I had 1 stubby watching the footy last night,
but woke up with the self-loathing,
grasping for the memories of 'what did i say? Did i really do that?', hoping i dont find them,
as if id had 20 stubbies.
such was the emotion i invested in The Dees.
my feelings for clayton oliver were very impure.
i feel a bit like i imagine youde feel if you root your mates wife.
the strangness of 2021 rolls on.
im even feeling grateful to steve hocking and chris scott,
for giving me a reason to hate so hard.
it brings real meaning to a hollow september,
a false spring.
from a withered tree, a blossum