the Ten Cent Dinner Party

Sinking Spaceships

My life is just a collection of poorly made decisions with alternative music playing in the background. Some bass drops you just feel in your soul, you know?

Cosmic Gateway

Look, sir.  Look, sir.  Mr. Knox, sir.
Let's do tricks with bricks and blocks, sir.
Let's do tricks with chicks and clocks, sir.

First, I'll make a quick trick brick stack.
Then I'll make a quick trick block stack.
You can make a quick trick chick stack.
You can make a quick trick clock stack.

New socks.
Two socks.
Whose socks?
Sue's socks.

Who sews whose socks?
Sue sews Sue's socks.
Who sees who sew whose new socks, sir?
You see Sue sew Sue's new socks, sir.

That's not easy, Mr. Fox, sir.

When tweetle beetles fight, 
it's called a tweetle beetle battle.
And when they battle in a puddle, 
it's a tweetle beetle puddle battle.

AND when tweetle beetles battle with paddles in a puddle, 
they call it a tweetle beetle puddle paddle battle.
AND when beetles battle beetles in a puddle paddle battle 
and the beetle battle puddle is a puddle in a bottle
they call this a tweetle beetle bottle puddle paddle battle muddle.
AND When beetles fight these battles in a bottle with their paddles 
and the bottle's on a poodle and the poodle's eating noodles
AND they call this a muddle puddle tweetle poodle beetle noodle 
bottle paddle battle.

Fox in socks, our game is done, sir.
Thank you for a lot of fun, sir.

The Fox

The entire month of October is like the Sunday evening of the year where you think you have your shit together but at 11pm you realise that there’s school tomorrow and your shit is completely not together at all.

Chaos

When the day breaks down, the beats can stitch me together.
The cracks in my skin have a story, the words pour out,
They drip and land at my feet, waiting for me to assemble them.
On the days the beating of my heart isn’t enough, this is what keeps me alive.

A Concept: you and the person you’re in love with wake up next to each other on a Sunday morning.
You give sleepy kisses and curl up next to them as the sun pours in from the window. 
You are an aperture through which the universe is looking at and exploring itself.

I love you in a language that I don’t speak, with words that don’t yet exist.

Concept Art

The seagulls know you have fish and chips, they can hear the rustling of the paper. The seagulls begin to gather. One lands next to you. You throw the bird a chip. You look down, blood pours from your hand. The bird flies off with your finger. 

Your train is coming in ten minutes. Your train is coming in two minutes. Your train is coming in twenty-three minutes. A train moves through the station, driverless and empty. Your train is coming in ten minutes.

There’s a man playing bagpipes on Princes Bridge. There’s a man playing bagpipes at Flinders Street Station. You can hear them from your office. You wake in the night; they’re coming from your living room. 
Your friend suggests a Macca’s run, but you can’t move. Your legs have turned to lead. It approaches. 

You topped up your MYKI online. It will take two days to process. You begin to grow weaker. The MYKI glows in your hand. The process has begun. 

There are roadworks on the Monash freeway. The signs flash at you menacingly in the night; they suggest a detour. You take the detour, but nobody follows. You don’t know this route. The lines on the road disappear, your radio turns to static. You don’t have to look in your rear-view mirror to know that it’s there. It waits. 

Everyone keeps talking about the cool new bar. Everyone has been there. You ask where it is, but no one can answer. But everyone insists you must go. You ask how to get there, but everyone is vague. Everyone has been there. You are the only one who has not. The only one left. You run. 

You wait for the tram, but a bus approaches. The driver tells you that there’s track works. You get on the bus. The driver exits; he shuts the door. You hear something at the back of the bus, but the bus is empty. The sound moves closer. The driver never returns. 

Your footy team is losing. They’re always losing. The draft brings new players, but they disappear. The footy record lists players that you vaguely remember; where are they? You attend the next match, your team has no men on the bench. You bite in to your meat pie and crunch down on something hard. You spit out a wedding ring, it gleams in your hand. More players disappear. 

You sit in Hoddle Street traffic. Four lanes are at a standstill. There’s a man in the car in front of you. You check your watch. You glance up at the man, he has a family now. How long have you been here? The seasons change. Your engine rusts. Your wife is waiting at home. Isn’t she?

Melbourne Gothic

Walking home from the club in a post-jagerbomb haze, where the streets are empty and the traffic lights are changing of their own accord, even though there are no cars. You don’t know which way home is, but you don’t really mind, because the cool air is hitting your face and just walking is enough. You’re floating but you’re also on solid ground each foot touches the pavement. It’s quiet and there’s a stillness in silence, but you’ve lost your voice anyway. You don’t deal well with spoken words, anyway. The only language you’ve ever been fluent in is silence.

The traffic light turns red, and you stop and look both ways, anyway. There’s no-one around, but it feels somehow illegal not to wait for the little green man. And he comes, like he always does, the pedestrian light sets the tempo to guide you towards home.

Saturday Night Lights

A counterweight is a weight that, by exerting an opposing force, provides balance and stability of a mechanical system. Its purpose is to make lifting the load more efficient, which saving energy and alleviating the original burden. When one of us is crumbling, the other is stable and constant. You’re not my better half, as I exist as a complete whole all on my own.

They say every atom in our bodies was once a star. 
Maybe I’m not running, maybe this time I’m going home.

Maybe the stars are crossed for us, but physics says we belong together.

Counterweight - A Love Song From The Stars

I’m balancing the weight of the world on my shoulders, I didn’t put it there, I don’t want it to be there.

Thank you for being patient with me as I rebuild my skeleton by each exhausted bone.
I know you like the back of my hand, I hope you find the happiness that you’ve been pretending to have. I don’t want to forget: I want to be okay with remembering.

When I imagine being free of all this, I imagine being on a jagged cliff or clear mountain and screaming every unholy word left in my body. I imagine all the hate runs out. My lungs drain out all the nightmares and visions. I clear myself of everything that terrifies me. And I cry, a lot. And in that moment, I bury everything in that mountain and walk away.

Atlas

Groovy, baby, groovy. Forget RnB Fridays, flashback to funk with famous falsetto of Barefoot Spacemen's Aaron Cutter and flirtatious flute from last Friday's full day funtimes.

"The purple disco emoji, personified." - Daily Telegraph

More coming soon from EJ. 🤙🤙

Hilltop (ft. Aaron Cutter)

The jams that I want to listen to don't exist so I make them up. 

Eloise Jayne (EJ)