The Lucubratory Collaboratory » Amelia Filmer-Sankey Sat, 01 Mar 2014 11:57:01 +0000 en-US hourly 1 This Blue Earth Planet Fri, 03 May 2013 09:12:34 +0000 The things we play with on the surface of this blue earth planet
Are crystal rocks for looking through
Are melted sand-glass jars for holding liquids in
Are fermenting fruits and clocks for counting cogs
and each others’ rhythms and tunes.
Some times we can catch hold of these knots of existence,
see them sewn into a line of a song
a glance of an eye, a smile or stare.


Hold them to your chest and let them beat there against you
pump their tune, through your blood and through your body,
let them move the single cells inside you who organise themselves
into organs and thoughts for the ringing of bells.
Hold these tunes to your ear, press the glass jar and thin tin lid
close enough to listen to this whirling, suspended
in this moment, that we all are alive enough to hear.


The things we play with on the surface of this blue earth planet
Are threaded thoughts for weaving together words and worlds
about being creatures subject to believing and sleeping,
finding and needing, destroying and keeping.
The things we play with on the surface of this blue earth planet
Are molecules for breathing in and eating.
We take up, recreate, discover, alter, change and make space
on the surface of this sphere
all the time wondering about the cogs of ourselves,
and the keys of the others who inhabit this blue earth planet.

]]> 0
Riddled Reality — Sans Sanus Tue, 19 Mar 2013 09:10:09 +0000 My spine is made of stones
lined up in single, smoothed, grey pebble file.
My stomach is hollowed out
an empty cavity in a tree.
My eyes are morphine
blind with bubbles bursting behind them in
my sandpit mind.
I dig until my nails get gritty
finding treasures, fossils, toy soldiers
and bottle caps, silver thin and glinting in the afternoon sun.
My hands graze and strain
digging up the black box
which, locked inside, stores the secret,
a small, blunt, heavy gun.


Legs drunk on the scrambled time
Move, stumble-run, without me.
They stagger together
taking me places before I have thought to go.
I have been hungry for so long
I have forgotten how to taste
how to think about the bigger smaller things
I have forgotten how to wonder about the waves
and weather.
I have been tired so long I have forgotten
how to dream when I sleep.
I awake now immediately with the dawn
crawling out of my hideout in the bough
of high up trees.


My mouth is dry with flies
and I keep repeating days
circling between visions of past and present
I lose which hour is now and which was then
I have broken out of tense and
speak in broken sentences to myself
I do not laugh out loud.
And my hands are rough with wire.


I am alone and those who do not want me
walk the city streets.
My hair has grown and my body cleans itself
incompletely. But I do not have the
strength or energy to notice smell.
I must follow the instructions.
How long has it been now?
Days or years alone?
But I cannot break, I cannot let go.
I must work, protect, stay alert and
vigilant, not let myself get hurt
keep myself awake and with it
away from other visions and words
I must remember to remind myself that
this is the only,
This. Is. The. Only. Real World.


Dehydrated days and signals and secret messages
of salvation left hidden in places
where other eyes might not see them:
curled in leaves, that align only in the
breeze at the right time, from the right angle.
Written almost as though by chance
in the scrawl of a bark
bitten out by grubs and ants
I must stay awake and not miss any signs
That may help me close in on their reality.


I will chase those voices who always rearrange
sticks just ahead and around the corner
pointing towards doorways I would otherwise
choose not to enter.
I will obey their signs if only to meet their challenges
and confront their form.
I will struggle on to show them that I am stronger
then they who visit in my sleep and
change the realities around me.


I will stay awake I will stay away from the wrong reality
I will stay strong and sane.
I will learn to tell the real from the fake,
I will struggle on in silence but not in vein,
I will stay awake
I will do what I must to stay awake
I will cure the hurt and wrongs of this world one riddle at a time
I will stay awake
I will take as much as I can take.
As long as I can just stay awake.

]]> 0
#Revolution! Sun, 17 Mar 2013 09:09:13 +0000 We fuck the system man

we fuck it through our LCD enhanced visions.

Take your positions, falling into pose for

various petition missions

turning up our nose,

We fuck it up like this:

Click click click!

To your indecisions

We’re taking down the empires and

Roaring as the dissent grows.

There goes, New-Rome, the US and old Great Britain

collapsing into the dust

coalescing into the hands of us;

one online opinion at a time.

Have you got yours, – ‘cos I got mine.


Down down down!

go the barriers,

the colonial lines, are disintegrated into pixilated

shrines of antique tumblr reminiscence

hung drawn and quartered clones

now kitsch in their antithesis.


We’re taking down down down!

The walls of the old masters with

photographs and videos on our mobile phones.

Suddenly resistance has risen in an instant and

Berlin, border-security and the banks are ours,

won with button mashing passion,

the power of reblogging until 3 in the morning

And the persistence to ignore

personal hygiene and a corporate– Friendly

online personas.


Pow pow power!

We’re looking at the bigger picture now

On our higher resolution screens

We’re kidnapped social media

and we’ve spiked your dreams

we’ve got no end goal yet

but we’ve already stolen the means.

Medaling with transmision of cilycon scenes:

with witty captions we’ve crashed and crunched,

jammed and flunked consumer cultures,

we’ve sunk the signal ship and

spammed the vultures.


We get strip-searched

and we delete our internet history.

We write forums and we

dissolve the mysteries of physics,

essay questions and music genres

one open-source Wikipedia page at a time.


Down down down loading

the letters that connect us

into collective consciousness

cascades of critical clicks and

networks exploding like fireworks

blinding servers and online services.


Reblog, repeat, skip letters, delete.

Share, refresh, splurg, retweet,

confess, converge, but never end sess-ion.

This revolution is up to your anonymous

proxy server’s discretion

So stay on, whatever you do, stay online.


We have pow pow power! We the boys and girls

who take

Down down down!

the censorships (who hoisted their sails

and once fired cannons into the sea of surfed urls)

now exterminated

information barring now terminated

corporate cookies now confiscated,

and the end of power trips taken

as they anchored

their ways into our

pirate bays and on line islands.


Pow pow power! Has fallen to us in just hours

As we steal back the social sovereignty to

intellectual commons property that was never ceded.

Pow pow power!

Stolen through signal scrambling of specialized

Outsourced, enforced, work

monopolies profiting from information poverty.


Now we are the ones

Seizing synthesis of the simulacra

Simulating situations to satisfy

stimulation-saturated dial up dilations

We are the ones making our own

kitten gifs and photoshoped imaginations.


Pow pow power!

Taken from towers who monitored and

trademarked our time

Imposed ads until they restrict minds

Forcing us into broadband attention spans

That have now lost their patience


Down Down Down!

go internet spines who Copy-Righted lines,

filled instead with

Creative and critical information watersheds.

quoting Chomsky, Swartz, Galliano, Assange,

and our favourite porn movies.


Because we have won:

Sprung the leak of intellectual property

Sharing the no longer privately owned

digitization of our own DNA,

and plant genes that are part of us, not patents.

Reorientating flows of information

We are the active mimetic generation

discovering direction

Now now now!

we take back government schemes

storing secrets about war zones, torture or chemical agents

and we dissolve them

one online action at a time,

one nocturnal night at a time

one online life at a time.

Have you got yours – cos I sure got mine.

]]> 0
Parentheses Sat, 02 Mar 2013 09:07:47 +0000 Sunrises Sunsets.

Old songs, hanging out with other people’s pets.

Solved problems, stolen groceries.

Not being on the internet

alone again at 2am.

Dancing until you break the heel off your

favourite boots, until you break into sweat;

until no one else is left

on the dance floor beside you

except for you, and you, and you, daggy music

and the light of the 4am full moon.



Warm afternoon bike rides beside friends

winding through suburbs between

group-house, dirty-dish in sink, dens.

People in Pyjamas still at 5pm.



People gentle with one another’s love;

giving and keeping gifts of collaboration

tangled in the sheets of other people’s ideas,

time, stories and beds.

Swimming out behind the waves

that roll and break on other swimmers’  heads;

lifting, your body away from the centre of the earth

up towards a belt of stars;

the milky-girth of the swirling




Sex followed by scrambled eggs.

The wicked grin that comes from drinking other people’s gin.

Everybody’s’ cooking,

and all of the legs -

because it’s not your fault for noticing that

everyone is just so good looking.

A dance in the pasta isle at the supermarket,

not caring if there’s anyone that’s going to stare,

while your housemates

grab the eggs, detergent, party cups and camembert

three isles up.



Open eyes and open irises

Open minds pulsing with idea viruses -

Curiosity catching on like an enquiry

inspiring contagion.



Climbing on sculptures,

getting naked at the Carillion.

All your friends

swimming and splashing beside you

with the lake burley bends:

flashing cyclists and buses,

public servants and politicians

on the way home from work.



Being on the internet

alone again at  2am.



Old friends, new faces.

Back yard music and singing at the sky

to let it know that we don’t care

if we can’t get shelter from its rain,

We don’t care if it is going to pour down upon us

again and again and again,

and make us cold, because we have

hot drinks, dancing and whisky at home.



Smiling at strangers, hands in hands

and hands through hair.

And then:

Howling at the moon.

Howling at cars.

Howling at anything until

you’re left wondering what kind of

dog, or chimp or animal you are.



Falling asleep with the world spinning the feet

off the end of your bed.

Awaking to wonder about the adventures

As they slowly mosaic their way back into your

unwieldy head.

Waking to walk the mountain,

starting all over again,

with its sunrises and sunsets.

]]> 0
There needs to be a Twist to This // Buy me a Beer Sun, 24 Feb 2013 09:08:38 +0000 Let’s create the complete discipline

to look at what’s around us and understand it

perfectly: thorough through both theory and reality.
But importantly, let’s remember to keep the text books thin.

let’s begin with history, but forget the emphasis on

individuals, and varying philosophies,

let’s get scientific with our social theories,
applying deductive methodologies;

have tangible, quantifiable, calculatetable problems
to test our queries.

Let’s not do a, holy-grail scale quest, series of interviews,
attempting to establish a multiplicity of intrinsic truths
trying to reconstruct ‘that which was

my, your, his, her, their our interpretation of

what was once written, then translated,

recontextualised and obliterated before it was

requested and contested by the hegemon’ and then
‘reconstructed by a prophet pertaining to a particular political imagination’.

Who then did nothing to realise  that they

were sewing words against the wise just to get a pension.

Let’s get rid of that tension.

Let’s get through this with physics

applied to politics and serious statistics
studying the way societies tick.

Let’s not dick around with creating a dialogue, open ended,

no normative (or radical) values intended,

no implicit, assumed, designated or pre-consumed agenda.

Let’s get some data that doesn’t need

a lecturer who’s role is not as teacher,
but as imperfect-information defender.

And for heaven’s sake: Let’s save a bit of paper,
write some truly axiomatic stuff so we can forget about expiry dates

And oh man: I cannot wait until we’re in a work space where
we’re not swayed by the publisher’s gender.


Let’s not let this get distended

but hey, I think my manifesto just ended.


Because as much as I wish it could go undefended:

these knotted threads and hashed ends of cables – carrying

information feed back loops through terrain and time -

processing, and failing to, transcend the bends

of our Chinese whispers with the world:

Our imperfect extrapolation

of ideas, generated in responses to our

ever morphing environments.

As much as I wish it could go undefended so we could

say that class had ended after this next chapter

of equations about people steady,
and invariable in what ever series of situations.

The world cannot be cemented –

it is erratic in it’s static character.

And we are the self-conscious actor given

chaos’ as our grey matter

we spoke ourselves into existence

my grey matter, the mandelbrot set

and your grey matter, the universe.

We are the grey matter that is the blend

of white noise and black text

on a television set and any given page of the internet.

We are chaos who wraps its coat tales around its

old, over grown stomach, bloated and coughing from

diseased varicose veins of dilated distribution,
and displacement pollution.

And we are the music that sputnik-splutters,
rupturing, away from Earth’s own face,
we sing the thin inter-planetary whistle of

shuttle symphonies from a blip-blip-blip in A key,

surveying cold war hostilities from space,

to a cacophony of the intermixing melodies of

us, of you, of them, we the human race.

we are the static noise of the biochemical, biological

philosophical, historical, present and past tense.

And as much as I try – I cannot combine

all of these diverging lines of enquiry,

wiring realities in different directions,

across dimensions of mind – and find

a single unifying way to analyse that which makes

this grey matter, and that blue world, whirl,

and makes any simple sense.

]]> 0
Crocodile Canberra Sun, 24 Feb 2013 09:04:54 +0000 Canberra’s funny flat-black,
mushroom topped
mountain mingled

tree lined streets

coated in thin-black, thin-black tarmac.

See we, canberra community,

smoking in what, I don’t know
ash, fires, fumes and tobacco,
always go back this way
along the cycle path.
Along, Barry drive,

along northbourne avenue,

along the roads curling and alive with

tired tyres

Thin-black thin-black breath in
convincing grin
suck in suck in smoke.

Exhale thinly, breathing easy, wheezy
between Burley Griffin’s water borne disease.

Squatted down between prime minister’s knees

we open the cabinet up to the air
and suck in suck in

wheezy mountain dust carried in breazily.

And it beginnings:

the thin-black thin-black tarmac

begins to crack

it calluses into tiles of crocodile skin

and the walls that keep us in from the

cold mountain air –

fracture as the roads around us rupture -

and the land, the vertebrae of mountain line

velveted in vegetation

starts to sway, swishing and creasing into a spine.
Here comes the ancient alligator rapture.

Morphing into a crocodile, monster with

a snapping smile,

emerging from the mud, coming up.

Has had enough of our

electricity our needles of street lights

digging in every night like

electrofide acupuncture.

The earth erupts

and claws drag themselves, first legs with stumps
then other lumps of a being bigger than us,
out of our surrounds out of the grounds

we’ve shaved into gardens, tamed into

artificial lakes.
with thin-black thin-black eyes

who have had enough.

And the monster begins to shake.

]]> 0
Photographs Mon, 18 Feb 2013 09:04:21 +0000 Faces built like houses

along a crooked street.

Nestled in

beside out feet.

Houses built like faces

to a suburban beat

looking out

window eyes greet

our tires as we ride

along a crooked street.

]]> 0
Kurtz of the Kitchen Sun, 27 Jan 2013 09:00:31 +0000 “Have the decency to ask.

You understand – everything you take from that fridge – you take from my childrens’ hands.
Don’t get me wrong. If you’re good to me. I’m fucking good as family to you. You need this place for a birthday, a function, we’ll book it out for you. You smile at the customers. Do what you’re told, I pay you on time. You fuck me around, take sick days,  I won’t pay you. You can go to hospital – Taihnah went to hospital to get a hip operation last year – I let her go. I’m good to yah, you fucking tell me what ward you’re in when you go though. I’ll send you flowers. I’ll come and see yah make sure I see ya. I don’t want no one sicking out on me.


If I catch you talking to your friends, I’ll tell ‘em to fuck off. You will hear those words coming out of my mouth. Fuck off.


If I ask for a coffee. That’s what I want to get. My coffee. Pretty fucking simple right.  I come first. Doesn’t matter who you’re serving, you make me my coffee. Frank’s coffee.  You all been trained how to make my coffee right? Doesn’t matter who’s in line. When Kevin Rudd came to campus last year, he asked where to go, and he was told here. You know why, because everyone knows this is the place you go. He lined up. I had my coffee before his. I met him he said ‘you a Liberal supporter are you?’ I said ‘damn right I’m a liberal voter! I’m the one who fucking got John Howard in!’ doesn’t matter who’s in line – you make Frank’s coffee first.


I might be an arsehole. I come in in the morning, I’m fucking tired, been here since midnight the night before. I’m grumpy as shit. You can call me that after hours, but you don’t call me arsehole behind the counter though – you call me sir or boss. Alex – finally got her name only took me what Tiahnnah, six weeks? – Alex got it this morning I came in, told her what to do, she said ‘fine’ you know why she said fine, because I’m paying her. She’s got the right attitude.


I’m not all arsehole though. I’m a good fucking boss. I’ll look after you. You need anything, I mean anything, I’ll help you with it. I’m the person to ask, I’ve got friends. I’ll take you out on boats on the lake. I got a friend with a big yacht, we went out there last year, had a party, I might even take you to the Gold Coast for a training session. We go shopping, you can get whatever you want. Ain’t that right T, got you a Prada bag last year. Yeah. She’s all upset cos her boyfriend wouldn’t get her a Prada bag. I said, isn’t it your birthday soon? She said, yeah, so? I said let’s get you a bag. Ok so she was happy to get any nice bag right, I took her to Prada and I said pick whatever you want. If you’re good to me I’ll look after ya.


I treat you like I treat my family. You give to me, I’ll give ten times to you. You do long hours here, don’t fuck me around with leave, you can come to Sydney with us for training. Same token, you treat me bad I’ll treat you ten times as fucking bad. I work like a fucking dog to support my family so I walk in at night, I dump my jeans on the floor where I take them off my wife says can’t I put them in the washing basket. I’ll leave them where I fucking take them off.  I’ll take you to Sydney, get you whatever you want if you work hard for me. You rip me off though, and you’ll wish you’d never been born. Ain’t that right T’. Who was the last girl we found out had been giving free coffee to her friends eh? Fired her on the spot. In front of everyone, didn’t pay her for her last two weeks. But you know what the customers they love that drama don’t they. That’s what they come here for. The drama and the girls. Last week I wanted my coffee right – I say to Tiahnah – ‘Frank’s coffee!’ – you know what she says to me – she says – ‘does that come with a please?’. I went in to that kitchen I got the biggest fucking plate I could find – and I threw if from there – you see near the kitchen door on that side of the room – to that wall. You know what happened it smashed and bounced off the fridge and hit her on the leg didn’t it T? The whole queue was watching too. Mouths open like this. They loved it. They were saying to her ‘you know that’s harassment right?’ you know what she said ‘let me get him his coffee first’. There ain’t no such thing as harassment.


They love it. They come here for it. They don’t come here for the food or the coffee. The food’s bad and twice as expensive as next door – how much is a lasagne next door? $6? It’s $11.80 here. And they don’t come here for the coffee, the coffee’s shit. They come here for the drama. And they come here cos they get a girl with everything they order. All female staff notice that? I even tried to get a female fucking chief. Beautiful girl right. But a lesbo. Such a fucking waste.”

]]> 0
Take A Look At You Sun, 27 Jan 2013 08:59:57 +0000 This man without eyes
I dunno
He just doesn’t have ‘em.
He searches the skies with
A radio wave length
Leans against a back yard fence
Woven in wire
And says that our thoughts are like fish
That don’t swim very far
Distract by things
Here we forget to search far
Further furthest worth it
Mind and heart beat drum works it.
We run round in circles or on cycles
In gyms
Running running running our guts down thin
While the man without eyes
I dunno
He just doesn’t have ‘em
Leans on a fence
Sits in the park
Listens and touches the skin of the sounds:
the wind in the grass
the early, the hungry the late bird call and dog bark.
And says
I didn’t choose this
I didn’t choose this -
And says
That we listen to
Things without purpose
Tin words about loss
By a young person in service with a rose and a cross
on days where we line up to pay
homage to heritage
built on the bravery of broken bones,
on the slinging of shots and stones
into other brother’s homes
for the purpose of -
We didn’t choose this.
We didn’t choose this.
Distracted by things here
We forget to search far
Further furthest worth it.
Mind and heart beat drum works it.
Listening to stories and songs
One sided no wonder we fight it
And people died did no one stop
to sit and wonder
or just stand and
try to untie this?
At which point did hope become misguided?
This man without eyes
I dunno
He just doesn’t have ‘em,
He says our minds
are like leaves
In autum changing colour
when different seasons come
Falling and flitting in breezes
Where are the reasons?
He says we believe what others say
more than is needed.
When I heard him say
‘I didn’t chose this’
I believed it.

]]> 0
Fractal Sun, 27 Jan 2013 08:58:26 +0000 We try to predict.

We try to predict.

We rationalise, using historical eyes

staring backwards

trying to sew smoke into

narratives that are

component parts

finding common motivations in

politics and art.

And they’re true



mind wanderdings

empirical sensations.

Until the next wave

breaks though the fog

of time, of history, of war

and we believe

the next mechanical

breakdown of the

compound world.

The next component cog

in the integrated


of fractals.

]]> 0