Midsummer Night's Dream

The sun behind our backs
We took to wandering
Over the beach
With the tide coming in
And washing our feet.
We couldn't believe it.
Taking our shoes
From under the table
Singing the blues
At the top our lungs
We stopped for a breather

And we took to the skies
Flying beyond tommorow
We floated above
Yesterday's cares and concerns
We took to the skies
Sailing off into the sunset
Holding hands
We passed into the seas.

And the golden sun
Anointed the ocean
In a passionfruit glow
We felt that the world
Had spun a new rythme
The tides of the sea
Were all we laid eyes on
But for the waving grass
Mimicking peaceful surrender
To the clouds above
Smiling in granduer

And we took to the skies
Flying beyond tommorow
We floated above
Yesterday's cares and concerns
We took to the skies
Sailing off into the sunset
Holding hands
We passed above the seas.

The sun had set
And the deepening darkness
Did nothing to hide
Her beautiful eyes
Against the gilding of
The natural splendor
Of the crashing waves
We took to laughing
And rolling in the sand
The moon above, the earth below
We were where we belonged.

And we took to the skies
Flying beyond all tommorows
We drifted away
Soaring above all we knew
We took to the skies
Sailing off into the moonglow
Holding hands
We saw what the future brings

Is it over?

Marching through the wintercourse of daily life on the commencement of examlihood, one canst perhaps get a sounding for the deep sense of dread and awe that has overflown into the wellsprings of the university. Nothing does anymore, more like quitting and starting again. So much for early year promises of indulging in pre-exam period study, and for 'working hard all year long'. Sometimes it seems the year-long is so much longer.

And they sat there thinking that they had made some crazy mistake. Perched in the forefront of their vision, like a silent mockery of social and ecconomic justices many and varied, was the tyranical form of the exams. Hulking and huge, like a bohemoth that cannot be overcome, or the sacred piece of land loaned out to the underworthy. There is always so much to talk about, but environs always seem to end in a 'no but thanks for asking'. We could weave our entertainment into spasmodic melodies. Harmonies and symphonies, and taken aback, they lay there, half awake, half asleep. Chalk outlines on the lawn-and-concrete-surface of modern life. They twitter like hyperventilating sparrows and mock and jeer with rhapsodic voices. I wish, now, that I had last year all over again, as it was a wonderful year. Rueing, that is the word. And the work. Seems dissappointments always fail to make appointments, and they take it like the dead. Stoic and unfriendly, almost xenophobic, they stare across the vicious morass of a society they have so freely ammalgamated with. They dance aloud, always muttering about how surgery seems to take them that next step higher, nearer the clouds, closer to the sun that draws them like a fly to the trap.

It's almost Darwinian, if such a trend exists. No sooner is the flat pancake of life flipped than an almost anomalous visiter from another solar system is laid flat on their doorstep. Anxious. Vital. They measure their lives by the beating of their heart, and get scared when environmental noise pollution threatens their way of life. It is always nice to watch the butterfly emerge from it's coccoon, to flutter away in the breeze in its too-short life. But the more you think about it, the sadder it seems, till butterflies draw nought but tears from the sad faces they flutter past. But all things die, or so they have been led to believe. As they lay there, the checkerboard sunlight playing shadow puppets on their upturned faces. MAybe oneday they will be ready for the step ahead. Until then, they keep their heads down, close to their books in the futile hope that that day will not catch them napping.

Talk is Cheap, Obey Your Thirst

The sun came over
The same old hill today
And I rolled over
To turn my alarm clock off
Just as I did yesterday
And before that, who knows?

The wind blew through
The skeleton trees today
As I stood below the line
And hung out my washing
Just as I did last week
And perhaps even the week before..

I read a book
And it spoke to me of you
I turned the pages
And your face sprung into view
I'd turn around
But I'm afraid you're turning too
It looks like today
It's just a different shade of blue.

A stone clattered
Down the asphelt street today
I turned to see it pass
And it shattered at my feet
That didn't happen yesterday
I wonder what it means?

I read a book
And it spoke to me of you
I turned the pages
And your face sprung into view
I'd turn around
But I'm afraid you're turning too
It looks like today
It's just a different shade of blue.

I took a photo
Down from on my wall
Whenever I come in there
It always caught my eye
If I had speck of courage
I'd burn it in the flames
But I'm afraid I won't put it down
When you occupy my view

I read a book
And it spoke to me of you
I turned the pages
And your face sprung into view
I'm close to crying
Because I think you're crying too
Seems this day and every day
Keeps pointing back to you.

Chalkboards

His imagination took him places
He could scarsely believe what he saw
Through the window
An army of sand marching past
The totem poles to a lightning god
All linking hands.
As they filed past in grim succession
Arms reaching towards the sky
Which glared down in unbreachable torment
Through billowing clouds of light.

His imagination took him places
He would never admit to a soul
For the memories
Played subtle symphonies in his mind
Sorrow and joy mingling
Like falling tears
They watered the earth till green exploded
The scenery like bubonic plague
And was washed away
By the upwelling colour of life
Neverending, its quest to overwhelm the eyes.
Till quenched humming spoke to him
Of journeys over, and arrival home.

Speed of Light

Seven o'clock, lying on the carpet
Gazing at the ceiling scroll-work
Time idles by in syrup slowness
And the world catapults around the sun.
Shadows fade, to pastel shadings
Softening the sharpened sunlight
As it cascades angularly
Through the open window.
The breeze plucks a silent tune
On the billowing curtains
The air breathes the warmpth of companionship.
And I am not alone on the luxurios floor.
A cat stretched out in the daylight
And the universe seems right.

Depths Lurk Within

just today, i strived, and lo, the toast of an single piece didst become blackened like the night. And up from the fiery tumult there arose a choking darkness the likes of which the eyes of man have not seen before nor shall see again. And a third of the kitchen was blotted out in darkness from the rising of the sun till it reaches its zenith. And all the peoples cried out in despair, "Damn, that was my breakfast!"

Jandel's from another Time

Explosions rock
The basement floor
And we are struck
By the everpresent 'Your'
Like you own the world
And you rule it all
With an iron fist and
A rubber ball.

You sat on a roof-top
Idling time
Away, and we
Never catch your rhyme
Like you whistle
A different tune
Hovering slightly
On a trip to the moon.

And I said
"We should go
Take a turn by the lake"
You just laughed
Then you left
Us to mill in your wake
And so I
Never forgive myself
For doing you wrong
And laughing when you told me
You life is a song

I'm starting to wander
Off the beaten track
Hopeing like crazy
You'll be calling me back
But it's all just a curtain
And it shadow's my view
And every path seems
Only to lead to you.

And then I said,"Hey,
how is life?
How was your day?"
And you just laughed
As if to say
It never even mattered
It just got in the way.
Coversation's drowning
Through the silky surface
And you slip away
Through the forest shadows
And fields of hay
I'll never forget
How you wrote your song
It's only in music
Now we both belong.

Taller than Hadrian's Wall

She's a taller house inside
Like a skyscraper and glass
Glistens slowly in the light
As we gently cycle past.
In the shadows leaning in
Stripping us of the sun
And her doors are open wide
Like a smile
Like a child
Running out to greet the unknown
Reaching out for another light
Another sparkle to delight
The everpresent crowd

Photocamera flash
Neokarmic output
On a newer sheet of paper
Type-write her at your own risk
For she is lovely, stark, and high
Plucking stars from out the sky
So that she can light us up
And take us from the mess we made
And make us all forget
With a smile
Like a child
We reach out for a warmer hug
A hand out of the hole we've dug
It's so nice to see the sky.

Bracken Harvest

Its just not summer
Without the sun
When I'm swimming
Beneath the waves
And the sky is clouding up
In a den of strangers
And of theives.
Slaking their thirst
For fresh blood
Under the sky
Dark as mud
As they hunt
Us all to death
I just need to catch a breath
Fawning prophesies
Speak of naught
But the chicken squabblings
Of spoilt children
Do they run
Behind the shed
Or back to last summer?

Talkatron

Her soundless eyes tracked
My futile squirming beneath
Leather couched goodbyes.

Summer Drafts (Alcohol Influx)

The wind whistled softly
To the trees and streams
Passing in silence
Passing in dreams
Shown for a scandle
A juxtaposed lie
It's robbing my conscience
It's sucking me dry.

I won't see the glass
Or the facets that hide
Beneath the still surface
The darkness inside
A roach on the table
Destined to die
Destined for the fire
Unable to cry.

For the memories lost
For the scars often given
Unwanted unknown
Unheeded undriven
Amid hollow joys
Amid shallow heavans
It seems that the ground
Is always closer than living.

The seas are boisterous today
The seas are rising up
The waves are rising up
My grip is slowly
Slipping away
Slipping away

To the peace below
Where the breeze never falters
And the sky seems to glow
In myriad colours
At least for awhile
I am made whole again
The completed puzzle
But that's all a lie.
And I am slipping
Slowly away
Slowly forever
Slowly forever
Seems such a long time
When you watch your world die
With you at it's center
Slowly forever.

Beach Ball Bouncing

Spider's sitting
On my window sill
I wonder if he's knitting
A jersey for the winter
Rather than just sitting still.
The web is hanging
Over by the mill
I wonder if it will still be there
If I pop out for a pair
Of roastable krill.
Eminently
Chortling through my day
Like a chilled soprano
And a bowl of macaroni
In a restaurant (by the way
I'd let you know
There is a free space
Purring quietly for you
Sunk down through the blue
Of the ocean by my place.)
The sky is clouding
And I hope it isn't going to rain
I'll have another marageta
As the sky turns to pepper
And pass the lonely web again
To go bring in the washing.

You're making me sign it
Falling for weakness
It's hiding below my floor
I'm in my pajamas
Speaking in stammers
As you're framing my door
I'd ask you to come in and sit down
But I'm barely awake
I'd tell you to pack up and leave now
But I'm too scared to shake
And I'm afraid I might brake.

Inside my windows
I'm watching the outside
The birds nesting in the trees
The wind, it is blowing
The leaves they are flowing
Piling against my knees
But I am not moving

Clapping Leaves

Pillow-cough my subterfuge
Deluged in mirey-slough
You think I'm gone bezerk
County-clerk without a shrink
Just nod and smile my way
I'm glad to say I'm gone for good.

Hats Off

She came and everything subsided
She spoke and everything collided
Into nothing but the purest of silence
I am nothing but dumbfounded.

I thought I'd learned that lesson way back
But maybe, I'll just never get that
Feeling, like everything's pure
And like nothing bad will happen anymore

Like a bolt of light in a thunderstorm
Pull the pieces, it's already torn
It's easy to sit there, a still-life form
When she's there my whole life reforms.

And I am but a shifting shadow
Flitting amilessly away
From her when she
Glances off in my direction
And I don't know what to say......
Maybe let's sit down some time
Have lunch by the bay when I
Can pluck the courage up to be
A sentient being.

Or maybe not, I'll be sitting here
With my heart pounding in my ears
And life flashing by in years
And nothing's gonna change for me
But you....

Falling off bricks (Tin houses in a storm)

Wallplanning fun
And the eye of the world
Rotating like a corkscrew
They shoulder their ravenous burdens
And sail to the heavens
And sail to the heavens
And sail to the heavens
To send them our love.

Stun-blaster gun
At the end of your arm
If they drop it, it may all be over
But can they accept they aren't the king of the hill?
So far from the light
So far from the light
So far from the light
At one with death.

Sing out to the stars
And sigh
Sing out to the stars
And I
Sing out to the stars
And maybe they
Just may hear
And care
Enough to do something about it.

Take your ship
To the chill of the moon
They'll never find us there
The wires are crossed
The lines are broken
And we are all alone

And sail to the heavens
So far from the light
At one with death.
To send them our love.
Sing out to the stars
And maybe just I
May just swing by
Oneday soon.

Take us from this place

She took
Off into oblution
Floating like a flotsam
Can you ever trust me?
Taking all for granted
Bring it home to father
I'm sure he will be happy
Like a rabbit in a hole
You'll hide from us all.

We circle
Patient and cunning
Flowers in the springtime
Inevitable, beautiful
Sinuous and splended
It's never untintended
As you cry out on the floor
In a pool of your own mind
When there's nowhere left to hide.

Handgun
To blow away your problems
Do you jump at shadows?
Will you take your feet off?
When the swimmer sights the shore
And she was waiting
Patient and cunning
A flower in the springtime
Inevitable, beautiful
Sinuous and splended
It's never untintended
When you cry at nothing
Drawing all the crowds in
Hysterrical and useless
Mystical and bruised
Lying like a newborn
In a puddle of your mind.

Smile said the spider

Happy and sad
On a small jumbojet
Taking me places
I'll never suspect
Just what's round the corner
Or behind the next cloud
Or behind the glass-shutters
Fitfully endowed
Their blessings
Like a billows
Blows the fever chill
Of summer-snows
Down my spine
Through my mind
I think its time for tea
Or a cup of something
To cure my mind
Lying supine
On the clammy carpet-floor.

You
Behold a monster
You
Read between the lines
You
Are pure like plaster
Breaking all the time

And I think I'm still standing
It's a miracle you see.
When you wave your
Indignant nonsence
You caroom through the air
And yet you wish
You could fly
You could fly.

Jiggle-Jam

Wink-wall
At the singlet state
Toppled towers
Mud-clinging sadly
Through stained-torn pages
Of a journal.
Don't switch the light
It flickers nicely
Where it hangs like a dewdrop
I don't want to leave.
Tip-toe through the insanity
Put your mind at rest
On a magazine blanket
And hydrazine.

Her apronstrings
Were drawn out
To catch me as I'm falling
Like a line through an open page
Bursting from sight, and I
Couldn't find a way to tell her
Everthing
That I wanted to say
As her hands clasped over me
And bore me safe away
Cause I was falling.

Her tear-stained ambitions grated
Like novacane on a summer's day
Will you talk for just one minute?
I have nothing more to say.
Emphatic as a sea breeze
Chilling as the moon
A haze to faze the iron willed
A weakness turned to boon.
I am all you will ever become
Why can't you see I have you at heart?
You cannot care
I cannot bear
To let you ruin me any more
When even the heavens call.

Jack and the Jacknife

Surprise gently brushed her features
With the scarlet hue of blood
Or maybe it was anger.
"I'm sorry"
And that was that
Paraplegic tendancies
Won't mask a weakened heart
"You always try to hard"
Talk, askans
Like a predator
Smoke-silent
Stalking through the forest
Keyed for the weakeness
I have none.
Or maybe I am all weakness
To provide a united front
From which to farwell.

Insomniac

You have driven me from sleep
And strangely awakened, I
find myself wondering what I
Ever used to be.
You have taken me away
And flying in circles, I
Find myself hearing all I
Ever used to say.

But now it makes no sence
This innocense
It keeps me drifting at night
Why won't you lend me a light?

The lights flicker off and on
Yet the omnicient hum of
The fridge down the hall of
Our house
It keeps me up at night
And all I think of
Is everything you have
Done to keep me inspired.

But now it makes no sence
This innocense
It keeps me drifting at night
Why won't you lend me a light?

The other night I was
Strangely asleep in your arms
I know you kept me from harm
And I never questioned the cause.
You are a knight on a crusade
And the question I ask is
Are you up to the business
Of killing the monster I have made?

I only drift away
There's nothing more to say
We should have given it another try
Before another life says goodbye.

John Vander John

(She tiptoed through the rushes
"Don't hate me," she whispered
"Because I run from everything
And nothing.")

Her face was a shadow of smeared eye-liner
As she fled back down the hallway
After half-an-hour of denial
There say simply nothing more to say.

His eyes were burned raw from crying
As he stared blankly out the window
At the sight of summer gently dying
In the windy streets below.

She's melancholy
And he's losing his mind
Life's just cost him his job
And left all his dreams behind
He's stranded on a beach
In the middle of the ocean
And he only sees his father
In himself again.

And now her back's against the wall
Trapped down a filthy alleyway
And help's too far away to call
Her past has caught her up today
He never wanted this at all
He only wanted to be free.

Anti-semite Warhead

Some days it isn't worth
Smiling at yourself
As you emerge from sullen sleep
With those promises to keep
"I'm sure I'll craft myself
Into a fitter better person."

Laughing at yourself
Over a bowl of kornflakes
You find the sun strangely reminiscent
Of a nuclear warhead
To put the brakes on
Spooning in another mouthful.

But I'll dance into
The misty streets
And play upon gravel-paths
I think it could be worth the laughs
Or maybe I'm content to dream
Where my head is so comfy.

I don't want to get up today
I just want to go back to sleep
I don't think I could do it anyway.
And promises will keep
Till a more promising day.

Oregamy sweater

Jim came home
On his new Harley
Drowning out the neighbourhood
In a fearful racket
In his big leather jacket.

Lincon runs
Well on Tuesdays
All over the muddy city
He couldn't do better
In his oregamy sweater

Nobody knows
Where the trains hide
In the long, dusty evenings
Lurking like sharks
In the thickening dark

But Jim couldn't care less
Flying along
Totally wrong
Totally helpless
But helping himself.
And Lincon, he never worries
He runs straight
Through the gates
And out the other side
In the new morning air.

The coaches they run
Their inevitable circuits
Not stopping for breakfast
For lunch or for tea.
And I bet they get tired
Glued to the wires
Till infinity,
Wanting to be free.

But Jim couldn't care less
Thundering round
The alibaster town
Totally ignorant
Totally wrong
And Lincon watches the road signs
To see if he's heading
Down the wrong way
It's a rather long way
To the office.

The gangling trumpeter

The boy done wrong again
He sold us all a lie
And now he's off down the road
On his three wheeler bike.

The boy done wrong again
All we want is the truth
And maybe a refund
But what is the use?

That boy's on the wrong path
He's off on the warpath
Burning bridges
Like its a game of chess
But who'll get the last laugh
When he's up to his neck?

Semisentient hum

Simon, are you married to work again?
Does your wife stay up all night
Wondering where you've been
Wondering who you've seen
But you know where you're heading
Little wonder everyone
Only gets in the way.

Annibel, shake another hand
Smile and breathe another lie
You now understand
And it's driving you mad
Isn't it so sad
That progress get's you nowhere
If you're tethered to the land.

Little boy, on your bicycle
Through the rubble strewn streets
Do you wonder where the cars have gone?
Or if they'll be back again
And why the nights run so long.
In the silence hum your song
Between the chorus of the guns
Just to keep the monsters at bay.

Anthony, lawyer proffessing
Another knowitall,
Standing round confessing
To all you've been molesting
Their very way of life
Just another way to strike out
Against the looming void
You always seem so small.

Black and White Stares

When the curtains close
With their familiar hiss
When times starts to miss
In it's glacial flow
Light flashes on inside
And eyelids shutter out
Sanity has naught to shout
About, the mind-releasing ride
Till the working day hum
Is reduced to a murmur
A screaming lemure
With some mouldy stick gum
Caught in its feral grip
Beady eyes blood
Shot, tears of mud
And on the clock ticks
Neither knowing or caring
In the land of the living.


Along the chest crawling
With slowness deliberate
Seeking to contemplate
The moments drawing
Tantalising near
Broken bones
Broken homes
Feeding on the fear.
Mouth agaping mess
Snarling or smiling
Always reviling
Those not snatched by death
Alive and twisted
Twisting perception
Jagged ganglion
Sweat marianaded.
All the better for eating.
Till curtains open
And lights breathe on
And on the clock ticks
Neither knowing nor caring
In the land of the breathing

Streetcorner (Old Man Crying)

Are you afraid of your reflection
When it is right before your eyes?
Do you run from every chasm?
Is the darkness your surprise
When it's rising up to greet you
With its life enscorceling grasp?
Do you wonder every breath you take
If it is going to be your last?

You cannot outrun the inevitable
Until it gets you, you don't know that it is
Standing on a cliff-top
With a loaded double-barrel
Has no guarentee to give.

When dinosaurs are driven over the edge

Someone's laughing
'Cause I'm new at being me.
Someone's behind me
And I know it to be true
Seems like a shadow
Always comes my way
Just when I'm getting used to
The sun.

Sometimes the wind
Seems to blow in my face
Even when I turn
And walk the other way.
Sometimes I hear voices
Calling my name
But I can never hear what they say
To me.

They're felling a grove
Just beyond the back fence.
It's been around
A thousand years or so.
But somebody
Just moved in
And it's spoiling the view
In the twilight.

Pick-up lines
Are a slap in the face.
A shape on the doorstep,
Bearing roses and dreams.
Sometimes a perfect evening
Is a nightmare come true
Because nothing is what it seems
To be.

The music's too loud
And it's killing my ears
Just another mix
Of rythm and death.
But on the bus home
It's my own little world
As transient and fragile as breath
In the wind.

Don't listen to the doorman
He's away on drugs
He's getting them cheap
If he fixes you up
And smoking will kill you
If society won't
Or you don't find your solace in a cup
Or a rope.

Undenied
Underpaid
It seems that you'll finally
Get your own way.
Till the reforms come through
And you're out of a job.
You never should have
Spoken up.
The weather is fine
But it may piss down
Any minute now
Did you bring an umbrella?

The twilight scudded across the sky like a cream bun across a pond

Laughs sometimes run
Like cream from a bun
Just when your having fun
It's jumped the gun
And you're dead and done.
Like a dead man walking.


Yawn.
Sleep time methinks.

Barbarous Allsorts

Calliper Catepillar
Dungeon Digger
Run for gold

Effluent Efficiency
Frequent Fraternity
Do as you are told.

Monsoon Bucket

Outside in the rain
The garbage is weeping
With great murky tears
That runnel away
To my surprise
If anyone's out there
I'm in need of a shoulder
To carry my load.

The trees they are whispering
In harsh whithered voices
The trunks carry on
With thunderous creaks
And overhead sunlight
Cascades like a fountain
Down from the heavens
To bring to us life.

On top of the mountains
The eagles are soaring
Vital, magestic
And questing for blood
I would spend some time
With the avian royalty
But I'm afraid
Of becoming endangered.

The tin of the roof-top
Is thumping a chorus
To the dissonant wind
Tearing viciously by
And I'm all alone
In my bed drinking milo
Wondering if the duvet of clouds
Hides an aqua-blue sky.

Newton-amino-glycan pyramids

The sign ran cold
Red fountain
On a pillar
Out of time.

Running from engagements
Keep the flanks protected
We never knew that study
Would keep you in the clear
Would teach how to tell everyone
That you aren't really there.
But the car's running cold
Magnesium flares
And a bicycle pump
Out of time.

Doctorate won't compensate
So go the stories they keep telling us
And the taxi-stand news
Is really old in disguise
Surely it's not the same
Day after day
Surely it's some kind of scam.
But the driver won't cooperate
So you shoot him in the head
How did you think this would end?

And you're burning, burning
Like a falling star
Like a falling angel
Coming over the horison
And you light me up
Like a crimson flare.

Its all in the bag
Atomic warheads on ice
Tempting and fearless
In the hair-rippling breeze
Sun's out for the weekend
And leather's great seating.
Care for a laugh
In the unfolding light?
But nobody can see you
The way that I do.

Coast down the slipstream
Is this translucent daydream
Only feeding delusions,
Or am I crazy-jumping
To unwarrented conclusions?

Tell me you're not burning
Like a falling star
Like a falling angel
You scorch the air
With a velvet kiss
And I'm stuck in the distance.

Paper-mache' humans
Civilization runs
Gently on around us
Speeding slowly by
Out of every window
The faces blurring past
They never would ask
Or understand at all
Just feeling the silent pull
Of the screaming sirens

Are we drifting?
Have we lost our place?
Did we forget to save us
From the hostile bank?
And it's tears now
As the future bends
Just out in front.
And in the mirror
We only see our past
Reaching out to grab us.

The sign ran cold
like a blood red fountain
On a pillar of flame
Future collided present
Like a ray of sunlight
We are blown away
To a symphony of squealing
And applause of broken glass.

And you are gone
Like a falling star
Like a falling angel
You held me there
You took the fall
And we are worlds apart
In a sea of blood
And silent sirens.

Nelson's quest

Dog
Onna leesh
Have a break
Out-of-doors
Where the wind
Swift and free
Plays all manner of havoc
With your elaborate doo.
Or watch the cricket
Perchance
To win.

THEMES OF A ROSE

Modern Mania

Andrew is an ant. He is kind of shy, but hardworking, good-natured and determined. Sometimes the girls laugh at him when he tries to sound intellegent. He is, however, a pristine example of the social problems faced by the 'modern ant'.
He never knew his father, as his mother slept around the whole colony. His mother has always neglected him, barely even acknowledging his existance. He was raised in a sort of foster home environment organised by many of his relatives on his mother's side. Every day he is up before dawn, trudging down the pebbly paths of the colony on his six toeless feet, on the way to his dead end job as a hauler. All day long he hauls things into and around the colony without any pieces of machinery to make things easier, till atlast at the end of a long working day he collapses into his little bed inside the big dormitory. He owns nothing, he has no private space. He will work his job day after day after day for the rest of his life, without holidays or tea breaks. In fact, if you mention the word 'break' to him in a casual way he would either stare blankly at you for several moments or collapse on the ground in a fit of hysterical laughter before heading off back to work. His job is repetative and dull and there is absolutely no chance of promotion. Is it any wonder that he has trouble making complex social adjustments in adverse circumstances, or that he is unable to cheat when playing a game of poker, let alone know how to play poker, or that he has such a great tendancy to follow the leader and not break out of the herd (figuratively speaking of course, more literally he would be breaking out of the colony, but that has a fellonistic ring to it). Yet if you asked him, "Are you happy with your life?", he would give you that strange, concidering look poeple (and ants) give you when they are trying to figure out whether you or not you are insane, and if so, if now is a good time to start running, and shrug his shoulders and say "I spose so." before heading back to work.


The bassonet and the baritone bought a snack

Bertha is a bee. She is a natural optimist who always tries to see past the bad things in life to some good thing further off in the distance (probably with the hope that it is heading her way). She has no confidence when talking to men, collapsing into a pile of giggling nerves at the site of them. She will never mate. She will never know the joys of motherhood or be able to pass on her hard earned wisdom to the next generation. She also has a dead end job that only ends when she is too old to work (i.e. no longer on the fire-evacuation list). She was also neglected as a child, not knowing her father and being all but ignored by her mother (yet another career woman in the modern world), and being raised by a foster care service. "Ahh," you can hear a vocal minority (sitting in the back out of white-board marker range) exclaim, "Atleast Bertha has wings, so that she can soar through the air and absorb the scenery from a level that is not the maddeningly familiar 'grass roots vista' (seaside view not included). She can fly free, at one with nature, not traipsing around following a whole line of other ants all hoping that the first ant has directions." Is Bertha's life to Andrew's, like the cool ocean breeze is to the waftings of a manure pile? It may seem that way at first, but let's look a little closer. Bertha bee may be able to shed some light on the subject. "See these wings?," she says, gesturing to the glossy little back extensions tucked away behind her, "They may look like pure and unadulerated freedom (size: small), but there is a catch, you always fly for the hive." What she is getting at, I feel, can be more aptly concidered by looking at her vocation and what the future holds. Currently she is at the top tier of the ladder, she feeds the babies and cleans the hive, with the occasional bout of construction work thrown in for good measure, this has been her job since birth. In a little while she will be demoted to respiratory medium circulation facilitator (i.e. the ventillation system) for the hive, where she sits at the entrance of the hive and fans her wings all day in order to gennerate something of a current (a current large enough to cause a small strip of paper about a millimeter thick to bend slightly) which will theoretically travel round the hive and prevent everyone inside from suffocating. She will do this all day (and twice on hot days) till she is exhausted and flops down into her little borrowed bed in the dormitories for a couple of milliseconds of shuteye (figuratively speaking, bees cannot blink). From there she will be demoted to honey gatherer, where she will fly around all day (again till she is exhausted) visiting flower upon flower for a few drops of nectar. She will be lucky if she survives the day, what with all the predators, freak gusts of wind, people, dogs (not really predators, but due to the fact that they run around all day with their mouths hanging open leaking druel, it is invevitable that the occasional bee takes a deture down the pipe-of-no-return. The same could be said for some people actually.), and false suns (alright, I admit that false suns may be very few and far between, but you never know when one will show up, and maybe oneday one will, then, I am sure, the bees will suffer) that are lurking about just waiting to snaffle up a passing bee. And every day will be the same mixture of self-sacrificial adrenalin pumping boredom until she flaps her last (either due to the paralysis caused by dying or the cruelty of 5-year-old children).

All of a sudden wings aren't seeming such a blessing, all of a sudden being a lowly ant looking up at the big old sky through a towering forest of grass seems like a walk in the park (and sometime it literally is). But if you asked Bertha if she was happy, you'd get yet another of those strange, concidering looks, and another shrug of the shoulders, and another half-hearted answer, "It's what I do.", before she to hitches up her (figurative) trousers and bustles off again to work.

Sometimes bees and ants are wise in the ways of the life.

Frosted windows in a gothic cathedral

It is my blog
I cannot see
Though I can post
Odd.

I'll look into it or something.

We bought a new couch for out flat and it is foldoutable and it is comfy.
My room is neering tidiness.

This post is not going through.

I am exceedingly proud of my fatherly relatives.
For the trip down south my father managed to pack an unimaginably huge amount of luggage into the back of the van.
He has such a talent for that.
And my ailing grandfather who seems to get more and more fragile every year (he is nearly 92 years of age) and his mind sometimes does wonder, but still he has an sharp mind about him, why as we left from visiting him to head further south, he said "Be good, and if you cannot be good, be clever."

I couldnt agree more.

neglectful crowdpleaser
(in a world of his own)

Today is moving day
ANd the clouds are overhead
And we are flattout.
And if i saw people this holimdays
And didnot say them farewell
My sincerest and deepest appologies
But as for me
I'm off to take down the volley ball net
And dry some dishes
And then
Who can say....?

nurse betty on the jetty

Smile to the mirror at yourself
And nod politely to the smiling figure
In the wall beyond
A small sparrow waits
Alarmed by the neighbours cat
With the agility of an iceberg.

Silence greets the waiting ear
But for the low hum
Of the neighbours mower
A mover and a shaker
Up-on-the-town.
An economy maker.

Basket case
On a rainy day?
Care for some chocolates
Fashioned generously
By the homeless.
The trolley wheels sqeal
And the doorknockers are turned away.

In the distance
A baby cries
And the dying grass
Utters a silent moan
Beneath the whirr of blades
And the scorching sun.

Lolly-pops
The children scatter
Giggles and dances
But the shade is cool
And so is lemonade
So smile generously
It's the least you can do.

muffled screams through a partially closed door

Somedays I feel that everyone is running a race from me, yet somedays I feel that I am in the lead.




Desert men step lightly where even camels fear to tread.

slurred lines in a commemorative speech

I am thinking I need a new edge to the 'blog', and so i am mentally setting meself up to do a bit of a makeover of the old girl over the next wee while.

Also, my head feels to be floating free from my neck, a sensation that is more commonly experienced by myself after 5 hours of sleep or after about 2:30 AM, odd.

Also, today I woke up feeling on the crappy side of down. Having read the verbose witticisms (spellign unknown) and sagely knowledge of others my age, and pondered such writings over the course of a relatively sleepless night, I arrived at the feeling of a sort of disjointed helpessness in the morning.
I am neither the wit that I often try to convince myself that I am (and others too), nor do I feel I have any mentor advice to offer ( my over-competitive spirit has taken a bit of a pummelling). Still, I got down and did a bit of work about the house, and soothed myself by muddling through a small portion of 'Still Fighting It' which did help sumwhat.

Sometimes I just feel that I am left behind in some indescribable way.

As the saying goes, " Too much introversion is not a good thing "

Or something.

If I am made so much alive
Why am I dying?
If the water is so warm
Why am I cold?
If I want it so much
Why am I not trying?
And if I am obedient
Why can I not do just as I am told?

If the sky is blue today
Why is it raining?
And why is all the thunder
So very loud?
Why am I off track
When I should be training
To join another kingdom
That is way above the clouds?

If surrender's not an option
Why is the flag out?
If I'm guarenteed to win
Why do I run?
If I'm better off inside
Why do I want out?
And why does doing
The wrong thing seem so very fun?

If the devil always lies
Why do I listen?
And if the Torch shines forth the way
Why put it out?
Why am I certain that it's gold
When it only glistens?
And if I am needing
Some assistance why do I not shout?

If I should always talk to God
Why am I silent?
If I want to know what He says
Why do I not read?
Why do I participate
In acts of violence,
When for every single act
He had to bleed for me.

(And if I want to live for Him
Why does hippocracy
Seem to be the very foundation
Of existance
On the earth I am a pilgrim
But I'm on my way
To a much greater station
And despite self-imposed friction
And worldly degradation
And the deceit of Satan
It's gonna be a greater, better day
For God is there beside me
And whatever betide me
God is more powerful than all
And I'm living for Him
And I'm living by Him
And He's giving me the strength
For me to fight off sin
Cause I'm a Christian locomotive
Heading throught mountains
Next stop- Heaven.)

She's just a picture
That's blue-tacked to my wall
Just a figment
In the shadows of the hall
A skulking cobweb
Sucking at my head
Somedays we would stroll
Together, alone
And say our silent words
Till we reached home.
Only we never did
I only dreamed it.

If I ever uttered a word
To her, the mirror would shatter
And only a matter
Of moments turned days
I'd fly to the Andes
You must understand that she's
Irrevocably
Driven me insane.

The light switch is broken
And the bulb's flickered illuminance
Shines down on her face
Smiling with ill-fated permanence
Of that time
That we fled to the beach
Away from the crowds
For our ocean retreat,
Alone beneath the clouds
Only we never did
It seems that it's
Realer than real
And sometimes I think that the
World in my head,
Is where I'd rather be.











A verbal state of dyslexia
Moth-man in the alleyways
The criminals are flaring
Their yellowed teeth in protest
The government
Talks of war and peace
A treatise for dissection
Beneath the looking glass.
And the tides are falling
Down like rain upon the tarmac.
Law and order
Truth and justice
Bargaining tools
For a better existance.
But who funds,
And who runs
Is all in the handshake.







The following is a load of bollocks, read at own risk:


Easier than the voices
They say it is also easier
Than becoming a mote of dust in the storm
Will you be blown or thrown to the dogs?
Disrupt the undeath of your mind
Fly to the poverties of another life
Could you drink the average-mint beverages of the masses
It could be an opportunist's nightmare,
Or a tactless decision,
Dancing in the darkness with a figure in your hand
Till at last the light shall guide you
To another universe
Where the angry peasants sigh
At the electronic discharges thundering
Down from the sky.

Would you care for a dairy pickup,
A winning lotto ticket,
A transitory high?
Afloat on, waves of affection
Affecting rash decisions
Living it for all of us.



You seem so much more than tangible
A wave of the inevitable.



Telephone home on weekends
Just to tell the folks you're doing fine.
As you fall apart on a daily basis
Popping the pills just to ease your mind.
Every evening you stumble home
To a happiness that is not there.
You'd cry yourself a river
If you thought anyone else would care.

You're a city kid, born and raised
If money was life, you've got it made
In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king
But that's all meaningless when you can't see a thing.





Sweet slumbers to you my darling
The clouds will carry you on
Feather-tipped wings
A fairy-tale trip
To the land of dreams.
And the road wend ever on
Past a thousand rising suns
I'll see you someday
When the wind carries you
Safe to my arms.







Hah.
It appears to be bollocks for you all tonight.
Ach well.
Somedays is off days.
To much sleep-lackingness for me

Tangible time lies
A finger-tip's length away
The clock ticks gently.






I have been thinking that the one good thing about a very boring party is that it gives you a lot of time to just sit and gently mull over a variety of topics.

This is my little shout out of gratitude and plug (batteries not included) to a certain online business that goes the extra mile, that makes you feel a valued customer though your custom be not strong at all.

Thankyou musicroom.com

Thankyou for being free of shipping worldwide with every order of 25 pounds sterling or more
Thankyou for haveing both Ben Folds: Rocking the Suburbs and Belle and Sebastian: Fold your hands child piano sheet music in stock and at more than reasonable prices.
Thankyou for shipping in 2 weeks, which is more than Amazon.com, for all its much vaunted payed shipping, can accomplish (and 5 days before you said it would get there).
Thankyou for it being here so i can learn to be like the greats.

I am thinking today will be a superb day.

Lines run inside of my head
As the cat purrs contentedly
In a gently snoring manner.
Mother darns old socks,
In the white-light of a lamp.
Father types minutes
With glances at cricket
Battling away on a screen
Against insurmountable odds.
And an unshaven youth
Sporting a yellow t-shirt
And raven hued shorts.
Comments run lively
Through the living room
And soon I retreat
To the bedroom gloom.

It's looking like a purple sunrise
A glitter-gold coat of pain
As the mudslinging winds down slowly
To normality again.
And anger bleeds into silence
Then finally I see
The tear-soaked gorgon eyes
Staring back at me.





The eye is the corner-stone of beauty
And the wellspring of grief.






Duplicant lier
Tell it to me straight
Have I lost the wager
Or must we race again?
Will the heavens swallow,
And not a trace remain,
If we leave it till tommorrow
Delayed because of rain.
I'm sure it is amusing
Being so straight-faced and clean
Whilst fixing all the results
And lying through your teeth.
To the honest everyday-man
Who frequents at your place
In blatant disreguard of
Their open, tired face.

Drop
In a glass
A splash to sink us all.
Were
You the one,
To catch us when we fall?
Tides'
Coming in
I'm barely two foot tall.
(Drowning in it all.)

Strum
The guitar
It's music to my ears.
Sing
Out so hard
You'll drive away our fears.
Laugh
At it all
It's not as it appears.
(And yet the ending nears.)

You could say
It's not today.
You'd drive us
Off a cliff,
You'd drive us all away.
Oh and yet
You won the bet.
It's not enough,
You'll rub it in,
I'll never hear the end.

Dance
In the light,
The daylight bleeds away.
Stare
At the wall,
You've nothing more to say.
Come
To our neighbourhood
You wouldn't last the day.

You would say
No not today.
As you're driving
Off a cliff,
You drive us all away.
You think
You're on the brink
And we will bend
To stop your fall
But you're the weakest link.

(Oh and yet
You won the bet.
It's all too much,
To rub it in,
I had to make it end.)














Hmm, not to sure about the last part before the brackets.

Boy, such an sad poem writer i be.
Sigh.

An image came just now
Of how things used to be
Me and you were then
But nothings that easy.




If I could dream
A thousand dreams
You'd be in them all





Some nights
I can't sleep
When your beauty
Overwhelms me.




There is a sink
In my kitchen
Where my memories go
When the road
Unestablished
Pushes stoicly on
And I turn
From my dinner
And the world is undone
When the steam
That is rising
Is a ghost of you.






I'm not asleep
Don't comfort me
I will find time
For feeling
But not just now
And anyhow
I think that I'd
Be overwhelmed.






How many roads are there to cross
In this steeplechase
You never live me down
From across the seas
One day the sun will rise
On a different me
But I'm just sitting, wondering
When that will be.






The beat of her heart
Echoed warm counterpoint
To the pulse of the night.






Contentment
Slides like
Velvet tongs
Through open portals.
I would ride
Them all one day
With wings of song.
Who can say
Where they lead
On a winter carpet?
To a mystery
Wonderland?
Or to a deadly desert?





The door swung
Softly shut
To her heart.

She was death
In a paper cup
And wine
In the cooling air
Gliding securely
Through the crowds
With sylvian grace.

Grandeur met
And greeted once
As equals
Not as foes
She was all the
Essence of beauty
Of the human race

Or otherworldly
I know not
As on the
Tread of time
She danced a
Rapturing rythm
None can trace

Innocence displayed
In laughter
Clean and fair
Music to the mourner
Gladsome tidings
And crisp dew-drops
Of purest sunlight
On springtime day

Eyes afire
With inner life
That flames bright
In passion expressed
By the tear-drawing
Repository of beauty
That is her face.

The choices facing you
Are not easy to ignore
The choice is facing you
And we've all been here before
When all and everything
Seems to blow up in your face
The choices facing you
Are still only yours to face.



Don't be feeling blue
My gloomy, pretty child
Put your smile on
Fair daughter of the wild.
And the sun will sing a song
In someone else's head
A special song for you
To brighten up your dread.
The whispy clouds wil blow away
To brighten up your day.

We aren't cool enough
For lunchtime specials.
Though a cool breeze
Is rippling through.
We could tackle a tiger
To make you a liar
But they will follow you
Cause we aren't cool enough.

Running away from history
Straight to the future
But history repeats
Again and again.
Come out from your sheets
It's brighter than you think
We are enlightened
With a pen in our hand.

Chronic smoker's cough
It's killing me off
And I hate everything
Least of all you

Would you care for a taste
Of impossibility?
A game of dice with God?
Would you be so hell-bent
On winning?
The heavens are clouding
The thunder is calling
The rain is falling
Down on me.
Yeah, I am worried
That the Creator's glory
Will drown me,
Will drown me.

Are you trying to fly,
Through the clouds?
Greater still than the storm?
Why are you so hell-bent
On freedom?
The heavens are calling
But sin is dragging
And you are falling
Down on me.
Yeah, I am worried
That all your striving
Is not enough,
Yeah, not enough.


So have a thought
Of a glorious future
Sometime you'll find
That it'll kill ya
But it's not enough,
Not enough.

I'm sorry
It was another life
And it was
Another dream
And I was
All but asleep in your arms.

Hear the breathing
Soft and even
And I am
Out of control
We are
Two pods in a pea
We can never be.

When a dream
Is more real than life
We are chained
To what is not
While the present
Passes us by.

Denial
Is the first sign
Of inconstance.
As the trumpet sounds
The migration begins
To another life.

Win a race
Before the gun
But you always run
You run,
Hoping the dust will
Settle all you left behind.

I couldn't see
What's become of me.
All because of you.
That philosophies blurred
Into shadows
Not cut and dry
Anymore.

You smiled
The world was changed
And stars settled
In the pools of yours eyes
And the universe canters
About a new center.











Yeh.
This ones possibly not finished or polished at all.
But it came to me tonight while I was doing me close at Mc D's
When some people came in
Drunk'n all
Mc D's people
And helped us do it fast.
I scribbled most of it down on a paper towel
And put it straight here in a more
Semipermanent setting
SO it is not lost
Cause I rekon there is some potential hidden there.
Or something.

Words fell like snow flurries
In a wintry haze
Blinding me to the obvious
Right before me face
Politicians
Always win
Or so it goes in the movies
Your carnivorous grin
Has done me in
To shadings of invisible.

Banter in a pine forest
With echoing hollow winds
And nothing is the same
The ice may melt
The wind may blow
But the trees will ever be
Infront of me
Obscuring my view
Of you.

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.