his sickly bed, pus filled with the sheets encrusted in void sperm.
Read the rest of Whispering at everything she brings
Ethan Switch - Wednesday, March 28, 2007 - 23:42:54 - print it raw
Scrubbing a dub version, they rub and snub the wet ones, the weak ones, the ones what have ears sticking out the wazoo. No ears to hear them get off with their heads and off their heads.
Out cold on the ground, where the cracks in the soil leave much to be buried. Between the plates, inside the inches to take hands off at the wrist, a blackness where the void is only as deep as the thought of going home.
Read the rest of Bathroom floors are clean on the mountainside
Ethan Switch - Wednesday, March 21, 2007 - 23:35:00 - print it raw
Dragging both heels as the legs fight against the grain, exertion to exhaustion lets out a whimpering fart. Smearing the odour of faith from the mouth of the rear and the fungus of fear turns out a meager bag of paper. A carrier holding onto the last remnants of toe nails ditched high into the lob of the camp fire.
Awe is out but for the respect of knowing the difference between the sleeping, the comatose and the gradually dying. Where the line crosses starts with the beat of the heart, softer and softer to the point of no return.
Read the rest of End up face down in the road
Ethan Switch - Wednesday, March 14, 2007 - 23:51:42 - print it raw
Delirium rings the bell that shatters the moist underlay. Soggy from the marsh, and sopping in the dissent of dry dock, the day is raw with a shine that leaves salt under the flaps of the eyelids. Caustic, itching, and slightly disturbing to the touch, it's a case of finding the right angle of vision to cast the gaze upon.
Across the water of the standing pool, where the wash of meat and feet gather to clump a mighty fine resource for dysentery, a skimming of the supply is enough to move about the foreigners from the eyes. Nice enough for the effect, its very application is a sore point. Smooth and sticky flowing free from the continued application of curiousity.
Read the rest of Watching, reflecting, scraping these smiles
Ethan Switch - Wednesday, March 7, 2007 - 23:54:41 - print it raw
Fresh from baking under the morning sun, energy flows a quick and meaningful pace as the blackness sets unexpectedly across the field of vision. At once a blind proposition facing the curve in the stream and the instantaneous snap back gawping at the heavens, parched of the flavourless nectar.
Crick two three and a slip of the tongue catches a throttle, heavy in might with all sorts of thrust. Black covers slowly, loudly and the crowd sits in awe, wondering and taking notes on where to take the next day.
Read the rest of Putting lost heads in jars down endless stairs
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