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.