If I were a famous battle, is it certain that I would win?

I suppose you
Were steeped in
The 'somebody else'
And law-breaking
Is just another way out
But the icy-shoulder-grip
Of police-inscribed justice
Is easily avoided
If you would only be
Once again, yourself.

Accessorise and polymerise
The input culture breathes,
Demands acceptance
Not impotent pirouetting
Through half-baked excuses.

Samurai Jack is a fantabulous cartoon, only I am not certain that it still screens.

I seen the days
When shadows cling
To your windows
And I wait
But you don't come
Out to play
With the other kids.
Freaky bunny,
You are afraid
The other kids
Will treat you funny
But no-one's laughing
At the shadows clinging
To your windows.
Doing weird dances
Half-glimpsed
And unheard
They won't come near.

I seen the nights
When lights shine
Through till morning
And sobbing
Seems to last a lifetime.
Echoes down the street.
Waking the neighbors
Or their dog
To howl a dirge for you.
Can't you see?
I know I can't bear,
When the curtains
Ripple in unfelt winds
And I am just waiting here
For signs of life in the light,
In the night.

Rubbish day
It seems you never
Have any at all
For them
And the other kids
The laugh and say
You eat it all
But that's not possible
And it's not funny
But they laugh anyway
Better than the shadows
That stare through walls
And sheets
Bringing goosebumps
And icy-quick heaves.

Flickering candles
Knowitall uncles
Claim you don't belong
Say they'll say so
Never seem to though,
But it's funny
Cause they drink
And they curse
But they shiver
When the shadows dance
And the curtains
Whisper hidden breezes.
"Haunted" they says
"Knock-it-down"
But they wont.

The shadows
Have a life of their own
And sometimes I wonder
When the day is bright
And the air is warm
If they are you
And you are dancing
To a silent tune
And you laugh at us
All afraid of you.

Tutlenecks tucked in bed
Smile daintily At the
Smelly santa
Clambering through the window
Sack and all
Exits soon after
In a whirl of haste.
Must be behind on christmas work.

Dark pasts on dark horisons
Scan through pages of text
Seeking to find an answer
Where none can lie
Trust is a milkshake
Splattered on the wall
Rotting in the noon-day-sun
Banana-turned stench
When truths are revealed
And the lines have been moved.

For some reason I don't think the other post went through, so I whill try again:

Purple People Eater

Drink deep
From a clean glass
It's made
From the cleanest
Fine china
And wonderful times
Can be found
If you but search
Through the aisles.
At half-price
With a free steak knife.
Pre-bloodied.

Driving someone else's
Porcelain bus
On the morning after
With shadows prowling
Noisily through the curtains
Echoed laughter
Through marble halls
To avalanche in your brain.
You should have bought
A spare last time
You were here
Wouldn't be a problem

But you must play the cost
Bundled, beaten up
Thrown to the dogs
And we will devour you
So have fun, shop well
Thankyou,
Come again.

Purple People Eater

Drink deep
From a clean glass
It's made
From the cleanest
Fine china
And wonderful times
Can be found
If you but search
Through the aisles.
At half-price
With a free steak knife.
Pre-bloodied.

Driving someone else's
Porcelain bus
On the morning after
With shadows prowling
Noisily through the curtains
Echoed laughter
Through marble halls
To avalanche in your brain.
You should have bought
A spare last time
You were here
Wouldn't be a problem

But you must play the cost
Bundled, beaten up
Thrown to the dogs
And we will devour you
So have fun, shop well
Thankyou,
Come again.

Highbeams

I'm running for cover
Hidden and under
The stars of the heavens
To guide my way
And shadows leach past
In a fiery blast
Rendering flight futile.

Ducking for cover
Beneath a mountainous boulder
But it's no use, no use.

Cause I'm caught in your highbeams
Tearing up the nightscreen
The tapestry I've woven
All thoughts that I had
Have been flushed down the toilet
In the lingering blaze of light

Silhouetted in darkness
With a harrowing starkness
The stars in the heavens
Are bleeding away
From unblinking eyes
And infinate brightness
Unfeeling and uncaring

Building a home
A man on his own
And it's no use, no use.

Cause I'm caught in your highbeams
Tearing up the nightscreen
The tapestry I've woven
All thoughts that I had
Have been flushed down the toilet
In the lingering blaze of light

I'm crying for mercy
Battered and bleeding
Run to exhaustion
Dead on my feet
The fire that sears
Forces to remember
All that could not be left behind.

And its no use, no use.

Cause I'm caught in your highbeams
Trapped in an awake dream
A figment of nightmare
That won't be willed away
Spearing away through the night
In the lingering blaze of light.

The rain fell like glass
On the slick granite
And the hike seems forever
Through the icy midnight
The grim slanting shrubs
Claw at passing feet
With scrabbling claws
The gentle breeze
The rain slants
And the earth reaches higher
In the obscurred horisons
Craving for a fire
The wandering minds
Lost focus to the cold
Leg on leg on leg
Continues the endless chant
Sense an opportunity for a laugh
Snatched away by chill air
And a cloud of shiverring breath
Time to break again here.
Sweating ferocious
Despite the new whistling rain
Slapping at the skin
Vying for a patch of warmpth
Stolen hours ago
And then summoning strength
For a resumption
Onwards and upwards
In the thinning, seething atmosphere

Mersey-side blues
Three-track radio
Singing to myself
"It's a lovely day"
The lock tinkled thrice
And the creak of the door
Silenced the mice
And rats
I was inside.

Rain-soaked walls
Cried shallow tears
At the liquid tremmors
from my leather boots
And the fountains from the ceiling
Cleansed my careworn face.
Small rivulettes to trace
To the puddled floor.

Its a rainy day.
So no sand-blasting for me.
And, as can be seen
A teeth-grit free day
Is one for the calendar.



As she rolled around the corner
In her flash Mercedes-Benz
Striking a pose remeniscient
Of a late Baroquian master.
The sun glistened whistfully
And the crowd cheered dutifully
Off the sheen of her leather upholstery.
Random haberdashery
Sent the crowd scitter-scattering
Back to their poorly lit homes
Away from the shimmering glamor
And the arrogant manner
Of the button-tossing, car-driving
Corner hugging rich kid.

Dont talk to the mail-man
I saw him hide his face in the dirt
As we all fled past
From the coming sandstorm
And the morning mist
The way the angry drivers
Get in the way of my path to progress
And regress
Till all is quiet and dust on the hill-tops.
Atleast the mail will get through...

Hm
Also, wrote a small amoont of shizz-boo-rang on the plane:

We are children of the night,
Standup and take notice.
Welcome to the war of worlds.

We fly free, and easy
We are eyes in the wall
Soft as mist, hard as ice.

And fragile minds,
An easy unwind
A trick-or-treat
A feast of meat.

The cattle heard
The cattle ran.
We were witness to
Their hasty flight

Thier pointless vigil
None canc outrun
The inevitable
Know what you lose
Outweighs what you stand to gain




Amethyst eyes
And sunset surprises
Cannot hide who you are
We are all alike

Are you sorry for what you have done?
Are you sad for who you have become?
Partitioned...




Sheet lightning
Hoar frost
A jungle gymn
In a baby's cot.
Im teething on a breaker
And we never thought you would
Grasp heaven
In spindly fingertips
Never to let go
Until you slip
We shall see to it
The next time you won't be so lucky.

A day at the races
Gambling for time
Tripping through the dark
On a life-line
Fall to grough raving
And the earth will bear you up
It should never
Go like this
The evening mist
Has clouded my perception
We were caught unawares
The next time you won't be so lucky.





Take a landslide
Taking over
Eyes on the prize
A mile wide
Grin and bear it
Its a free world- share it
Be one with all
And the beauty
Will rise to you
With the ghostly moon
So close as to touch
And fragment
What little remains
Behind the armor
In your eyes
Take a break
It's nine-o'clock
On a weeknight
You've exams to do
But you're one with all
So make it
Happen
Like the gun
Pointing through the sheeting rain
At the murky shadow
You know to be yourself
And squeeze.

This year, by my very own self, I have managed to break two of the corner-stone rules of exam technique (as defined in the booklet entitled "The Baird Exam Technique" page 24).

1) Never turn up late to an exam
2) Never leave early

Now these may seem rediculous at first glance, but with a small amount of simple arithmatic, it is apparent just how foundational they are. First, add up all the time spent in lectures/labs/tutorials/study/reviewing/discussion/etc- (in minutes), then divide that amount by the number of minutes the exam is times the proportion of total marks that exam is worth to the final grade. This is a numerary measure of the value of each minute in the exam to you.

Example- Say, you have 4 lectures a week, for 1 hour each, one lab/tutorial for 4 hours. And the exam (of 3 hour duration) is worth 70% of the final grade. That adds up to:

(4 + 4) x 1 x 60 x 12 (weeks) = 5760 minutes of work

5760 / ( 0.7 x 3 x 60) = 45.71 minutes

Assumptions: - You go to all labs/tuts/lectures
- You do more than sleep at said labs/tuts/lectures (otherwise actually being there is irrellevant)
- You do no study
- You show up to your exam
- You are actually doing the paper
- You havent already failed by not doing the internal assessment component and thus not achieving approval to sit heretofore mentioned examination
- It is not an English/History/Art/(insert name of bollocks subject) paper, in which case, your toils are no more than dust in the wind anyway
- You do not intend to get caught cheating during the last minute of the examination
- You do not have factual and verifyable evidence that the world will end before exams are marked
- You have arms and hands (or feet mayhaps) with which to wield an implement of writinghood, thereby scoring marks deep into the examination paper of the paper being examined allowing for markers without an immaculate telepathic link to students to mark the examination paper
- You never mention 'sausage' 'bread-roll' or any one of a number of naughty and innuendo-like words with the intention of biasing the marker completely against you.


If all these hold up, you can now see, that each minute is very precious, during exam time.

Hello me.
Today Pop passed away, at 6 AM after a long hard fight against cancer. It is a very sad time, but it has brought the whole family together as we grieve. I am home right now, in the middle o exams, with study taking a backwards step. Hmm, good thing compassionate concideration exists.....
Pop will be farewelled on Wednesday at 1:30 PM, probably by the multitude crowd of people he affected during his life.
And I dont really feel like posting much more now, bye

Arms gaping open
Tear drops in the cavern depths
Permanent goodbye

The trees and their eyes in yellowed surprise They sparkle and dazzle and delicately fly.
I wander the path, that I’ve never seen before, I am knowing the way, back to the door
To the step where you left me, to find something more, than a Nile of tears that has run itself dry

The grass and the birds seem to vibrate with life, and the waterfall sings as I’m passing it by, the sky sapphire blue, has a harmonic hue, yet the tension inside can be sliced with a knife.

Like a doorstop in front of an oncoming train I’m so unprepared for a life in the rain
Where the world seems so hollow, despite how it appears, and everything’s perishing into flame.

Ill build a house of bricks, and lollypop-sticks in the hope you’ll come visit, when its time to warm the house. When the echo’s of life out-of-doors, will find its way out.

Deceased man’s slumber, on a storm tossed ship. Motionless, calm, as the crewmembers swarm, up ropes and overboard. There’s a smile etched on his face when the planking-boards rip.

And so endless sorrows are passing me by, like the waterfall not long ago inside my mind’s eye, sitting on the mailbox, waiting till the man comes, to re-attach me to the sapphire sky, the trees and their eyes in yellowed surprise, will witness my passing in smooth, graceful flight.

And everything's emptying into white.

Exams, may they be forever cursed, have begun in ernest as it were.
Still getting over the shock.
Had me first one on Thursday afternoon, for Chem343. A nasty little 2-hour number from the anals of Third year. Due to innexperience with 2-hour exams, I was forced to race through about half of it in the last half hour. Bad planning all round I reckon, and i intend to do better in my two other 2-hour exams (shudder).

Study is too hard. It is sucky and boring.

Hmm. It does, however, allow me to enjoy the lavish amounts of time i spend doing absolutely nothing of consequence.

Today was a thunderstorm. It hailed for a bit, and was an interesting diversion.
I am very tired as i went to bed at 3 AM and now i need to go to bed so as i can study tommorrow (unlike today).

It was like a tapestry, unfolding, as it were, with the grandeur of a thousand candle-lit surpises, right into their very sight. The clouds seemed to sing with the fullest joy of simply being cloudy. The rain provided complex percussion, and the hill kinda sat and listened, like and audience. I was not the conductor. Far from it, i was the person whose job it is to ensure that nobodys music stands remain fallend over. And what a job.

But no.
These are lies
And though beggars cannot be choosers
Thems only beggars that chose to be so in the first place, as my mother always used to say.


Just a random post to idle away the time, and to fend of the skulking form of study with a good left hook.

HAH
just writ another one
right after previos post
And it is better than they :

There was silence on my pillow
On that midnight winter’s eve
And the evening breeze
Brought sorrow-tears
Flowing down in streams
The lights were all switched off
And the gangster in my head
Screaming out your name
Singing in drunken monotone

And you’d say:
Its all a paper towl
You’ll throw it all away
I wont come back to where you are
You’re stuck in yesterday

And where am I on this winter’s day?
Asleep to dream and dreams to say
To speak to me
My silent redeemer’s voice
Till light cracks out
And renders choice, void.

And you say:
Give it half a chance
Don’t throw it all away

And the bleeding breaths quiet
Silence falls
And you are gone again.

And you’d say:
Its all a paper towl
You’ll throw it all away
I wont come back to where you are
You’re stuck in yesterday

My my
But ole' Dunedin has really hotted up of late
Its like the seething magma is clawing its way to the surface directly below it
And we are but ants in its path.

It also makes study even more the chore
With streaming sweat and uncomfortable sunny glare here there and over the hill
And it is oficial crunch time, where the chocolate bar meets the anvil at 300 times the speed of light (a speed only recently acomplished by shining a lazer through caesium.).
Like the adds say I spose "soldier on"
Now if only we had some soldiers...


This could be my lucky day
But now Im in for it
Put up with a fight
Or go down without
It makes little difference
With eyes wide shut

I should be at work
Bringing home the pay
But the sea-green sights
Have blocked my way
Yet more interferance
With eyes wide shut

And I see nothing
And I see all
At home all alone
In the suburban sprawl
Like a rat in a cage

This could be my lucky day
Lotto ticket,
Who's a winner?
Lets look it up on
Our TV-for-hire..
Or not.

Californian sunrise
Bespeckled sea-children
Squint to catch the light
While angry parents beckon
To cast their wrath
Through the wind's might
Lying on a beach
Scattered on the sand
I thought atlast
You'd understand
The guarded life
And cutting knives
Chopping boards
For free, on sale.


Its amazing, you always said you would
Fly to the emerald isles to capture
Astray leprechauns, and sail away
On a government jumbojet
All payed for and sponsored
By her-madgesty herself
Straight from the taxpayer's pocket
To the heights of the alpine meadows
A hidden nook for posterity
To shelter from the storm
Of highschool dropouts
And nuclear squabbles
From your vantage point
By the riverside, by the lake
Nowhere and everywhere all the same.



Credit checks
And lolly packets
Cannot hide your name from me
Filthy lies
And roundabouts
You cannot run away from me
When the wolves howl
Hungry for blood
And the sky sheds tears
Like acid drops
And weavils are feasting
On all you've got
This is an unhappy thing......



Lost for words
In an empty space
Crafted in his soul

This morning has been filled to brim with negative vibrations so far. Humming in my ears now as I type.

Got to bed late again last night, and had a 8 AM start for a 9 AM lecture. So it was up early and exhausted for me once more (... into the breach dear friends..??).

Anyhoo, got up, had shower, and then the thought struck me (as throughts are want to do), my bike has a flat tire. So I whipped out the bike repair kit and found and sealed the puncture over a light breakfast of toast and tea. Today, was not to be my day, unfortunately. The rubber-cementy stuff failed to dry in the 20 minutes i gave it. Placing the patch on only schmered the confarned stuff all over the place. By then it was 8:57 AM, and not looking flash. Wonderful brother Lynton offered me the use of his bike to speed down to uni and avoid missing to much of the lecture (making him postpone his university trip somewhat).

I got here 5 minutes late in a whirl of hurried breaths and exhausted quads, veritably leaping to the lecture theater located on the other side of campus. Only to get there to find an empty theater and not a word of explanation crosswise. And so I sit here, at the wonderful, free (fee-payed) uni computers spilling my woes to the world, waiting for some chem person to arrive so that I may accost them for some notes I have lost and now need to fotocopy.

On a little aside, it occurr to me, that studying (for exams), especially as lecutures and labs wind to a halt, can really screw both ones perception of time, and ones perception of selfhood. I keep forgeting what day it is, the time of day, and any/all appointments/bookings i have for the day leading to an unsightly clutter. Once or twice so far this week (being the begining of O-ficial study time according to the Matthew LB charter) I have caught myself wandering around randomly in persuit of something that I know not what it is...
Very disturbing.

Schawhell.
Seems someone comes bearing notes.
Chow for now..

TIs exam time soon
And the students here are full
Of bluster and fluster
Like hen-pecked animals
They clutter the halls
In mindless fury
Driven on by desire
For the golden 'A'
As if life can be found inside
An exam paper
Instead of the usual glass bottom.

And I intend not to join them
Hidden away
The hours of a long day
Suckling on the knowledge
In my notes.
Today Chemistry
Tomorow who knows?

Possibly more sleep
Though I do have a lecture appointment to keep.....


My room is lacking in upholstery...
Maybe tomorow is the day for a remedy?

And ther she was
Two feet away
And an ocean apart.

It is Saturday still, but only barely, and we have Lord's Supper tommorow, and are picking up some Dutch fellow on the way to church, so it is up early, and to bed forthwith, I spose.

But, said I to my self, I said, "Self, you need to keep the old post-o-meter (TM) ticking over." To which came the inevitable reply, "Self," I said to my self, said I," You are so much more correct than you could ever know." "How", replied again I to myself, and again the reply came," Never you mind".

And so here i am.
joy.

HMm.
There is an inky blackness outside my window. I keep waking up at night wondering when it is going to eat me up. It is there, and eventually, it will, I am sure, so the question is a matter of timing rather than possibilities.
It just hangs there, black as black as black as a hole in space, deepening as the sun flees from our little city, on its perpetual flight from the night. I could go out, with a stick, and dispell such illusions with a few zealous swipes at the darkness. But it would just ooze back in again, the moment my back was turned, so I would be forced to walk backwards through the mist-filled night air, stick in hand, all the way to the back door once more, for safety's sake.

Such frivalities do not come without a price, one I am reluctant to pay. What, you may say, is this unnamed price. Suffice to say, I shall not pay it. That is all the information available to the public I'm afraid. I dont make the rules. So life shall go on, and I shall to, waking at night to the chill feeling of eyes in that murky blackness peering at me in my nice warm bed with ill intentions in mind.


On another topic completely, or not, I have decided, that no matter how many hours I sleep, I will still be a certain level of tired during the day, which is unfortunate, for I am deeply longing for the feeling of complete non-tiredness to enfold its caring arms around me once in a while. Adding to this, going to bed after 2:00 A M will always leave me with a day of uselessness, where there is an invisible block that prevents me having complete contact with the real world. It is interesting, if I do not try to understand the environment, all my sight and hearing and smell become this great mish-mash of nonsence, almost a movie in and of itself. In such a state I cannot work with any degree of efficiency or purpose.

Further things about sleeping, dreams. I have been thinking about this for a while, and I am curious, as to how often, and how many times people die in their dreams. Of late (ie- this year) the most times I have died in one dream is 4. It was quite a fantastic dream actually. And, if you care to waste a few minutes of your life, I would be honored to relate it to you:

The tale begins with me and an un-named, unidentifiable friend, we are both members of some unnamed and unidentified gang. There is a gang war going on. There are numerous gangs involved, and me and my friend are out and about with combat rifles shooting up other gang members. All goes well until my friend yells "Sniper!", pointing to a rooftop across the park. He dives for cover, and I attempt to follow. He makes it behind a park bench, but I am not so fortunate. A loud crack sounds, and I feel a bullet rip its way through my head, and my appendages go numb. I drop to the ground and stop breathing. Everything goes black. I died.

A short time later, I awake, pick up my gun and hide behind the park bench where my friend waits, having picked off the sniper himself. Slowly but surely, I gain full controll of my appendages again, and the pain caused by the hole in my head subsides, and just as well. Into the street behind us pours a number of uzi wielding other-gang maniacs, firing off randomly. We initially don't bother with cover, opening fire upon them, taking down one or two before they notice. My friend once again dives off to the side behind a building for cover, and once again I am too slow to follow him. Uzi bullets rip through me, as they all turn on me. I manage to take down three or four more before, once again, I succumb to the warm and dark embrace of death.

A short time later, I awake, and look around for my gun, but it is missing, and somehow I know that the uzi wielding gang members took it. The park now miraculously has a large chicken-mesh fence around it, which, for some reason, apeared to me to provide excellent cover (similar to a solid wall), and yet good vantage. My friend is nearby again, waiting for me, and we creep around the park perimeter till we come to the opposite corner. From there we leg it across the street, and down an alley way. In the street beyond, however, is a large number of German soldiers (presumably from the 'German-soldier' gang- WWII styles), marching along in a victory parade. They had won the gang war, and were celebrating joyously.

Making our way back to the park once more, we see a convoy of WWII tanks parading down the street, banners flapping in the breeze, resplendit with the resounding cheers of the hastily assembled crowd. And then it hits me. There is going to be an ambush. "Ambush" I cry, and duck for cover behind a nearby park bench. Weaponless and fearfull, I watch with dismay, as lazer weapon packing "Russians" Storm the parade out of myriad alleyways. What followed was a wholesale slaughter of the relatively unadvanced German forces. I looked about, preparing to flee, but as I got up to run, I felt a searing pain in the back of my head, as a lazer gun was targeted upon me. Instantly I was fried to a crisp, dropping to the ground in a dead heap.

Some time later I awoke, charred to a crisp, and moving with difficulty. Nearby, lay the charred corpse of a German gang-member, and grasped in his hands, was a nice assault rifle, which I promptly snaffled up. My friend was also again beside me, completely unscathed, and beckoning me to follow him. He ducked down a nearby alleyway, and I hobbled after him. As I crossed a street, I glanced to my right, and not one-hundred meters away, a small convoy of German tanks and infantry rolled down the street. They turned off into a side-street, and I thought "Oh, no! STupid Germans, that way is a trap!" Sure enough, shortly after, gun fire broke out, followed by several large explosion. The infantry came pouring out into the street, some firing back where they came from others just running for their lives. It was then that I noticed that the fighting was still audible elsewhere, but I knew that it was only a matter of time before the Germans lost.

Overwhelmed by a strange curiosity as to the exact nature of the demise of the German mini-convoy, I cautiously advanced to the side-street and peered round the corner. My vision was blocked by the charred hulks of destroyed tanks, so I was forced to advance a small way down the street for a good look. About 30 meters away from me, I spied a bunker, full of rocket laucher and flamethrower wielding maniacle Russian infantry. I turned to flee. but heard a Russian voice cry out in alarm, followed by the sound of rocket launching and flame throwing. Fortunately, I avoided the thrown flames. Unfortunately, a launched rocket struck me square in the back and I was thrown 20 meters in the explosion. I tried to get up, but couldn't feel my legs, and so was forced to lie on the ground in the middle of the street writhing about uselessly. That was, until the Russians had reloaded their launchers. The second barrage threw me tens of meters further, and blew me to ribbons, killing me before I landed.

A short time later, I awoke, lying in the street , cut to ribbons, and in all sorts of pain. The Russians were advancing, so I needed to duck away. Scrambling to my feet, I fled down a nearby alleyway, and headed randomly through the city until, by some fluke of chance, I met up with my nameless friend, who sat waiting for me at a street corner behind some stacked barrels and produce crates. It was then that I knew that the Russians had won, and were going house to house finding and executing other-gang-affiliated persons. We had to run, and run we did. We fled down the street and round a corner, straight back to the park again, which we sprinted across, and down another street, barely getting infront of the Russian searchers.

We had to hide, so we went from door to door, trying to open them. The first door that opened, we went through, knowing somehow, that the occupants were affiliated with the Russians, so their house would not be searched very thoroughly. Going through the dining room, where a bunch of Mafia style gangsters were having KFC and playing cards, we found a musty old girls toilets. Double bonus. We knew, that even if the Russians searched the house, they would not search the females toilets. As a precaution, however, we climbed up the walls, and hung on the ceiling rafters.

Sure enough, within a few seconds of finding our spot, there was a loud bang on the door to the house, followed by angry Russian voices. A large number of thumps, smashes, and scrapes ensued as the house was searched relatively quickly by the Russians. They did not even open the door to the lady's toilets.

Some time later, I noticed that my burns stopped hurting, and that my cuts had miraculously healed. I looked down at my status bar, and noticed I had gone back to full health. I also noticed that my gun had ) bullets left, so I reloaded. The statusbar dissappeared, and me and my friend swung down from the rafters and exited, once again passing through the living room filled with gun-wielding, card-playing, KFC-consuming Mafia gangsters. Outside, all was quiet, and a beautiful dusk was falling. I looked around for my friend, but he was nowhere to be seen. Obviously he had gone home, so, I decided, I had better also, as it was tea time, and I was hungry. Ducking and leaping from burned out tank-shell, to ransacked building husk, I safely made my way home. Opening the door, I sat down and could smell the scent of freshly baked bread coming from the kitchen. It was then that I awoke, feeling very hungry indeed.



Boy , that was longer than I thought. 1334 words to be exact. I am actually surprised I remember it so vividly still, as I dreamed it about 2 months ago. It is not the only dream where I have died multiple times, and risen from the dead either, just the one I remember best. I am just wondering if other people have the same occurance in their dreams also.

Speaking off which, the time has come for me to pass from this land for another 8.5 hours or so.
Far thee well on thy journeys
And a blessed night to all.

I am calm
Adrift on an ocean of wet
With the gentle seas
carressing my every need
Evermore
I shall be freed
From the tumultous roar
Found far from here,
Adrift on an ocean of wet.

The eyes, herbal eyes
Glistening down
As showers of moondrops
Cluster arround
To bear me away
Safe and sound
To where I'm ment to be
Afloat upon this sea.

I can be the wind
Winding its way
Through the mazes of islands
Peppering the horisons
And scattering the birds
As the flutter to and fro
To and fro
Encompasing
Their evervescent dreams
With the rasping cries
That toll the hours
Away at sea.

And surely
The surety
Of the musty beams
Must seem
So false.
But I know,
I know
That the sea-made clasps
They bring me on
Like fire from the sun.

I am serene
Unseen
I pass above the waves
Crashing in on unrevealed shores.
The gate unlocks to heaven's doors
And scarlet fire does kiss the darkness
And all is flaming bliss and peace
Upon the ocean's starkness.

And surely
The surety
Of the creaking beams
Must seem
So false.
But I know,
I know
I'd rather die
In the ocean's embrace
Than never see the sun.





Hmmmm.
Yes.
Yesterday was Sunday. That is a fairly unremarkable statment, a sort of one in seven, but not just any Sunday it were.
I awoke, with clouded breath
TO the chill greetings of the frosty snow
As it wafted down from untold heights to blanket our fair land
In a frosting of pure unadalterated white.
I remember thinking very un-Christian thoughts.
Hoping it would snow too heavy so that I could miss Sunday services and instead enjoy lucious wonderful snow.
IT did not eventuate, with the snow stopping and starting all over the show.
Until just after about 3 pm, the sun comed out once again, and the snow was
Within ten minutes never forever more.
So sad it were
But the beauty impresses on me still.
It were a nice Sunday it were


Today had bad bad bad bad presentation of poster and speak that were unprepared.
Lashed it together with bindings of blind optimism, I am hoping it is not the complete shite I am feeling it is right now
Time will tell, but marks more so.
As it so happens. I
am too much the tired
To be doing anything more tonight
And I shall bow out with dignity....

Thought I'd post the lyric supplied to me by Matthew Bartlett of Grant Lee Buffallo, to show you all some real poetry:


BETHLEHEM STEEL

There was a light
Blue as a welder's torch
It used to shine
Over the field
And all of the wise men
Strong men
Were drawn for miles
Followed a star
To Bethlehem Steel

Our mother's father
Worked here in World War Two
On the main floor
Operating the drill
And in his open palms
Little splinters remind him of
The booming days
Days, of Bethlehem Steel

But the steeples on the hills they point
To a better life beyond this one
And that promise penetrates the clouds
And mighty walls of brick red cinnamon

Take a walk past
Lazarus Moving 'n' Storage
Behind the Goodman's Furniture store
See the smoke stacks rise
On up to heaven's step
While on earth we're burnin' this miracle
Iron ore

But the steeples on the hills they point
To a better life beyond this one
And that promise penetrates the clouds
Even when they block the fiery sun
The sun

There was a light
Blue as a welder's torch
It used to shine
Over the field
And all of the wise men
Strong men
Were drawn for miles
Followed a star
To Bethlehem Steel



---

THE ONLY WAY DOWN

You've come this far,
Followed each
And every star
Not to reach the peak would
Seem so wrong
Your eyes look tired
Want to sleep
Although this climb's
So steep
We must keep pressing on

Down, it's the only way down
It's the only way down
Down, it's the only way down
It's the only way down

I've heard you sing
With quiet voice
Of adverse things
Now you've made the choice
To overcome
This mountains' spire
Towering
Below the summit
Cowering
You've seen how others clung

Down, it's the only way down
It's the only way down
Down, it's the only way down
It's the only way down

You've come this far
Along this wind
Around this bend
Look at where you are.

HMm
Havent posted a while.

Not much happened lately.
Lota work.
Forgot to get an assignment in on time so lost 10%. Pretty peeved.
But overall papar, its only 1% so thats not too bad.

But also.
Had some interesting things to write
But they have flitted from conciousness.
I must recommend Abbey Road by the Beatles
Listened to it alot lately.
Fabulus.

Enter key my friend.


Also. I need to goto bed earlier.
As i am rediculously tired.

Fly away buzzy bee
WHere the air is free
But don't forget to visit me
Sittign here, in a sycamore tree
ANd who knows what I have to see
Something great and fancy
A tune for dancing
For prancing
For dallying about
While the air whispers sweet consolations
And the neighbours glancing
Wonder and pout
Thinking
Who is this fool?
This foppish lout?
I am me
So come and see
My comfy perch
In my very own tree.
And there together
YOu and I
Shall let time pass by
Listening to the weather.

Hello, another bunch of random off the top of me hed cause Im bored crap for me to post.

Robert, the smithsonian blacksmith, eyed his prize non-chalantly. The dapper young thing with the mincey grin eyed him head to toe, as she sidled her way through the pressing through of people. He sprinted after her.


I listened to CD’s today. I listened to the music going ‘boom, boom’ in my ears, while I sat and played pool with the trout inhabiting the Leath. I just was, and for a moment, it was my birthday, with a little ‘da-da-dumm’ and the crescendo in the music spurred my thoughts off at a gallop. The people passing by don’t smell the flowers. They tred on them. The poor little things, I’d like to go throw some bark at them, make them respect what is all around them, rather than just the cigarette they clasp in their grubby little first-year hands, huddling in masses like shoals of fish. Lucky for them it is safety in numbers, maybe not with an uzi. Then I think the motto becomes every health sci for himself. But they would all scatter, and tred on all the lovely blossoms that do-not lie in the direct path between their science library sanctum and the lecture buildings. What we need is a fence, so that the tapered mayhem many people often refer to as a ‘sence of fashion’ could be shielded from eyes that are already bloodshot and sore, from witnessing the blatant disregard for the beautiful blossoms. It all comes down to lectures, I would guess. Put them all in one big building, and save the beauty for the rest of us.

Four tall men, boards in hand, shelter from the cutting breeze. Don’t tell them no, those cigarettes kill, just say hello in a warm manner, and maybe they will flee from the cozier environs provided free of charge with every cigarette pack purchased. But I would not hold out too much hope. When there is no smoke screen to hide behind, pretending to the world that you are something else, everything seems so sharp and clear, almost cutting. Like the music permeating the atmosphere about me, arising, as I spy, from the crusty old building where the music students lie. It quivers it dances, its sweet and bitter, im a lover, a painter, a dead man, the hunter, I am a bee on a treck through the Andes, picked up and tossed about by great gusts of snow-melt air, till atlast I glide free and graceful on the wings of a condor. To sail the seven seas, like a pirate, with a wooden leg. Stride mixed with thump. Arrr, mixed with clomps. I would like that a lot. A bastion of eternal freedom, scaling the walls of human experience, with a load of cannon to bring down stray vessels, not unlike, those four tall men.

Look at me, in a puddle, all muddled and wavering, while the wind whips up the hair. Never to impress the ladies like this. With hiccups and burlap sacks, to hide my inner poverty in. I could look at them, see straight through their eyes, into nothing. Nothing at all, but the next lecture or the next party. Cant stand to watch, all the swirling vibrancy that can be so representative of the whole. But I suppose it is true, that the world is round, I must return to the beginning wherever I venture to. But the trout have given up on our game, as I have no more bread with which to sustain their interest in the pittance affairs of humanity.

The leaves of the page line up in a strange way, while the saber-toothed man in the lolly-pop stand sells sweets to minors at a fraction of the price of fame. That is the ticket though. Behind all these numbers, im told, is a world of meaning for me to inquire, and to be inspired, with the wretched self worth magazines and high payload electronic gadgets I can use to interpret the swirl of nothing written on my page. It would all be a waste of time, a persute of drunken hoolagens, if it wernt for the internal assessment marks, chasing me through the nine-hells of exhaustion. Tommorow is another day, in which to be clean, in which to read another book, searching for the truth inside these numbers and wonder what the heck is going on…..

Don’t look at me funny. You are all laughs and clowns, but I saw the darting glance. He says to me. But I didn’t, I would never. I respect privacy, so leave me alone…


Take us in captain. The jumbo elephant comes down. I am not here, complains the captain. Well too bad says the first mate, this is mutiny. And stage school is started by the random pitterpattering raindrops on me windersill.


Harry the-crab had a big lunch of salamander. It is not good for crabs. He smiles, in a chitinous way, like the way his old man did before he passed on. Run over in his prime by a gang of confederate seals bent on revenge against the Lobster don. And Harry ducks under again, to begin hiding and waiting for his chance……


I am a space.
All these are people, how could you go in there?
I am a SPACE
But they all died because of you! You are not a nice person
I am A space
When the moonbeams come down, you will be locked up in a room with no doors.
How will I get in there?
You are a space.


X is for narrative locking the plates down. P is for the small man under my pillow. H is for Harry in his nice little hidey hole. And M is for me about to bed. Don’t forget S, Sally, the driver man, drives me wherever, I wanna go. To the moon, or to Venus, or to Alabama, or some other planet, it don’t matter where. L is for the big old potato that hates me because I ate his brother. E is for the soup I never let go. T is for the time it is 10:39. And Z is for nothing because it is the last letter in the alphabet, and therefore racially discriminated against, and although he has a great resume, is unwanted in the entertainment industry.

Beep. Beep Beep.

Timings all the timing.
It seems today, 2 hours from now, that 2 hours can be a year, 2 hours before?
Follow me?
Thought not.

Anyhoo,
I'd just like to say, that, although it feels as glitter-free a day as your average tuesday when your zoology lab was short, but the wind kept changing so you had to bike all the way there and back against a rather gusty wee blighter, it is actually the eve-of my nineteenth. Yes indeedy, 2 hours from now I shall oficially be 19 years of age, firmly established survivor of the transition to adulthood.
Joy.
I am now writing this, wondering if I will feel different tommorrow. Likely hood is not. Labs and lectures as per norm.
Proabably no party, as I am too plain lazy to organise one and everybody is busy.

YEs.
GOtta go now, and email my old boss for a nice wee reference before he leaves Mc-D's in Masterton, leaving me in the dust.

It would please me now t obe waxing lyrical as of now, but it is not in me today.
I am thinking of typing and seeing what happens.

Greetings all you wonderful people who read this writings , extra-specially those i have not greeted previously. Feel free to comment on anything you like in the wee commenty box thingies link-and-such. I dont mind mindless drivel or anything, im well aquanted with the stuff.

Anyhoo, enough with my pitch-to-make-matthew-feel-good-because-people-comment-on-his-commenter-thingie.
A starting note, cracked 10 comments not too long ago, for the first time. Yay for me.

Ahh, where to begin, where to begin?
Easy come, easy go.
I came, i went.
Ahh, but where you ask?
To the dinosaurs!
Where the toothed ones lie, set my foot did i.

Yess indeedy, this last friday me, good-friend Alex, and his delightful lab partner, with the classic name of Martha, tiptoed our little way across campus, across road, across footpath, through door, and into the museum. Upstairs there was a little stall, for lack of a better word in my brain, where we payed the million dollar (8) fee, and entered the blacken curtain of doom. Inside did we see? Yes, bones we saw I say, bones to make a grown man fetch his hands through his hair and whilstle soothingly to himself. Chinese bones. All dinosaurs there , all eleven, were from China, or therabaouts.

We actually acsked them, and one or two came from mongolia, as a matter of fact, but we let that slide. They were gino-monstro-hugo-magno-tastically huge. All teeth, bone, and empty staring eye-socket, in a dark, haunting environ. It was FAN-tastic. There we stayed, for 2 and a half hours, amusing ourselfs in meaningless speculations and random chitchatter having a positively spantabulous time.

One exhibit, however, was a bit of a letdown. It was simply titled 'fish'. "Them ain't not dino's!", I pointed out. The supervisory, helpy person agreed. Further along, in the fine print, it read that they were fresh wawter fish. And I said HAH, said I. how could they possibly know? these here fish have been dead for positively ages, and are completely stone-ised. They said it was tellable by the scale patterns. Then I said"How do you know that these fish were not the origional sea-water variety style fish before moving from the midst of the oceans broad. .. Needless to say, they had no answer.

We could not (ie- were not allowed to) touch the much-beloved dinosaurs, no matter how we tried thinking up manyfold 'accidental' movements that could accomplish such an endeavor.

And then it was gone. The wonderful slant-eyed dinos (and slant-eyed they were, according to the accompanying sketches) were but a memory of a memory, as we dragged our soul-weary feet on their ways back to our homes.

I was very hungry, having not eaten since 8:30 AM when I had breakfast (it being then 5:30 PM). So i went home, and bought F&C on the way home. Tasty tastic.




Following the delightfully relaxing friday afternoon, I was beset upon by a large and angry lab report due on monday that I was supposed to have started ages beforehand. Well, under my careful tutelage, the report blossomed into the monstrous beauty reminiscent of the dinosaurs i had seen only a few days before. And standing at an impressive 18 pages (3200 words), I am currently feeling like a smurf that has just climbed mount everest with edmund hillary, having been the stand-in replacement when Tenzing came down with a cold 2 days before the climb had begun, and having to carry all the gear. Smiles all round i should think.

Now I must leave you all, as yet another lab report becones to me.
Coming darling.

And now, without further a-doo,
The infamous story: (revised)

Josef came to with a start. His head throbbed to an unholy beat, and one of his eyes was gummed shut. He snatched a glance around but spied nothing but a thick morning mist. He tried to peer through the gloom, and was rewarded with a spike of blinding pain that tore through his vision with pure starless blackness.
Sometime later the darkness lifted, and consciousness found him sprawled on his back in a pile of rubble, head pounding like a jackhammer. It felt like all the hangovers he had ever experienced had contrived to return in unison to wrack him to insanity. A brief scan informed him that other than the seismic tremors inside his skull he was fine. After several long minutes of groaning inactivity, his wits returned at a gallop. Shooting up to his feet, with a rather violent protest from inside his head and nearly tripping over his meter-and-a-half long, bristly beard, he looked around in a panic. What he had previously mistake for mist, was in fact the settling dust that marked the remnants of the collapsed roof.
“Tim! Magnus!” he cried in a voice choked hoarse with dust, “Where are….” He never finished the question. The acute pain behind his eyes seemed to melt away, as he spied a bloodied hand grasping through the rubble in a final bid for life.
“No!” He hurled himself at the rubble not caring if he broke a nail or even a finger, he dug like a man digging for his life. But it was to no avail. The two bodies he excavated, at the loss of his favorite nail, Mrs. Penelope, did not twitch a whisker as he dragged them clear of the mess. They were definitely dead, as lifeless and stiff as the statues that their house had contained. The world seemed to close in on him. He was alone, and there was nothing for it but to get out before the whole house collapsed.
There was a massive thud, and the walls began to shiver, as though the house was as wracked with pain as he. He ran, and did not stop running. Over hills and through forests he ran. He ran to relieve himself of the guilt that he had survived his brothers. He ran to hide the tears that streamed down his dust caked face. He ran to catch up on the sanity that was fleeing at a blinding pace. Thankfully for him, he was quite fit or a dwarf.

Jeremiah, the twisted protégé astronomer was feeling rather bored. He wasn’t tired, had no work to do, and it wouldn’t be dark for several hours. He had already exhausted his supplies of juggling balls, using them as missiles of vengeance against the slimy townsfolk that passed along the road by his tower. All that is except one ball. It had a certain majestic, powerful quality about it that was difficult to pinpoint, but which, however, made it too valuable to waste on the pathetic slow-moving townsfolk. He needed a grand target, a foreign target, and so he set to scouring the countryside using his telescope.
Just then, a small, red-faced dwarf came sprinting over the top of a nearby hill, wall-like grey beard blown helter-skelter by the wind; the ideal target. Jeremiah gingerly placed the juggling ball into his projectile launcher, fingers quaking with barely controlled mirth. After spouting a half-learned blessing for trueness of aim, he swiveled the launcher and locked in on his unsuspecting target. Capering with an evil sort of glee, he did a spontaneous pre-victory dance, the details of which are so revolting and fear-inspiring, even to mention them would cause the unceremonious wetting of trousers. The lack of self control nearly undid him. Perched mid evil-gesticulation, cream robe whipping to a halt, the spark of realization kindled inside his brain: he had forgotten to launch the ball.
Time seemed to tread through a peat bog, the air condensed into a thick jelly, and he was forced to muscle his way through it to reach the trigger, each heartbeat a torture, as the insufferable dwarf passed the optimum skull denting range. He threw himself at the trigger, slamming into it with such force, the machine nearly disassembled there and then.
He held his breath, pulse racing wildly in his ears, while with a screeching roar, the machine charged. He clenched his eyes shut. There was a terrible fizz, and the whole tower convulsed, spewing out the ball at near-light speed. A fire-coated purple blur streaked towards the dwarf, striking him clean on the back of the skull with a wet crunch, sending him end over end to the bottom of the hill, and the astronomer into a fit of hideously evil, booming laughter and a continuance of his victory dance.

The assaulted dwarf scrambled to his feet, and vigorously dusted himself off. As the king’s messenger, it was unusual for him to be the target of ill treatment, and now, of all times, he had an urgent delivery. He peered around, features etched into the very essence of dwarven ill-temper. There was no one about, and the only structure of consequence was a rather squat, ridiculously poorly built tower, with a figure capering up and down atop it. He squinted. It was definitely a person, a wizard, by the looks of the long, mother-of-pearl robe flapping haphazardly about, and he did not look happy. Apparently he was even less tolerant of passers by than most of the xenophobic, magic-wielding freaks of nature. There was little the dwarf could do now but tighten his belt and get the message delivered with all haste. However, even as he legged it back towards the woods, the wind carried, what could only be the wizard’s magically amplified cries as he prepared another spell, apparently he was very angry.

The king’s steward rushed into the throne room, a shock of unkempt hair and an ink-stained tattered robe, looking positively perturbed, and only sketch a bow, a sure sign he was at his wits end.
“Majesty,” he began in the deep rumbling base stewards of the realm are known for, “The royal chef informs me that the dinner is ready. Also, there is someone with an urgent message for you.”
The king nodded with all the patient dignity he could muster, his squat stature easily filling out the massive throne, and the steward hurriedly shuffled out of the chamber, swinging the door shut behind him with a muffled thump. A few moments later, the messenger entered, a youngish man of solid build but very sparse height. He bowed as deeply and theatrically as one of such a vertical disposition is capable of.
“Your majesty, my majesty”, the flowery messenger peered up to be sure he had the king’s attention, “Expresses his royal wish to meet with your eminence and discuss weighty matters of state.”
The king laughed a short harsh rasping of breath that did not sound at all happy. His earth-hued eyes fixed wickedly upon the arrogant messenger who had the audacity to insult royal sovereignty.
“Off with his head!” He bellowed dissonantly, “I will not meet your bastard-king! May he rot in damp smelly places, where his undergarments are beset upon by filthy vermin of all dispositions, and his damned eyes fall out from the boring repetition of removing the puss from his numerous awkwardly positioned boils! I’m off to lunch.”

Although he was two heads shorter than even the shortest of his subjects and by a long-shot more bulky, the king was well respected, mostly due to his unpredictable temper and propensity to behead people on a whim. Despite having only recently beheaded the favored messenger a rather powerful king, the people were awash with praise for the clarity of the royal perception, that somehow his royal majesty, had divined out the hidden wretchedness of the man’s character, and had awarded fitting justice. The messenger was now well known as a scoundrel (the rumors that he was pilfering from the royal treasury had been thoroughly circulated by the royal steward shortly after the hanging). It was into such a state of general joyful chaos that an unsuspecting messenger arrived, dusty and wheezing from exertion. His demands for an immediate audience with the king were met with suspicious stares and delays. In a final exasperated attempt to see the king, the messenger was forced to employ some rather underhanded tactics upon the obstructive servants (well maybe not underhanded, but they were definitely below the belt). Stepping over the writhing royal attendees, he kicked open the throne room door and strode in, right into the middle of the royal dinner.
The throne room was a mess, with partially chewed chicken wings strewn about the hall as if frozen in some remaining chicken-derived desire to flee. Quick reflexes alone spared the messenger from a rather unpleasant meeting with a large ceramic bowl-full of tepid, greasy mashed potato flung randomly by an impatient and unforgiving king.
“This food is disgusting! In fact it’s not even food! It is slime that is not deserving of the royal presence. It is not fit for human consumption, let alone for me! GUARDS!”, the ill-mannered king squealed painfully loud, deep brown eyes wild in anger, “Fetch me that worm of a royal chef that I may hear his pathetic excuses before I have him beheaded!”
A dramatic silence ensued as the king laboriously realized that he was not alone. Huge bovine eyes fixed upon the trespasser. He was more solid than the previous messenger, but that wasn’t saying much, the king noted dully as he chewed on a chicken bone. He was also shorter than the previous messenger, by a head, firm evidence of the merits of the fellow. The king raised a ponderous arm in a haphazard gesture for the man to begin speaking.
“Your majesty”, the exhausted messenger blurted out, “The ogres are coming, what are we to do?”
“Rally the defenses”, the king cried at the top of his poorly pitched voice, “Man the walls! Stoke the fires! Bring out the dwarves, and more chicken!”

The dwarves rushed out of the latrines, flies undone and shovels in hand. The enemy was coming, and the stalwart dwarves would not go down without a fight. They hurled into the long halls lined with marble statues, carved portraits of dwarven heroes and craftsmen long since dead and dust. They were much too precious to leave undefended.
A resounding crash shook the building to its foundations, and the dwarves stumbled to a halt, flanked by their petrified ancestors. Several more explosions displaced the dwarves several feet towards one wall, or did it displace one wall several feet towards them?
“Damn,” muttered Josef as the world collapsed about them.

HMm
Last night
Thought about going to bed
Tired I was an all.
So I just sat at the computer and typed
(no thinking involved)
I find it amusing, you may to:


Its like it was never there. Just a phone away, a few footsteps along the white-flecked sidewalk as the snow really started to sheet down. Then it finally hits. What was isn’t anymore. But it’s to late for goodbye’s now. We have fallen upon deaf ears. The eyes of the world are upon us and Im afraid I might flicker out. The calidescope visions that used to guide my way, with promises and hints of a luxurious nature, with their self-preserving mottos and charismatic ways, I feel they did us proud. Sitting all alone. The last kid in school, with the tatterdamelion lunch-box and the eyes of burnished bronze. Waiting, just waiting for that car to pull up that was never going to come, so that for just one day, they would not have to trudge the eight miles home with holed shoes to a house where love has never been found. You talk to me about growing up and staying alive. Well I try, when the doors close in and the snow mobiles get stuck halfway down the mountain. I’m already late for work. When they show you the newest product, you have to be there, or you just get caught in the queue like everyone else. Im not a bad person, just the result of a missfunctional brain coupled with the abberant self-loathing policies endorsed by the lower-middleclass income earners. Slaving away all day to provide ends meat and a house where the mistletoe doesn’t have to be reused every year. And the laughs don’t come forced from a soul crying out from the cloying barrages of mesmerizing media perpetually flinging at them the luxury items they can never afford, giving them the false hope that maybe one day dreams do come true. The frog will turn out to be the handsome prince, and that the vicious cycle of poverty imposed upon them by the self-same monetary monoliths will somehow be broken. There is no magic spell, no fancy cure. Now is the time of the day that I like. Atleast I would if the endless groaning of the suppressed neighbours encompassing me about would quit for just one hour, just one minute. Where silence could permeate the air like a renewing balm, and the clothe-factory clearance sales would quit the clamoring for attention. We could all see that money isn’t anything more than a rusty old iron bucket, holed through and through, and thoroughly useless. Maybe then we could all see the beauty right in front of our noses. The way the birds sing, the bees hum, and the trees whisper their rapturous music when the lull of humanity has passed them by. Assuming, that is, that the greedy and exploitive companies have not already ground them into obeisance, bruising and ultimately losing the sweet, sweet sound. I long for the country, an armchair that creaks soothingly every time I rock back to catch up my glass of iced freshly-sqeezed lemonade, and a pure and undefiled sunny afternoon in which to enjoy my hard-won pleasures. There will be no hooting of horns, no blaring of ridiculous signs, imposing the will of a plethora of ignorant despisers of the true depths of humanity upon my already careworn soul. Every time the ad comes on, and the lights grown dim, I can feel myself being sucked just a little further into their lies and deceit. I mean it’s just so easy to believe that all we have made, all we have become, all that was sacrificed to pave the way to the sprawling monstrosity of a society we have erected about us was not for naught. I know I lie awake dreaming of the possibility that some starving African child somewhere benefits because we know how to treat her malnutrition caused diseases. But then why are they starving, why do they duck for cover every time something louder than a gentle rustle is heard? Why are they scared of everyone and everything? Was it not our wonderful society that funded the terrorizing bands of militia scouring the countryside leaving it devoid of wealth and food? A little too late for sorries and bandages I think. I know that if the world revolved around us, we would all have frozen to our lazyboys, reclined in front of a television screen teeming with images of the ugliness we have created, so far from any light, that all we have to see is what was, and what could have been. I could be lying sprawled on the nutrient starved earth, calling out for help till I died, but would anybody hear? Would anybody listen? I really wish I could stay and chat, endorse your label and purchase some new running shoes and run the hell out of this place. Maybe dreams do come true….




Hmm.
A few more points:
Used superacids today.
Fun.
A superacid is defined as any acid strong enough to protonate sulphuric acid. We are talking strong here. The one we used was about 1000 times stronger than sulphuric acid. It reacts with almost anything.
Its fun, but kapuut for the unfortunate eye.

Also.
A breath-ful of gasseous HCl is very difficult to hold.
My record is 7 seconds.
My lungs still feel iritated, generally a bad idea.


One more thing.
I like spring-time cherry-blossom goodness
All around campus the now.
I sat on a small hillock in the windiest part of uni, anchoring my beloved university-based items (eg- bag, books, etc) with my own self. I had hair blown everywhere, but, joy of joys, i had a front row seat to a lovely operatic performance by the blossoms of the nearby trees, with which to entertain myself while I ate.

Blossoms remind me of happier carefree times, under the expert tutelage of a Teacher Hamilton, back when the boys were men, and the girls weren't ladies, so they needed lessons, and 1000 line punishments were not uncommon, but the work was non-existant.
'Sa-pu-ra' everyone.
And feast your metaphysical eyes on the blossomy goodness next time you are out and about. You will be a better person for it.


As for me
It is time to bow out with dignity.

Tomorow, i promise myself to up the 3 page story i schave created,
till then TATA.

Here lies a few dittitudes i penned myself through a series of boring lectures on organic chemistry.


Feel contentment slide down the mud-chocked gutter drain
Packed like sardines, huddling in from the rain
It could all seem so clear
But you went and threw it all away

Take a boat ride, streaking out across the bay
Gag the pills down but you cannot stop the pain
You claim it's so unfair
And life's a darker shade of grey

Feel her wolf-eyes searing hollows in your brain
You broke your promise, and she's not coming back again
It's not like yesterday
When everything was bright and daylight plain.




'The clouds are coming in on your wedding day'




.......
Strolling down town with a froidian frown
And eyes afire with wrath
A stomach all churned and a tongue all burned
From skulling the boiling broth......



"We always have options
We won the civil war
With freedom at stake
We lay claim for forever"





It was dark it was cold I was terrified
Creeping my way through the gloom
There was blood on my shirt
Slick and black with dirt
Deadening my eyes to the world
In my hand was a gun
I was overcome
By the alien grace of the moon
As it swirled through the night
On a perfect flight
On an evening chilled cooler than death
And for one single moment I lost myself
In a cloud of my quivering breath

It was dark it was cold I was terrified
My feet pounding loud through the gloom
And I fled from the gun
From which my sorrows had come
And the alien grace of the moon.







Yo'll never know
Cause you never guessed
Content like the brainless
Spineless contestants
That vie for their wealth
Their power, their fame
Convinced they'll be repayed
Spiralling through the flame.

Insider traders
Screwing the markets
Stealing the homeless
In wicker-work baskets
They'll sell them as slaves
They'll ship them away
Who's gonna be next?
The government won't say.

Taking us all
On a mery-go-round-ride
Neighborhood bullies
Have stolen our slide
It's just like the movies
Where everyone dies
But the bullet-proof hero
Strolling away
Just another day
At the office.



Yes indeedy
Thems the lot
And that's them all
Cherio what what.

Greetings dear reader.

A few things to note today, bit like a diary entry, which m' not too good at but here goes:

Yesterday was a bad day. Woke up at 10:25. Had a lecture at 10:00. Had a lab report due that lecture. Did not have breakfast. Did not have shower. (Did have cleaned teeth) Did make it to lecture at 10:40, record time. Did manage to hand in lab report. Did get out paper and pens to copy notes. Lecture did finish five minutes early (at 10:45 AM). Did not get any notes down.

Following that lecture, was another lecture, and following that was lunch. Very hungry. But needed to go shopping at supermarket on the way home. Managed to master willpower and not buy lunch. Needed, and bought new shampoo/conditioner. Pantene V05 marked down significantly, so bought two bottles of each. Bought stuff. Returned to flat to discover had payed full normal price for conditioners. Felt ripped off, and purposed to tally reciepts at supermarket in future. Had a small amount of lunch.

At 2:00 PM had a zoology lab. Fun but long. Got back 8% lab report and essay. Did OK in essay. Forsome reason, you are expected to put a reference behind every last statement (shudder), which to my poor researching skills is a nightmare. Got thoroughly shafted in the lab report. Am currently very annoyed at the zoology markers. Put much more effort into that lab report than the first one, and was rewarded with 10% lower mark. Vowed never to do zoology again (not verbally, so it isnt binding).

Today.

Have the motherload lab report for CHEM 203 due tomorrow, but was moved back to friday due to 'unforseen circumstances'. Very handy for me. Had only 25% of it done as of currently, and it was going to be a sqeeze to fit it in tonight. Also, interestingly, have an Elder's visit scheduled for tonight, and was afraid I was going to have to flag it. But now, i'm thinking, it is not so much a problem. The announcement was made during a CHEM 203 lecture. Following the announcement, i engaged meself in a silent period of rejoicement (seated victory dance inclusive).

Had lunch. Not to nice. But an odd thing happened, one of my lab demonstrators from one of the papers i did last semester happened by, and greeted me by name. Then it occured to me how disturbing it is when you move from being some random number student at Otago to being someone with a name. And yet, you are still someone less than yourself. This thought occasioned much shudder and it was decided to blend into the background more at labs. Added camoflagued lab-coat to list of things to buy.

Hmm.
1:21 PM,
got half an hour before next lab, might do some work, thenagain might not.




Feel contentment slide down the mud-chocked gutter drain
Packed like sardines huddling inside from the rain
It could all seem so clear
But you went and threw it all away

Take a boatride, Steaming out across the bay
Gag the pills down, but you cannot stop the pain
You claim it's so unfair
And everything's a darker shade of grey

Feel her wolf-eyes searing hollows in your brain
You broke your promise, and she's not coming back again
It's not like yesterday
When everything was bright and daylight plain.

Hmm.

A bit more clarification.
Since publishing the before coefficient calculation, it has come to the publisher's attention, that the calculations are not all inclusive

This is especcially clear in the absence of wind or rain. It also fails to account for the amount of heating produced inside the shelter.

So a reminder that this is still very much a work in progress is in order:

"This is still very much a work in progress"

Any sagely advice on the topic of improvements is heartily welcomed.

Friday evening was interesting. It involved a party with a fair number of odd people tht I barely know, but whose antics were generally enjoyable. However, towards 12 PM ish, the party started getting depressing, with a number of drunk and depressed people shambling about, and lying comatose. So I turned to other persutes to entertain myself.
The party itself was mostly out-of-doorsy, being covered by a set of hastily strung up tarpolens. They did not keep out all the rain, and let in most of the wind. Seeking to quantify the shelter value of such a setup, i theorised the "Baird Shelter Coefficient". This can be calculated simply :

The sqare root of ( [ (Rain flow rate in cubic meters per square meter per second {ie- meters per second} outside the tarpolen)/ (Rain flow rate {meters per second} inside the tarpolen) X (Wind flow rate above the tarpolen {again in meters per second})/ (Wind flow rate beneath the tarpolen {Meters per second}) ] squared + (temperature inside minus the temperature outside) squared ) times the correlation constant

In symbol form R is rain flow rate
W is the wind flow rate
T is the temperature
M is the correlation constant

Hmmmm.

Damn.
Dunno how to paste in pictures.
I shall leave you to work it out and mebe paste it in on a later date.

Chow.

Note- scratch numbers 1 and 2.

Story still forthcoming.

A few wee tiddlers.
Got a cold
Mucus my sworn enemy
Hidden in every cranny
Eyes awash with silent tears
Crying out for justice
Ears walled up
In the wax of their ignorance
Head thumping slowly
And spinning in circles
Work to be done
Swarms on the table
Eyes only for me
Saying " Time has come"
And "Feed me"
When the pivoting earth
Capsises beneath me
And my besieged skull gives way
And shatters....

Today I have absorbed a fact of fastidious importance, and epic value.
That walking and running limb movements are equal in things from ants to elephants. You have to find the difference in the square roots of the body mass of the animals and slow down time for the smaller animal according to that difference. At that speed, both elephants and ziggy and cruise at the same rate. It's all to do with the properties of a pendulum and the acceleration of gravity. A pendulum that is four times bigger than another pendulum, if you record them both and shrink them to the same size (video-wise) then the bigger pendulum will take twice as long to do a complete swing.

Thus, if you factor out size. animals swing their legs at the same speed, depending on how fast they are going. So a cheetah going at 50 kph will swing its legs as fast as an ant travelling at the same speed, factoring out body size..



Oh and, the running gaits of cats and horses are very different. When cats are airborne, they have their legs stretched out, and land on their front legs, whereas horses are airborne with their legs tucked beneath them, and land on their hindlegs......


Wow.. isn't physiology great?....


I was just sitting down wizzing through a noise control meter, the one in my brain, when it happened..... (please fill in for yourself, for your own entertainment).


Oh note to self:1-get counter up
2-get commenter up
3-post story + fill-in-blanks story.

Thankyou for your time......

.
.
.
.
.

Dont look at me
Dont tell me what to do
I am the king of Kong
I am better than you
All I am
Is all you can never be
Step in time
Get in line
You are all just waiting
For your one-in-a-million chance
To be me.


Heh. Mayhaps not, but it does rhyme>>??!



The stars in the heavens
Twinkling dew drops
Basking in sunlight
And the rustling darkness
Over-hears the spitting gong
Venomous tirade
To stop-gap the day.

Tumble-shards
Scatter-yards
Flee the streets
The sky is falling in.
Leave everyone and noone
Hanging in suspense
Suspended on the cliff
To fiery nowhere.
Caber-tossed cars
Imploding bars
When its already too late to run
I'm doing all I can.

Hear all the screams
More real than movie screens
Better than an oscar
It's the real thing.
Ants in a tempest
Running from your temper
In a slow-motion fast-paced dream
Rockets flaring
Trumpets blaring
Scattered through the streets

She was with me
Her savior, I'm never
Gonna make that mistake again
Shrapnel to the brain
And she was a banshee
Shrieking fountain
Of bloodied trust
Smeared on my jeans
Caked my clenched fists
Another case of justice
Served by the gun

But no, no, no,
I'm already lost
Flee the clouds of doom
Leave me here for the final
Scorching breath
To scour away anything left
We never should have run
It had already begun
And there is no hole to hide
Mushrooms pepper the sky
And all is fair in hate and war
Let's end what we've started
So the stars can see
When it's so hard to miss
What we've become
Nothing a nice armeggedon
Couldn't fix

Handed in 'the big essay' today. ONly one more to go this semester, plus many sundry lab reports.



I shell intend to continue said story later, should the fansy strike me....


freefall
basketball
butter cut
knife hoop
bounce the ball
and call
the dog over
he is savaging the neighborhood
be a 'responsible kiwi'

The turned-key appartements, that were Dowser's pride and joy, were laced with the caustic fumes of his own self-righteous ignomy. Perched atop his morally-predjudiced destrier, he surveyed his kindgom, his own entrenched foothold in the modern ego-centric world.

Berlin, his paunchy pastey neighbour was raising his usual racket over the fence, with the sharp scrape of metal being interrupted by a series of hollow thuds.

"Vindicator of light!" whistled the uncanny barbarian, translucent skin rippling in a flood of senseless mirth, " I've heard of uncanny, but this is rediculous!"

Put at a sour disposition by the interruption of his daily surveyance, Dowser, Lord-mayor of the Appartments, brought his destrier to an easy canter, making his way through the lush jungle vegitation to the partitioning wall that marked the boundary of his territory. Brow furrowed in a desperate attempt at lordly displeasure, he managed to pull off an air of maniac arrogannce instead.

"What for this commotion?" he barked in poorly hidden annoyance, " I demand quiet along the borders, lest you wish to arouse the might of the Appartments!"

"Hack!", coughed the barbarian, as he sent a volatile projectile over the wall, striking the Lord-mayor flush on the forehead, " This makes no sense at all...."


Hmmm....
Mayhaps boredome is not the mother of nicely written prose and plot?

Tick tock Tick tock
The sky has lost its grandeur
Lying by the stairwell
To my flash inner-city appartment
(Owned by the government)
The beating ever onwards
To a scalloped oblivion
When the world is a stage
Bright lights, movie screens
And big empty space.




Ahhh.
Today it is that I have accomplished. I have finally arrived on time to my first lecture-of-the-day. This is quite possibly only the third time I have pulled such a feat off this part semester.
It is all due to my incapacitated internal measure of time. I cannot for the life of me make a reasonable estimate of how long things are taking me. So, now matter how early I (try to) get up, I seem to be semi-permanently late. Just thought I'd note this down in my giddy post-lecture boredome at the computers at the chem lab.

On a wee aside, I found an old story of mine, which I quite enjoy, so I may just post the thing, after a few tweaks and such.

The commenter front is pressing ever forward, if it weren't for the near-fatal spate of essays and lab-reports I have been subject to over the past few weeks, I would have it up n' running by now, so maybe someday soon. Then I endevour to get some sort of counter, so that I may measure if anyone ever comes to visit (For my own personal sense of self-gratification)

ALso IM thinking of whacking up some replyable thing where people that read here may supply their oppinions. This may already be up, but I don't know.

Ahh, finally, started updating the old blog. Sandwitched I am between three lab reports and an essay due in the too near futurefor my liking. Anyhoo, just thought I'd update with a wee poem etched down during a pertacularly boring chemistry lecture, I'm sure you know the type.

You always were
The love-struck one
The cliff-pearched soul
The loaded gun
Tainted
Painted
Like the fraud you really aren't.
The guilty whole
All the fun
Of a handful of dried beans
Lying
Dying
Seeking the hidden latch
That hides away
A cool detatch
Ice for the production or rivers.

The radio
The president
Sings "Come down
Prodigal son.
We will warm you
In our light."
And some fine day
It will all melt away
Ice for the production of rivers
Here to scour
Here to cleanse
Making into
Someone new,
Someone beautiful.
An ideal citizen
To champion a cause
Feed the hungry
Heal the sick
Slay the dragon
Over a cup of malted
The country's eyes
To you will rise.
Pristine
Chrystaline
Ice for the production of rivers.

Just a wee note. I like the word sploosh. Its so verbose, descriptive, and yet sublime. Beijing, Three dots in a row. There's another neato. But unfortunately the effect is lost in the pronunciation.

Also, I like this format much more betterly.

Hmmm. Not much not much. But the loud sturdy gong of pestilence still lasoos(??) my consciousness. Today was another day. Of that i am succeedingly proud. IT was also another day involving lab writups. Writ, as it were, to toke the life bulbs and steal their sweet virtue. I am aghast. 7 hours (over the course of several days) after commencement, of lab work writing, i am more backed up on labs than i were beforehand. Mayhaps the striken hand of hard work has finally fallen off the broken cart wheel.
As for that. I am a tired old man, without the age to prove it. ANd sleep calls me. I must remember to get my blog running propper over the weekend.

At this moment, a new day has begun for me (getting up past 12 and all), and a new site has begun in my life. I would be giddy, but im afraid to break something.
Hmmm. Let's get this puppy started.