The Wave

There is a wave coming towards me
And I hear nothing except the beat of my own heart
And I watch
And I wait
There is a warrior marching in my path
And I do not even raise my sword
And I laugh at my own doom
And I curse the irony
There is a storm blowing my way
And I do not seek shelter
And I need its anger
And I want the hurt

Forget

My life is green behind that smile
My life is black beside those eyes

Lets take our dreams and make paper boats
We'll float them in the sink
Lets take dusty memories and shake them out
We'll tell our stories to the rain
Lets run down the beach
We'll chase sandy shadows on the shore
Lets follow the rabbit down the hole
We'll make music in the grass
Lets paint a picture of the world
We'll colour in the black parts
Lets run a thousand miles today
We'll tire the ones that seek to chase
Lets tell the truth and let it hurt
We'll learn to live with what we've done
Lets dig a hole deep in the ground
We'll find the hurt thats buried there
Lets find your tower on the cliff
I'll watch you from my garden of stone

My life is blue behind the door
I want exactly what I did before.

But I cant forget, I just cant forget.

Sortie For The Night

Life blood drips
Down veins of crap.
My Poetry is crap.
Life is crap.
You know what else is crap?
Everything is crap.
Crap crap crap crap.
Empires of dirt
Castles of Sand
Take everything
Take your hand.
And reach into a beating chest
Rip the life out
Do your best.
Fuck off, worldI have work to do.
You think I give a fuck about you?
Well I dont.
And when I fall
Asleep I wont
Wake up if I see this same light.
I'm out of here thanks
Good luck and good night.

Oldest Priest

Alone in the sky
Traffic walks on by
Fuck it rhymes, I'm a poet and i know it
I'm puzzle pieces on the ground
I'm the world all around
I can make you hurt if I want
I can bleed myself dry
I'm lying on a big sheet of paper
I hear the guitar strains
But I'm not free
I'm not free
I'm bound and tied on a plank on a ledge
At the edge of a cliff on a starry sky
I'm a million butterflies
I break into a thousand pieces
They can't catch me
I'm talking shit
I know it
Let there be stars tonight
Old friend
Old love
Old hate
On this cloud
In this sky
In a lake of honey
A boat in the sky
A dream in my mind
I dont know what I'm saying.
The worlds are all there.
My julia, my life, my stars, my food, my loves, my family, my mind
Are all streched into the same space of my head
The darlness outside becomes the darkness inside
and all the invisible boundaries built bythe sun are gone
I'm here, I'm this, I'm raw and you can deal with it
You can fucking deal with it
If you love me, that is.

The Battle Against Bananas

I didn't want to do this, however it would appear that I'm left with no choice. Sigh. There is no rest for the weary. I will now tell the entire world ( or the 3 people that actually read this blog apart from myself) that I hate bananas. Loathe them. Despise Them. They make me sick. The very thought of a squishy smelly disgusting banana sends a shiver of trepidation down my spine. I'm not going into the details, but suffice to say that when I was a wee lass I had an emotionally scarring experience involving these disgusting fruits and it has left me with a lingering and often violent hatred of all things plantain.
Actually, what happened was, one morning when I was about 4 my mum decided to put bananas in my cereal before school, only they were spoilt. So I took one bite, puked and I've never been able to eat them again. There.I said it.
You know I don't even understand why anyone would want to eat them. Has anyone taken a close look at a banana? Maybe I have a depraved and twisted mind, but to me a banana looks remarkably like a part of the ahem mail genitalia. But I think I'm treading on dangerous territory now so never mind.
Anyway to conclude Bananas suck. They look and smell gross, they taste dubious and I hate them. So there. I win. Nyah. The End.

Ps- There's no censorship on this blog, the only comments I ever delete are advertisments.

Mood Music

What am I?
Paper. White. Self Absorbed.
Blank.
As ugly as they come
As guarded as your deepest darkest secret.
But I mean so little.
These little red ropes
Sinew and flesh, bind me till I scream
My ties, I can let them go.
And the world is blue.
Its brilliant, and fading
Like the last golden embers on the edge of a wish.
There is no escape, though.
I know it, even if I lie.
And it hurts so much
And they dont care.
It cuts me like no other knife.
Like a knife dipped in white fire
Spread out under the sky and open your eyes.
Breathe in your life, sweet gulps of music
Why do they touch me?
If I'm ugly, if I'm worthless.
Get your hands off me.
I'll kill you
I'll rip you apart.
Don't ever touch me.
Don't even try to know me.
Whoever you are
Whether I love you
Whether you're the stranger on the road
What gives anyone the right?
Does it matter?
Nothing really matters to me, Mamma.
Nothing.

Platform

I sit alone on a wooden bench
I watch the sunlight on cement
I watch the shadows on the ground
I watch the swirling merry go round
Children laugh and scream in pain
The child inside me starts to wain
I weep for memories that walk on by
I watch them as they start to die
Walk away if you want to live
I have nothing left to give
A blank page to colour in
That is all that I've ever been

Rhymes are always better when they're funny. Oh well.

A Night With The Endless

You float, I float
through an Eternia of clouds
the sky opens its womb
sweet caress of the night
dull my pain, so I may feel
numb my skin, so needles may pierce
the smoke that curls
mouths a haze of oval ghosts
Night, I lie, a dead stone
thrown into the depths of the lake
Where do I float to next
blood of black, it fills the horizon
Squeeze out the tears that never fall
the smoke of my fingers
embers singe every strand of hair
paper and ash
bones and dirt
Twain are the roads to the endless
---- and then someone walked in..
I tell you, there's no poetic justice in this world.. or actually, when you think about it, the only fucking thing that there is, is poetic justice.. maybe it was a good thing that someone came along because whenever I write something I can never tell if its quite good or horrendously bad.. oh who cares. Im not asking to be judged anyway.Must go up to the roof more often.

No Release

There I sat
Alone at the tree.
I watched the walls creep up around me
Brick walls, they came thick and fast and red
Birds screech and monkeys bare their fangs
The sky radiates violet hues
The mad moon cackles down at me
I watched and laughed
For the first time I was happy
Free at last
A touch a grasp
Pick me up old friend
I was dragged away from danger
I could not see
I fall I fall
My face hits water
Time stops
Beating.
Time stops
Bleeding.
I am exploding.
I am free.
I am no one.
I am the only one.
I am the eye in the sky.
I am the only one.
I am receeding.
I am fading.
Grasping desperately to prolong the reprieve.
I'm out I'm down
I cry alone again.
Free me, I implore you.

Postmodernism?

You scored as Postmodernist. Postmodernism is the belief in complete open interpretation. You see the universe as a collection of information with varying ways of putting it together. There is no absolute truth for you; even the most hardened facts are open to interpretation. Meaning relies on context and even the language you use to describe things should be subject to analysis. Postmodernist 81% Cultural Creative 75% Existentialist 69% Materialist 69% Romanticist 63% Modernist 38% Fundamentalist 38% Idealist 31% What is Your World View? (updated) created with QuizFarm.com

The Importance Of Being Idle

I must say that my absolute lack of talent with regard to anything creative is disturbing.I've spent the last one day trying to play Blackbird on the guitar and also In A Little While, and in all honesty I am amazed at how unlike The Beatles and U2 I sound...vaah.. I am thinking it is time to try my hand at something else.And of course being absolutely BORED out of my skull I have attempted to draw several cool pictures which I have to say are second in hideousness only to my rendition of In A Little While.Suddenly finding yourself on an unexpected 10 day break does wierd things to your state of sanity.. For example barely 24 hours ago I was stuck in college, thinking sourly about the slimy capsicum aloo thing that I was going to have to eat for lunch.. and now, I'm at home playing around with my nyyooo ultra sooper fast broadband connection..Bwahahahahahaha!!!!!... I think today, I'll do nothing all morning, sleep all afternoon, eat HUGE lunch and dinner, and then sleep some more... vaat a good laiph.. You can always tell that it's going to be a good day when you wake up not remembering what day of the week it is, and then subsequently realise ( as you wipe the sleep from your eyes and inhale the coffee smell thats wafting up from the kitchen) that you don't need to.If it werent so buggeringly hot, I'd consider going out for a walk or something, but instead I'll just stay inside all day and go for a walk in the evening. ( if i wake up).. Should I do something exciting today? Like water the plants? Or give my dog a bath? Or make experimental pasta?Naaah... I'm just going to sit around all day till I put The Edge to shame with my guitar playing prowess. and also till I manage to secure a pleading letter for my artistic assistance from Neil Gaiman.. Hah. I love using words like prowess in ordinary sentences.Everything's Going To Be Alright. Rockabye.

Freedom Dreams

I sit on the edge of a pier, next to a boy with an old face. The sun is a violent pink cirlce, firing its last rays into the universe of blue sky and blue sea, like a lone warrior, surrounded by his enemies, casting his last vestiges of strength into battle. We look out onto the sea, and I feel scared like I always do when I look at the sea, like if I let my guard down, its just going to swallow me up, strangle me till my lungs burst and I die screaming wordless screams under the water... The boy holds my hand, and his tired eyes look at my face with a resignation tinged with tenderness. We are friends, I know we are, but I know he occassionally grows weary of me, of my ignorance, of the sheer folly of my youth, of who I am.
I do nothing but grip his fingers.
Someone on the beach has a radio turned up high, and its music dances around in my head, soothes the atmosphere, makes me sit back and enjoy the melody. We feel no need for conversation now that the music has taken the place of words, no need to communicate, except to wordlessly tell each other that we sit side by side for a reason.
The music takes my mind to thoughts other than of the here and now, I look at who I am and where I am, I think of where I want to be.Where do I want to be? How many times in my life have I wondered?
I can't swim. My companion speaks for the first time betraying that the music set off a train of thoughts in his head that were completely different from mine.
Swimming's the only thing I'm good at, I reply.
We relapse into silence. I look at his face, study the lines around his eyes, the worry etched into every crease of his forehead. He's too young for this, he's too good for this. I wish I could free him, I wish he could learn to be happy. All I have to offer is my company. My silent company, since I can think of no words. And maybe this is a time to not say a thing.
In attempting to liberate those that you love, in attempting to aid them in finding their salvation, are you just tying yourself up in them? Giving them and you one more thing to be bound to? Should you just sit back and let them be alone?Can you bear to see that?
As I stare at him, I wonder how much of my concern is concern for him, and how much is actually my own depserate need to be with him.I never tie people down, atleast I try my best not to. It shouldn't be a net between people, it should be two threads tied together, that can be untied and retied at will.
The wind picks up suddenly and the sea that licks the bottom of my toes turns cooler. The sweat of the day drips away down my spine and slowly, the phantom of the night spreads his cloak over the sky. A thousand words form on my parched lips, words of friendship, words of love, words of reassurance and questioning, never daring to say, never daring to ask for the pleasure of his company again, and they die before I can get them out.
How can I want to be both free and caged at the same time, so badly?
How true is any freedom that I may aspire towards, if at the back of my mind the thought of being tied down still appeals to me somwhere? I cower behind my mask, I am my own phantom as I wallow in the cellars of my despair, never believing that anything is worth being tied down to, never thinking for one minute that someone won't kick me into the street the moment I fold my wings.
I smile at the boy sitting next to me, he smiles back, and suddenly we're both laughing, we're not sure why, but everything seems so ridiculously funny. How can we be anything but happy, when we sit together on a pier, watching the sunset, untouched by the road that screams like a dying bird behind us? We are free when we are together, they dont hurt us because they don't matter.
I lean forward and kiss him gently. He smiles at me sweetly, the smile lifts some of the sadness from his eyes.I jump into the water and beckon him to join me, even though I know he doesn't swim.
This is freedom. We are friends, nothing more and nothing less. We love each other as much as we love ourselves. We do not dare long for each other because in the longing we are not free. In desire there is despair. We dare not go there, for where we are is perfect, where we are is where I want to be.
But only for the moment and for the moment alone.

Pleadings In Perdition

The knot inside,

It tightens nice

The fist it closes,

Like a vice.

Blood it pounds, through the veins,

The anger pours,

The rage it rains.

Goodbye, goodbye, we've had enough,

Just a minute to clear our stuff.

So long my love,

The die is cast,

We are the oblivion of your past,

The glass that crack'd is whole no more

My zephyr walks out through the door.

Box

 

The Man Of The Hour

I am now officially done with giving life a chance. Its over. I am finished. I've run until there's nothing left and I am absolutely done with it.
There is nothing but futility. One headlight, I am the highway, and nothing means anything to this Blackbird. The Man of The hour has taken his final bow, good bye for now.

Making Pots

My life once again, expands before me like the horizon. Everything is so big and beautiful and intense. I feel happy, angry, sad and messed up all in one. Its like being in a glass box, and seeing how beautiful the world is, but not being quite able to touch any of it... Somehow, for me, the only way to ever appreciate how extraordinary everything is, is to pull myself into third person and just watch everything that happens around me. If you let yourself slip into the world, its never that potent or poignant.. If you get involved, everything gets gross and messy somehow, and too physical... Much too physical to be beautiful.
Today was nice. A potter came to campus, and I spent a nice afternoon making pots. There are two and I think I'll let them dry and then paint them. Its amazing how nice it felt. I think I should quit law school, buy a potters wheel and make pots my entire life. Now that would be satisfying.
Maybe the simpler you make your goals, the happier you become.But I suppose its easier said than done really. I mean, I think I'm a simple person, I don't think I want all that much out of life. I know for a fact that I'm neither ambitious nor competitive, and for the most part I don't think I strive to do too much... Basically I'm a lazy fuck.. So then why do I feel lost all the time? Why do I feel like something is always just out of my grasp, just grazing the tips of my fingers?
I've come to think that its some sort of a personal failing, maybe it is, and hopefully I'll deal with it someday. But its one of those things that won't get dealt with till I really want to deal with it.
So much of the beauty I see in the world, is probably attractive to me because I can't have it.
People always want they can't have eh? Thats just how everything operates. Those few fleeting moments during the week when I actually feel truly happy, are always tense with the knowledge that the feeling won't last till the morning. My head hits the pillow happy, and then I wake up and I have to build my happiness all over again. Brick by brick.
God, its tiring. Its like making pots. But not that satisfying or that therapeautic.
Life man. Where's my zephyr when I need it?

All Apologies

What else could I be?
Heh heh..Never mind.
I've come to realise that I'm only prompted to put things up on this page when I'm upset. So its sort evolved into this wierd blackhole for all my bad moods.
But I'm not always in a bad mood. For example, right now, I'm in a great mood. I've discovered that the trick to being happy is not to worry that life is going to suck perenially.
It doesnt, and sometimes, nice things actually do happen. Sure it isn't perfect, and there's always something that could make it just a little better.
But right now for example, I'm at work , I'm the last one in the office, I'm listening to Lauryn Hill, and I'm heading out in about ten minutes, to get a cup of coffee and then go back home, where I will eat good food, watch a nice movie and then sleep. The weather outside is also lovely and cloudy, and no one has bugged me, nagged me, yelled at me or been mean to me, all day..
Oh boy I'm just setting myself up for fate to wallop me one good. I'd better stop tempting fate..
Actually it looks like rain, and I'm hungry, and there's no real food here.
Bugger it.

Blackbird Singing

When faced with the crushing emptiness of everything, what do rational human beings do?
..They mope...
Apparently, someone once said that even the white in the painting has meaning..Really?Well then what is it?
Is it there to antagonize the colour? Is it there to enhance the poignancy of the brush strokes? Why?..And what if the whole paper is white and empty?What then?...
Oh no, I'm carrying a metaphor too far..I hate it when that happens...There's nothing more annoying or more preachy than a metaphor thats been carried too far...Yuck...I shall try and approach this mental dilemma from a new angle.
Actually, its not a dilemma, its more that I've been wondering, if there is nothing more to life than the selfish and single pointed pursuit of happiness...If thats all there is, then its got to be pretty boring eh?
How do people live for 70 years without wanting to kill themselves atleast twenty times?..I'm thinking that the only way this happens, is that people keep thinking that if they just put off suicide for a little longer, then life will suddenly miraculously become meaningful and exciting..And then they wait, and they wait, and then suddenly they're so wrapped up in worldly entanglements that they can no longer afford to get out, and then even more hastily,they're old, and then they die..
Wow.
What the hell am i writing? I dont even think its making sense...I have to stop writing this stuff so late at night, because invariably I'm too sleepy to make sense.
Tonight as I was driving home, I swear there was this really spooky air about everything..The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon stormy seas, and all that..
Everything was suffused in this atmosphere of mystery and nostalgia..Its kind of hard to explain..The roads were darker than normal, and the few houses that were lit, seemed to exist on the edge of a memory...Everything, reminded me of something I had seen before, or somewhere that I'd been before, and in a wierd way, reminded me also of some place that I'm going to be soon...
I'm very scared of always being alone..Not that I'm alone now.Yet, there is this constant fear of going through life with only myself, and never being able to verify that everything that I think and feel is true, or is real..The night in its own haunting way seemed to fortell many years of driving down dark streets, wondering what the world is, and where I fit into it all.
I can't explain the nostalgia though, I'm too young to feel this nostalgic about anything, and yet, the feeling of something that I had left behind somewhere ran crazy circles around my head. And it wouldn't let me go, like an old friend who persistently demands an explanation for my lack of correspondence over the years...And somewhere, I felt guilty for leaving and not keeping in touch, for being so uncaring and so arrogant and thinking that I could manage everything on my own anyway.
Epiphany.
I'm only alone because I shrug off every commitment, and its only my pride that makes me think that no one would ever understand who I am, and what I'm saying, so I dont even give people chances, and maybe I just don't believe that anyone would bother themselves so much trying to cope with me...And maybe I like it this way...
This is the only way that I know to be free, because God forbid that I should be tied to anything or anyone...It would never do for me, eh? Thats how I've lived my life this far, and I havent even bothered to try anything else..Why?..Because I think I'm happy this way, or atleast I'm at peace this way.
In the dead of night,
Take these broken wings and learn to fly.

The Beatles definitely knew what they were talking about when they wrote this one.

ROVING RANDOM

I read a Tolkien book today, anybody who knows about Tolkien will know which book I'm talking about from the title of this post...It was a short book, just about 90 pages, and took me the length of the bus ride back home followed immediately by a two hour stint at the neighbouring tea shop outside to finish it.
I havent read something as nice in ages..It made me think a lot about perception and how great minds like Tolkien, The Beatles, Van Gogh, must have looked at the world..They really saw it differently, they saw something that I cannot see except through their eyes, their words and their hands. Every perception I have about the world, and everything in it, comes from a song or a picture or a book, or even a movie..And it makes me feel so good to know, that world can be as random as something out of somebody else's mind, as long as i choose to see it that way.
The world is only as you see it, nothing more, and nothing less.
Anyone can make the world anything they want it to be..Call it young idealism if you will, maybe I'll laugh at this stuff a few years from now, when 'real life' as they call it hits me in the face, but for now, i lie content in the belief that I have the infinite power to see the world as I choose to.
The idea of infinite freedom of choice and thought is really very very seductive if you think about it, because it just might be a way to keep yourself happy..If only temporarily.
Everything that is sad in my life has something to do with some other person or persons. The moment you remove what they think or say or do, your life becomes much simpler...Its just you and your mind...
I suppose it could get quite lonely...No person is an island, and all that...Maybe like the little wandering dog, you could play with MoonBeams, or Giant Whales, and see things that don't exist anywhere but in dreams, and be happy with yourself and your great adventures...But maybe you, just like the dog, being to dream only of the long and winding road home...There in lies the problem...The only company that Freedom keeps is Loneliness.
And the price of one, is unfortunately the other.
Sighs..oh welll..enough of my rambling for one dark night..I'll just stop here.

THE RAIN CALLS MY NAME

I woke up to the most beautiful morning today.Its not Sunday, but if that song were written about a particular Sunday, then that Sunday would look a hell of a lot like today does. Something about rainy weather just makes me feel so blissfully happy...I've said this before..Its the feeling that the world has suddenly dropped its expectations of you..Atleast for a day.There's a peace, and a feeling of I can do what I want and it may not be perfect but thats ok, in the air.
I always want to write in this weather, even if I never have anything particularly different to say.I have to be back to class on Monday, which in the tiny scheme of things, kind of sucks..But the broader picture is much nicer..I get to see a lot of people whom I love, some people that I dont particularly like, and more than anything, I get to move on with my life I guess.. Thats what really matters..I am going somewhere when I'm in college, even if it doesnt seem that way, time is moving me forward to the next big thing, and i guess its a nice feeling.
So much of what I do is done with an eye on the future, where will I be four years from now I ask myself, what will I do then, who will I know,who will I leave behind, will it be the way I want it to be?
These are pretty scary things to think about, which is why for the most part I shove them out of my head, and go on the assumption that whatever happens, I'll be fine...I hope..heh heh.
Ah this weather, its happy and sad all at once, and sometimes its too much effort to do anything but sit around and think, as the grey clouds swirl around outside my window..I'm not going to be here forever.The wind cries Mary, and the rain calls my name.