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Baby Sparky Tradie Diary

An impermanent attempt at permanence.

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Showing posts from January, 2025

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good poetry

on January 11, 2025

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2.1.2024 egosyntatic

on January 01, 2025

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life is death 1.1.25

on January 01, 2025

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intimacy drown 1.1.25

on January 01, 2025

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Sisyphus 1.1.25

on January 01, 2025

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6 things I learned by clogging toilets

1. I have clogged 5 toilets in the last fortnight. My high protein low fibre diet is starting to bite me in the arse, literally. If you do the maths, that's 5 toilets in 10 business days. That's half a toilet a day. You can live a life of mediocrity till comes the day that you don't. So, never give up on yourself. 2. It takes a plumber 4 years to be fully qualified. They are also the highest paid trade in Australia, money well deserved for their expertise. It only took me 5 minutes to find a 7 dollar bahnmi from the dodgiest shop in Sunshine and I massacred an innocent toilet at the nearest shopping centre without even breaking a sweat. In conclusion, capitalism is my bitch. 3. The biggest reason why a toilet gets clogged is because of excessive wiping and too much paper in there. So the trick is to simply wait for the clogged water to do the trick and go down. Flushing again in 5 minutes (at your own risk), sometimes is the easiest solution. Patience is the best virtue in...

sunset soul 28.02.2024

When you look at another soul, Look at it like you do at the sun; As it sets over the hills, Beyond the gatherings, Beyond the grass. Look at it, Like you do, at the sun, With no doubt, Or suspicion, And with complete trust. Look at it with love, Look at it with kindness, For it could be you, Or your own, That you are Willingly staring at. When you hear another soul, Tether its strings, and sing; As it echoes against the hills, Among the gathering, Along the grass. Listen to it, Like you do, to a violin, With absolute trust, And faith, And with complete adoration. Listen to it with love, Listen, with kindness, For it could be you, Or your own, That you are Willingly, staring at. Baby Sparky

flamboyant spelt with extra letters

My co workers wants me to spell my name He just met me But he reckons I'm a good worker And wants me to keep working for them "Oh, your name is spelt so simple.. I thought surely there'll be some extra 'Z's and 'X's in there?" He tells me I make a joke to dissolve my discomfort. The joke goes over his head, just like the casual racism did with me. He laughs. I don't. I feel too sad to laugh. When I tell my coworker that I like to work with my hands, he tells me that he "does everything with his hands ... because [he's] divorced.." the same co worker sees my tongue piercing, he asks me if I have one on my genitals too. "I'm not hitting on you by the way", he later clarifies. "I'm just sexually harassing you.." he laughs. The irony thickens, when a couple hours later he says "oh, you are one of those flamboyant people" as he interrupts me singing Celine Dion to myself. I'm too sad to laugh. ...

truthful-self.30.04.2024

In my truthful self, I feel it all. Sadness and fear, Creeping and lingering like old friends, Or maybe even old strangers. With new and fresh dangers, To that very same, Truthful self, of mine. On my days off, I lie on the couch and eat chicken wings. I watch videos of people travelling the world on my TV, The uninhabitable places attract me. There're no white people there, No technology, No modern complexities and luxuries, And these indigenous people, Their alarming simplicities, And the subliminal surrender in that lifestyle captivates me. It compliments the luxurious life I live really well. The innocence of their naivities look so inspiring and surreal, On my 4k LED television. The alarm of my touchscreen airfryer blends in with the surround sound of the entertainment system. My chicken wings are ready. In my truthful self, I feel it all. I think I'm scared to be lonely I think I'd die without my social groups Without female validation Without sex And I contemplate t...

meaning

I'm terrified That all my fantasies are without meaning That all my cerebral contractions , lathered up in essential cognitive oils and sticks of neurons.. Are without meaning and sense, That my naivity is irrational, And that my innocence is insane. I'm terrified. I'm scared shitless that my expectations of all euphoria is without strength, And without the courage that I need to face life, Without any potential of success, and manhood. I'm so scared, That if I were to hold your hand, That I'll fall apart, That they will hit us both with rocks and stones, And lightning and hell fire For no reason at all, Neither moral, nor just, And im so scared, That we are both so foolish enough, To still want to do so, Again, and again, and again. Xx baby sparky

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