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thecharliefolder:

These were the rewards for my hardwork of fan-mailing. The Culkin headshot is still in the frame that hung on my wall in Ballarat. Sure it looks like the signature was rubber stamped on by an intern at his agents (possibly a younger Culkin sibling?) But I didn’t mind. Nor did I mind that Bart thought I was a young girl called Tammi. They were still my pals. Sadly, no Charlie to make the trifecta complete. 

thecharliefolder:

This is the folder where i collected all things Charlie Sheen.  My handwriting has not improved. 

thecharliefolder:

This is the folder where i collected all things Charlie Sheen.  My handwriting has not improved. 

thecharliefolder:

This is a photocopy of the one panel from Mad Magazine’s ‘Fearless Buller’s Day Off (issue #268) a parody of a ‘Ferris Bueller’s Day Off’ where Mr Sheen features. I can remember being pretty excited when I found that Mad had included Charlie’s scene. 

thecharliefolder:

This is a photocopy of the one panel from Mad Magazine’s ‘Fearless Buller’s Day Off (issue #268) a parody of a ‘Ferris Bueller’s Day Off’ where Mr Sheen features. I can remember being pretty excited when I found that Mad had included Charlie’s scene. 

thecharliefolder:

This is a drawing of the headshot and autograph I desperately wanted. I’m not sure what motivated me to spend more time on some drawings over others, but this one has the steady penmanship of a ten year old with nothing worth watching on tv.  

this is a story about praying late at night that your headache is a tumor. 

this is a story about praying late at night that your headache is a tumor. 

while you are sleeping we have snuck out and stolen everything.  everything that is beautiful, we have taken and hidden. everything that  is ugly we have taken and hidden. we took it all and now it’s ours. when  you wake. you will not understand ANYTHING.

while you are sleeping we have snuck out and stolen everything. everything that is beautiful, we have taken and hidden. everything that is ugly we have taken and hidden. we took it all and now it’s ours. when you wake. you will not understand ANYTHING.

and i saw him again last night, while i was trying to get to sleep. his face washed past like a cloud. like the ultrasound. i desperately wanted him to look up towards me, but he didn’t. he couldn’t. and i lay there making a deal with god. that if i could stay awake all night, that he’d be okay. but i fell asleep. and when i woke up i’d first thought i’d forgotten, but i hadn’t. and the fear and the pain poured down on me again.

and i saw him again last night, while i was trying to get to sleep. his face washed past like a cloud. like the ultrasound. i desperately wanted him to look up towards me, but he didn’t. he couldn’t. and i lay there making a deal with god. that if i could stay awake all night, that he’d be okay. but i fell asleep. and when i woke up i’d first thought i’d forgotten, but i hadn’t. and the fear and the pain poured down on me again.

we woke up just on time. we learnt nothing from the dreams we could remember and laughed at the ones we forgot. despite pretending we cared, we didn’t put effort into being effortless. we had earned nothing from nobody. not the slightest bit of respect or admiration. 
we took what we wanted. we muttered to ourselves and it all made sense. we climbed on roofs and ignored the stars. we looked down and the world and decided it was ours. we ran like clouds across the moon. we howled like wolves in our lungs when we would stop. but we did not stop. at least not when we could be seen. we would never stop. the dark was to hide us, the moon so our silhouettes could live. the cold was to cool us. we would vanish into the dark and steal the night. we flew and we laughed. 
everybody was dead. everything was not ours to have. we took everything.

we woke up just on time. we learnt nothing from the dreams we could remember and laughed at the ones we forgot. despite pretending we cared, we didn’t put effort into being effortless. we had earned nothing from nobody. not the slightest bit of respect or admiration.

we took what we wanted. we muttered to ourselves and it all made sense. we climbed on roofs and ignored the stars. we looked down and the world and decided it was ours. we ran like clouds across the moon. we howled like wolves in our lungs when we would stop. but we did not stop. at least not when we could be seen. we would never stop. the dark was to hide us, the moon so our silhouettes could live. the cold was to cool us. we would vanish into the dark and steal the night. we flew and we laughed.

everybody was dead. everything was not ours to have. we took everything.

for christmas one year i bought her the same perfume that my ex-wife had. on nights that she wore it, i loved her more

for christmas one year i bought her the same perfume that my ex-wife had. on nights that she wore it, i loved her more

it’s rare for good news to ever change you with the strength that bad news can.

it’s rare for good news to ever change you with the strength that bad news can.

the closest thing he got to a shower was a KFC moist towelette

the closest thing he got to a shower was a KFC moist towelette

Brian always liked my blue Ralph Lauren shirt best, I wore it to his funeral, then I never wore it again. I gave all those clothes to the salvation army.

Brian always liked my blue Ralph Lauren shirt best, I wore it to his funeral, then I never wore it again. I gave all those clothes to the salvation army.

outside. a dog running across the backs of sheep. the dust blowing, rising to try to live like clouds. i lost my hat as we rode our bikes past the cattle yards, but i wasn’t worried, i knew it’d show up again (it didn’t)
inside. a large buzzing blowie, rolled and bounced along the window sill like a sultana that thought it was a spring.
at home. checking the letterbox too early and closing the open gate.
the sun is always setting and to my eyes i don’t know that is rises. it’s not my childhood.

outside. a dog running across the backs of sheep. the dust blowing, rising to try to live like clouds. i lost my hat as we rode our bikes past the cattle yards, but i wasn’t worried, i knew it’d show up again (it didn’t)

inside. a large buzzing blowie, rolled and bounced along the window sill like a sultana that thought it was a spring.

at home. checking the letterbox too early and closing the open gate.

the sun is always setting and to my eyes i don’t know that is rises. it’s not my childhood.

in the mornings I tell myself I’ll stop drinking. by the afternoon I’ll have one to settle myself and feel normal and by night I’ll be drunk again and its all okay again.

in the mornings I tell myself I’ll stop drinking. by the afternoon I’ll have one to settle myself and feel normal and by night I’ll be drunk again and its all okay again.

it’ll be in the morning. the sky will be orange bleeding into red and crimson. the clouds will be silver edged and as still as a painting. i’ll be driving upward away from the city. i feel the rush. the slope of the hill reaches it’s peak. my face is warmed by the rising sun finally shining on me. then as i start to ride down the other side, the car speeds up and it gently pulls across to the right. approaching me on the other side is a truck; it’s so close i can hear it. it eclipses the sun. a block of cold shining metal and wheels, and my arms are turning the car more and more towards it. my eyes open wider and i watch myself smile in the mirror. then, just as metal grinds into oncoming metal, as the horn burns through my ears, i unclip my seat belt.
then, most times in an intense glass shattering flash i’ll wake up.
but not this day. i lived this moment with a sense of dejavu, and i stayed awake in the dream.
i felt it all. i lived death in full consciousness. my body grinded through metal and glass. ripped and stripped apart. i flew in all directions and spread my blood and bones and teeth across the asphalt. i felt it all.
and only after flying up up in the morning air, looking down upon the bloody mess and smoking debris i gradually swim into waking like.
and i awoke more than i felt i ever had.

it’ll be in the morning. the sky will be orange bleeding into red and crimson. the clouds will be silver edged and as still as a painting. i’ll be driving upward away from the city. i feel the rush. the slope of the hill reaches it’s peak. my face is warmed by the rising sun finally shining on me. then as i start to ride down the other side, the car speeds up and it gently pulls across to the right. approaching me on the other side is a truck; it’s so close i can hear it. it eclipses the sun. a block of cold shining metal and wheels, and my arms are turning the car more and more towards it. my eyes open wider and i watch myself smile in the mirror. then, just as metal grinds into oncoming metal, as the horn burns through my ears, i unclip my seat belt.

then, most times in an intense glass shattering flash i’ll wake up.

but not this day. i lived this moment with a sense of dejavu, and i stayed awake in the dream.

i felt it all. i lived death in full consciousness. my body grinded through metal and glass. ripped and stripped apart. i flew in all directions and spread my blood and bones and teeth across the asphalt. i felt it all.

and only after flying up up in the morning air, looking down upon the bloody mess and smoking debris i gradually swim into waking like.

and i awoke more than i felt i ever had.

thecharliefolder:

These were the rewards for my hardwork of fan-mailing. The Culkin headshot is still in the frame that hung on my wall in Ballarat. Sure it looks like the signature was rubber stamped on by an intern at his agents (possibly a younger Culkin sibling?) But I didn’t mind. Nor did I mind that Bart thought I was a young girl called Tammi. They were still my pals. Sadly, no Charlie to make the trifecta complete. 

thecharliefolder:

This is the folder where i collected all things Charlie Sheen.  My handwriting has not improved. 

thecharliefolder:

This is the folder where i collected all things Charlie Sheen.  My handwriting has not improved. 

thecharliefolder:

This is a photocopy of the one panel from Mad Magazine’s ‘Fearless Buller’s Day Off (issue #268) a parody of a ‘Ferris Bueller’s Day Off’ where Mr Sheen features. I can remember being pretty excited when I found that Mad had included Charlie’s scene. 

thecharliefolder:

This is a photocopy of the one panel from Mad Magazine’s ‘Fearless Buller’s Day Off (issue #268) a parody of a ‘Ferris Bueller’s Day Off’ where Mr Sheen features. I can remember being pretty excited when I found that Mad had included Charlie’s scene. 

thecharliefolder:

This is a drawing of the headshot and autograph I desperately wanted. I’m not sure what motivated me to spend more time on some drawings over others, but this one has the steady penmanship of a ten year old with nothing worth watching on tv.  

this is a story about praying late at night that your headache is a tumor. 

this is a story about praying late at night that your headache is a tumor. 

while you are sleeping we have snuck out and stolen everything.  everything that is beautiful, we have taken and hidden. everything that  is ugly we have taken and hidden. we took it all and now it’s ours. when  you wake. you will not understand ANYTHING.

while you are sleeping we have snuck out and stolen everything. everything that is beautiful, we have taken and hidden. everything that is ugly we have taken and hidden. we took it all and now it’s ours. when you wake. you will not understand ANYTHING.

and i saw him again last night, while i was trying to get to sleep. his face washed past like a cloud. like the ultrasound. i desperately wanted him to look up towards me, but he didn’t. he couldn’t. and i lay there making a deal with god. that if i could stay awake all night, that he’d be okay. but i fell asleep. and when i woke up i’d first thought i’d forgotten, but i hadn’t. and the fear and the pain poured down on me again.

and i saw him again last night, while i was trying to get to sleep. his face washed past like a cloud. like the ultrasound. i desperately wanted him to look up towards me, but he didn’t. he couldn’t. and i lay there making a deal with god. that if i could stay awake all night, that he’d be okay. but i fell asleep. and when i woke up i’d first thought i’d forgotten, but i hadn’t. and the fear and the pain poured down on me again.

we woke up just on time. we learnt nothing from the dreams we could remember and laughed at the ones we forgot. despite pretending we cared, we didn’t put effort into being effortless. we had earned nothing from nobody. not the slightest bit of respect or admiration. 
we took what we wanted. we muttered to ourselves and it all made sense. we climbed on roofs and ignored the stars. we looked down and the world and decided it was ours. we ran like clouds across the moon. we howled like wolves in our lungs when we would stop. but we did not stop. at least not when we could be seen. we would never stop. the dark was to hide us, the moon so our silhouettes could live. the cold was to cool us. we would vanish into the dark and steal the night. we flew and we laughed. 
everybody was dead. everything was not ours to have. we took everything.

we woke up just on time. we learnt nothing from the dreams we could remember and laughed at the ones we forgot. despite pretending we cared, we didn’t put effort into being effortless. we had earned nothing from nobody. not the slightest bit of respect or admiration.

we took what we wanted. we muttered to ourselves and it all made sense. we climbed on roofs and ignored the stars. we looked down and the world and decided it was ours. we ran like clouds across the moon. we howled like wolves in our lungs when we would stop. but we did not stop. at least not when we could be seen. we would never stop. the dark was to hide us, the moon so our silhouettes could live. the cold was to cool us. we would vanish into the dark and steal the night. we flew and we laughed.

everybody was dead. everything was not ours to have. we took everything.

for christmas one year i bought her the same perfume that my ex-wife had. on nights that she wore it, i loved her more

for christmas one year i bought her the same perfume that my ex-wife had. on nights that she wore it, i loved her more

it’s rare for good news to ever change you with the strength that bad news can.

it’s rare for good news to ever change you with the strength that bad news can.

the closest thing he got to a shower was a KFC moist towelette

the closest thing he got to a shower was a KFC moist towelette

Brian always liked my blue Ralph Lauren shirt best, I wore it to his funeral, then I never wore it again. I gave all those clothes to the salvation army.

Brian always liked my blue Ralph Lauren shirt best, I wore it to his funeral, then I never wore it again. I gave all those clothes to the salvation army.

outside. a dog running across the backs of sheep. the dust blowing, rising to try to live like clouds. i lost my hat as we rode our bikes past the cattle yards, but i wasn’t worried, i knew it’d show up again (it didn’t)
inside. a large buzzing blowie, rolled and bounced along the window sill like a sultana that thought it was a spring.
at home. checking the letterbox too early and closing the open gate.
the sun is always setting and to my eyes i don’t know that is rises. it’s not my childhood.

outside. a dog running across the backs of sheep. the dust blowing, rising to try to live like clouds. i lost my hat as we rode our bikes past the cattle yards, but i wasn’t worried, i knew it’d show up again (it didn’t)

inside. a large buzzing blowie, rolled and bounced along the window sill like a sultana that thought it was a spring.

at home. checking the letterbox too early and closing the open gate.

the sun is always setting and to my eyes i don’t know that is rises. it’s not my childhood.

in the mornings I tell myself I’ll stop drinking. by the afternoon I’ll have one to settle myself and feel normal and by night I’ll be drunk again and its all okay again.

in the mornings I tell myself I’ll stop drinking. by the afternoon I’ll have one to settle myself and feel normal and by night I’ll be drunk again and its all okay again.

it’ll be in the morning. the sky will be orange bleeding into red and crimson. the clouds will be silver edged and as still as a painting. i’ll be driving upward away from the city. i feel the rush. the slope of the hill reaches it’s peak. my face is warmed by the rising sun finally shining on me. then as i start to ride down the other side, the car speeds up and it gently pulls across to the right. approaching me on the other side is a truck; it’s so close i can hear it. it eclipses the sun. a block of cold shining metal and wheels, and my arms are turning the car more and more towards it. my eyes open wider and i watch myself smile in the mirror. then, just as metal grinds into oncoming metal, as the horn burns through my ears, i unclip my seat belt.
then, most times in an intense glass shattering flash i’ll wake up.
but not this day. i lived this moment with a sense of dejavu, and i stayed awake in the dream.
i felt it all. i lived death in full consciousness. my body grinded through metal and glass. ripped and stripped apart. i flew in all directions and spread my blood and bones and teeth across the asphalt. i felt it all.
and only after flying up up in the morning air, looking down upon the bloody mess and smoking debris i gradually swim into waking like.
and i awoke more than i felt i ever had.

it’ll be in the morning. the sky will be orange bleeding into red and crimson. the clouds will be silver edged and as still as a painting. i’ll be driving upward away from the city. i feel the rush. the slope of the hill reaches it’s peak. my face is warmed by the rising sun finally shining on me. then as i start to ride down the other side, the car speeds up and it gently pulls across to the right. approaching me on the other side is a truck; it’s so close i can hear it. it eclipses the sun. a block of cold shining metal and wheels, and my arms are turning the car more and more towards it. my eyes open wider and i watch myself smile in the mirror. then, just as metal grinds into oncoming metal, as the horn burns through my ears, i unclip my seat belt.

then, most times in an intense glass shattering flash i’ll wake up.

but not this day. i lived this moment with a sense of dejavu, and i stayed awake in the dream.

i felt it all. i lived death in full consciousness. my body grinded through metal and glass. ripped and stripped apart. i flew in all directions and spread my blood and bones and teeth across the asphalt. i felt it all.

and only after flying up up in the morning air, looking down upon the bloody mess and smoking debris i gradually swim into waking like.

and i awoke more than i felt i ever had.

About:

money hides ugly is the tumblr presence of an anonymous zine maker from Melbourne Australia. All writing and photos are original. If you’re interested; one of his zines ‘it’ll be morning’ is available through Sticky at http://maildept.stickyinstitute.com/i (scroll down). It’s been cheapening the appearance of bookshelves all over the world for 8 years now.