As the sad song leaks through his headphones, the Boring Writer sits quietly typing. This is a part of a story, something that touches lives. Each note elicits another memory without an owner. Long dusty afternoons in the sunlight, swirling motes chased by a purring cat. Easy days of some kind of innocence, faded and yellowed. Pulled out of a back pocket in the mind, worn and folded. Like an old man sitting in a side-street cafe, wondering where things went. Not right or wrong, just how they happened, when they went. Nostalgia is too strong of a word for a passing feeling.
The sun breaks through the clouds, the piano strikes a lighter note, cheerful but saccharine. Like a forced smile, it covers up but doesn't push the feelings away. As it trails off everything returns.
Everyone has a part to play in the story of the world. Life is glorious when it's left to be as it may. Spread your wings and soar, little butterfly. You can't plan for tomorrow unless you believe that it will come. Life may not be a stage, but characters we remain. It is a lifting experience to see the world detached from value. Lifting the dollars and cents, lifting the worth or worthlessness, the poor, the old, the sick, the vain. Looking at it all from a different place, studying the flow of life, swimming through it. It is not necessary to always swim upstream, but the effort is worth expending.
Enjoy the experience by the instant, it may vanish as quickly as it arrives. Remember the first screaming breath, and expect the last shuddering. The cycle is inescapable, for now. Live, love, learn, alliterate. In this world there are only things worth creating. The need is greater than the pettiness, and one noble moment outshines a villain.
We are all Internet superheroes. In the digital confines of our realm we are paragons, ideas given flesh, existing only to serve a single purpose. Like the demigods of old, we charge into the fray. The pantheon is large and varied, and the stories emerging are mythical and epic. Our foreheads give birth to ideas which live on to rebel against us.
Soon the vastness of our spaces will overwhelm us, but for now we are pagan warriors, striding boldly upon new plains, claiming them as our own. Soon the weregild will come due, but not yet. Today we are victorious and we accept it like sunlight. We have not fallen yet.
Not yet.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Rock Face
I wanna search for that perfect feeling,
when your soul goes "lock and load!"
when the mind aches: sends you reeling
dead nerves scream so hollow.
no matter what I'll get that feeling
,
gonna find it, look from high to low
I'll take it and mine this feeling
sell it cheap so you won't feel alone
NOT GONNA PAY ATTENTION
NOT GONNA STOP FOR SHIT
ONLY GONNA FEEL THAT FEELING
GONNA BE A REAL HYPOCRITE
I want to feel that perfect feeling
I want it tight 'gainst my brain
it's something that's so appealing
like burning sun on a summer rain
You ever felt good what you could when you shouldn't
that perfect crystal clarity
what will you do when you do what you wouldn't
when all your bits reach parity
when the smoggy mindscape splits apart
just enough for you to see
those things that shake the hearts of,
and the bloody hands of Democracy
NOT GONNA PAY ATTENTION
NOT GONNA STOP FOR SHIT
ONLY GONNA FEEL THAT FEELING
GONNA BE A REAL HYPOCRITE
it won't be hid what you didn't
nothing'll hide you now
don't let me kid since it isn't
gonna ever furrow your brow
[for emphasis]
NOT GONNA PAY ATTENTION
NOT GONNA STOP FOR SHIT
ONLY GONNA FEEL THAT FEELING
GONNA BE A REAL HYPOCRITE
we're all gonna be fucked right proper
from here to infinity
our leaders make us paupers
and rule with impunity
our planet's toxic while the children mock us
but the laugh's really on them
cause it's our shit they'll have for dinner
chock full of cancer and dust
NOT GONNA PAY ATTENTION
NOT GONNA STOP FOR SHIT
ONLY GONNA FEEL THAT FEELING
GONNA BE A REAL HYPOCRITE
don't fret it's the same old story
that we all know all so well
it's okay cause in the morning
it's all we have in the depths of hell
hold that fucking perfect feeling
hold it against your brain
hold it against revealing
our pointless lives and senseless pain
NOT GONNA PAY ATTENTION
NOT GONNA STOP FOR SHIT
ONLY GONNA FEEL THAT FEELING
GONNA BE A REAL HYPOCRITE
when your soul goes "lock and load!"
when the mind aches: sends you reeling
dead nerves scream so hollow.
no matter what I'll get that feeling
,
gonna find it, look from high to low
I'll take it and mine this feeling
sell it cheap so you won't feel alone
NOT GONNA PAY ATTENTION
NOT GONNA STOP FOR SHIT
ONLY GONNA FEEL THAT FEELING
GONNA BE A REAL HYPOCRITE
I want to feel that perfect feeling
I want it tight 'gainst my brain
it's something that's so appealing
like burning sun on a summer rain
You ever felt good what you could when you shouldn't
that perfect crystal clarity
what will you do when you do what you wouldn't
when all your bits reach parity
when the smoggy mindscape splits apart
just enough for you to see
those things that shake the hearts of,
and the bloody hands of Democracy
NOT GONNA PAY ATTENTION
NOT GONNA STOP FOR SHIT
ONLY GONNA FEEL THAT FEELING
GONNA BE A REAL HYPOCRITE
it won't be hid what you didn't
nothing'll hide you now
don't let me kid since it isn't
gonna ever furrow your brow
[for emphasis]
NOT GONNA PAY ATTENTION
NOT GONNA STOP FOR SHIT
ONLY GONNA FEEL THAT FEELING
GONNA BE A REAL HYPOCRITE
we're all gonna be fucked right proper
from here to infinity
our leaders make us paupers
and rule with impunity
our planet's toxic while the children mock us
but the laugh's really on them
cause it's our shit they'll have for dinner
chock full of cancer and dust
NOT GONNA PAY ATTENTION
NOT GONNA STOP FOR SHIT
ONLY GONNA FEEL THAT FEELING
GONNA BE A REAL HYPOCRITE
don't fret it's the same old story
that we all know all so well
it's okay cause in the morning
it's all we have in the depths of hell
hold that fucking perfect feeling
hold it against your brain
hold it against revealing
our pointless lives and senseless pain
NOT GONNA PAY ATTENTION
NOT GONNA STOP FOR SHIT
ONLY GONNA FEEL THAT FEELING
GONNA BE A REAL HYPOCRITE
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Stone Tablets
impression in foam
My work is countable, each character
you can sort out and quantify
everything I've done
my whole life lies bare
maybe you've even analysed it
but that doesn't mean anything
I'm not famous at all
maybe when I'm gone someone
may scroll through something
I may have written and
Anonymously submitted
So I continue anyway
despite lacking credibility
Anyone would be sceptical
if they were told to beware
the words of mine they read
may cause sterility.
Chaos guaranteed not to challenge your perceptions.
Amongst the drunken rabble there was
a couple sleeping; immune to all
for a brief second they stood out
the only different people
on the train of my woes
the repetition of the drunks
every word and then the last
all specially inane
for all their uniqueness they seemed
to blend into a sameness of bad jokes
and the same old social interactions
It seems that rhyming right now
would probably be lame.
Fuck.
This time it was all different
for the first time I was creative
in a long pointless while
I wrote this wasted.
Steal my work (when I'm dead)
In many long years there may be
a time where someone will try
to profit from something I made
Right now I need cash
although all money tastes like ash
but when I'm dead
Steal my work.
The key
the key to life that opens every door
the paths to happiness
line up for their bolts
to be drawn swift and sure
and the click clack
of a slick barrel
where all the pins
are just right
a plain old key
nothing much to look at
someone else has
the only one
and it says
do not duplicate
The key (redux)
the key to life that opens every door
the paths to happiness
line up for their bolts
to be drawn swift and sure
and the click clack
of a slick barrel
where all the pins
are just right
a plain old key
nothing much to look at
it is hanging on a wall
it belongs to someone else
the hurried glance before
the long slow gaze
shows a grim reality
Do Not Duplicate.
Something
Hard to be original
these days it all seems the same
someone else better already came,
went, and I don't care
but you have nobody to blame but yourself
for all your stupid little rules
which ruin my game
but turn around and spin
on your heel and grit your teeth
because the truth is like a
chunk of bone in your fish
you don't want original
you're content with more crap
no matter how lame.
Just to spite you
I'll do my best
to rattle the cage
that you so kindly
built for me
My work is countable, each character
you can sort out and quantify
everything I've done
my whole life lies bare
maybe you've even analysed it
but that doesn't mean anything
I'm not famous at all
maybe when I'm gone someone
may scroll through something
I may have written and
Anonymously submitted
So I continue anyway
despite lacking credibility
Anyone would be sceptical
if they were told to beware
the words of mine they read
may cause sterility.
Chaos guaranteed not to challenge your perceptions.
Amongst the drunken rabble there was
a couple sleeping; immune to all
for a brief second they stood out
the only different people
on the train of my woes
the repetition of the drunks
every word and then the last
all specially inane
for all their uniqueness they seemed
to blend into a sameness of bad jokes
and the same old social interactions
It seems that rhyming right now
would probably be lame.
Fuck.
This time it was all different
for the first time I was creative
in a long pointless while
I wrote this wasted.
Steal my work (when I'm dead)
In many long years there may be
a time where someone will try
to profit from something I made
Right now I need cash
although all money tastes like ash
but when I'm dead
Steal my work.
The key
the key to life that opens every door
the paths to happiness
line up for their bolts
to be drawn swift and sure
and the click clack
of a slick barrel
where all the pins
are just right
a plain old key
nothing much to look at
someone else has
the only one
and it says
do not duplicate
The key (redux)
the key to life that opens every door
the paths to happiness
line up for their bolts
to be drawn swift and sure
and the click clack
of a slick barrel
where all the pins
are just right
a plain old key
nothing much to look at
it is hanging on a wall
it belongs to someone else
the hurried glance before
the long slow gaze
shows a grim reality
Do Not Duplicate.
Something
Hard to be original
these days it all seems the same
someone else better already came,
went, and I don't care
but you have nobody to blame but yourself
for all your stupid little rules
which ruin my game
but turn around and spin
on your heel and grit your teeth
because the truth is like a
chunk of bone in your fish
you don't want original
you're content with more crap
no matter how lame.
Just to spite you
I'll do my best
to rattle the cage
that you so kindly
built for me
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Satirical Story
Judge: “Order in the Court (Pounds gavel). May the defendant please rise. Mister NotSoSmart, you stand accused of being Not Very Smart. As you know, in smartland this is a grave offense and punishable by death. How do you plead.?”
NSS: “Not guilty, your honor.”
(Sounds of amazement from the jury)
Judge: “The prosecution may now give their evidence.”
Prosecutor: “On April 10th of this year, Mr. NotSoSmart was accused by his neighbour, Mr. Smarty, of reading a book which was not cleared for reading by the comission of smart people, therefore damaging his intelligence and becoming not smart at all.”
Judge: “Where is the book in question?”
Prosecutor: “The book is here, labeled Exhibit A through Z recursively, by page number.”
Judge: “Excellent presentation of evidence. That book looks very unintelligent indeed. There are even pictures! Prosecution, you may question your a witness if you will.”
Prosecution: “We call Mr. Smarty to the stand.”
Mister Smarty: “I solemnly swear to be the smartest.”
Prosecution: “Excellent. Did you see Mr. NotSoSmart reading an unapproved book on April 10th?”
Mister Smarty: “Yes, I did. I remember he was outside in his hammock, drinking lemonade, reading the book underneath the shade. I was just finishing trimming my hedges when I sauntered over to ask him if he had any book suggestions. Then, when I saw the cover of the book did not have the approved Ministry of Smartness stamp, I went straightaway to the telephone and called the authorities.”
(Jury gasps)
Prosecutor: “No further questions.”
Defence attorney: “Mister Smarty may go. I now call Mister NotSoSmart to the stand.”
(Jury gasps)
Judge: “I'll allow it.”
(Jury gasps)
Prosecutor: “This is an insult to our profession! This is an outrage!”
Defence: “Mr. NotSoSmart, what do you have to say in your defence?”
NSS: “Well, I would like to begin by...”
Prosecutor: “Objection! This is a leading question!”
(Jury gasps)
Judge: “Overruled. Mr. NotSoSmart, continue”
(Jury gasps)
NSS: “I was saying that this very law of SmartLand may be without cause. I stand here accused of being Not Very Smart. The term smart has been a subjective term used for different behaviours, some of which may be smart in some situations while not so smart in others. Reading a book that was simply not considered a smart book by a leading authority does not make it a stupid (Jury gasps at curse word) decision.”
Judge: “Continue.”
NSS: “I am arguing that such a subjective term cannot fully describe the totality of a person's behaviour, and if it is subjective, then it must also follow a scale that is dictated by society. Since such a scale relies on the subjectivity of each individual attempting to judge the smartness of each thought and action, it must therefore be arbitrary, since there is no zero point of being unintelligent. In some societies, simply being literate is Extremely smart, while in others it is mundane. However, it is never considered not smart.”
Judge: “Please come to your point.”
NSS: “My point is that according to an arbitrary, subjective scale, I could judge any other person in this room of being not smart, picking out the smallest flaw and rendering it to fit an overall picture of the person. As any person can see, this is a flawed system.”
(Jury gasps)
Defence Attorney: “The defence rests.”
Prosecutor: “This is an outrage!”
Judge: “In light of what we have just discussed today, I must find Mr. NotSoSmart....”
(Jury gasps)
Judge: “NOT GUILTY” (BANGS GAVEL THUNDEROUSLY)
Prosecutor: “This is an outrage! On what grounds?”
Judge: “On the grounds that regardless of whether or not he read that book, anyone who can give a simply reasoned speech regardless of content must be smart, therefore there is no possible way the charges may be true!”
THE END.
NSS: “Not guilty, your honor.”
(Sounds of amazement from the jury)
Judge: “The prosecution may now give their evidence.”
Prosecutor: “On April 10th of this year, Mr. NotSoSmart was accused by his neighbour, Mr. Smarty, of reading a book which was not cleared for reading by the comission of smart people, therefore damaging his intelligence and becoming not smart at all.”
Judge: “Where is the book in question?”
Prosecutor: “The book is here, labeled Exhibit A through Z recursively, by page number.”
Judge: “Excellent presentation of evidence. That book looks very unintelligent indeed. There are even pictures! Prosecution, you may question your a witness if you will.”
Prosecution: “We call Mr. Smarty to the stand.”
Mister Smarty: “I solemnly swear to be the smartest.”
Prosecution: “Excellent. Did you see Mr. NotSoSmart reading an unapproved book on April 10th?”
Mister Smarty: “Yes, I did. I remember he was outside in his hammock, drinking lemonade, reading the book underneath the shade. I was just finishing trimming my hedges when I sauntered over to ask him if he had any book suggestions. Then, when I saw the cover of the book did not have the approved Ministry of Smartness stamp, I went straightaway to the telephone and called the authorities.”
(Jury gasps)
Prosecutor: “No further questions.”
Defence attorney: “Mister Smarty may go. I now call Mister NotSoSmart to the stand.”
(Jury gasps)
Judge: “I'll allow it.”
(Jury gasps)
Prosecutor: “This is an insult to our profession! This is an outrage!”
Defence: “Mr. NotSoSmart, what do you have to say in your defence?”
NSS: “Well, I would like to begin by...”
Prosecutor: “Objection! This is a leading question!”
(Jury gasps)
Judge: “Overruled. Mr. NotSoSmart, continue”
(Jury gasps)
NSS: “I was saying that this very law of SmartLand may be without cause. I stand here accused of being Not Very Smart. The term smart has been a subjective term used for different behaviours, some of which may be smart in some situations while not so smart in others. Reading a book that was simply not considered a smart book by a leading authority does not make it a stupid (Jury gasps at curse word) decision.”
Judge: “Continue.”
NSS: “I am arguing that such a subjective term cannot fully describe the totality of a person's behaviour, and if it is subjective, then it must also follow a scale that is dictated by society. Since such a scale relies on the subjectivity of each individual attempting to judge the smartness of each thought and action, it must therefore be arbitrary, since there is no zero point of being unintelligent. In some societies, simply being literate is Extremely smart, while in others it is mundane. However, it is never considered not smart.”
Judge: “Please come to your point.”
NSS: “My point is that according to an arbitrary, subjective scale, I could judge any other person in this room of being not smart, picking out the smallest flaw and rendering it to fit an overall picture of the person. As any person can see, this is a flawed system.”
(Jury gasps)
Defence Attorney: “The defence rests.”
Prosecutor: “This is an outrage!”
Judge: “In light of what we have just discussed today, I must find Mr. NotSoSmart....”
(Jury gasps)
Judge: “NOT GUILTY” (BANGS GAVEL THUNDEROUSLY)
Prosecutor: “This is an outrage! On what grounds?”
Judge: “On the grounds that regardless of whether or not he read that book, anyone who can give a simply reasoned speech regardless of content must be smart, therefore there is no possible way the charges may be true!”
THE END.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Slanderous Eyes
The cycle continues on, Sun and Moon roon and roon.
The wasted day and saddened night, casually unused and wrinkled.
Wasted, full of thoughts not written down, full of ideas not shown round, full of actions not unbound. Wasted days are here again.
Refreshing the page, enjoying a rage, trapped in the cage, again.
Actor offstage, understudy licking a page, of a politician.
Beauty is a happy accident, work it for all you've got, milk it dry.
Faith runs like blood, whitewash all the colours.
Blue and yellow and red, memories chase you until you're dead.
Memories chase you and send you flowers.
A list! A wonderful list of things that need to be handed down:
Parents have been parents for thousands of years. Dictatorial, presumptuous, self-aggrandising, controlling, condescending.
Quick remember it all before it is forgotten.
The cycle of life continues on, but cycles are meant to be changed and broken.
Raise them for a new tomorrow, not for a worthless yesterday. The present and the future, the past is like quicksand. Step lightly and run!
Eat well, drink water, be quiet and listen. Speak little, think always. Gamble never, but risk everything. Look at what's important, beyond the trappings. The hierarchy tells us what we truly are. When you die without it, then it is needed. Every living thing needs space to grow.
The future youth will shock us with their new genes, but they will be surprised to find themselves outclassed by those who thought before.
Just because it was thought of once, doesn't mean that it is not worth doing again. It can be done again and again, the important thing is that you have done it. Doing nothing is the gravest sin, wasting our precious days. Exercise body and mind, exercise emotion and logic, exercise sex and violence.
Quiescent.
The wasted day and saddened night, casually unused and wrinkled.
Wasted, full of thoughts not written down, full of ideas not shown round, full of actions not unbound. Wasted days are here again.
Refreshing the page, enjoying a rage, trapped in the cage, again.
Actor offstage, understudy licking a page, of a politician.
Beauty is a happy accident, work it for all you've got, milk it dry.
Faith runs like blood, whitewash all the colours.
Blue and yellow and red, memories chase you until you're dead.
Memories chase you and send you flowers.
A list! A wonderful list of things that need to be handed down:
Parents have been parents for thousands of years. Dictatorial, presumptuous, self-aggrandising, controlling, condescending.
Quick remember it all before it is forgotten.
The cycle of life continues on, but cycles are meant to be changed and broken.
Raise them for a new tomorrow, not for a worthless yesterday. The present and the future, the past is like quicksand. Step lightly and run!
Eat well, drink water, be quiet and listen. Speak little, think always. Gamble never, but risk everything. Look at what's important, beyond the trappings. The hierarchy tells us what we truly are. When you die without it, then it is needed. Every living thing needs space to grow.
The future youth will shock us with their new genes, but they will be surprised to find themselves outclassed by those who thought before.
Just because it was thought of once, doesn't mean that it is not worth doing again. It can be done again and again, the important thing is that you have done it. Doing nothing is the gravest sin, wasting our precious days. Exercise body and mind, exercise emotion and logic, exercise sex and violence.
Quiescent.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Trite Expression
I miss her so much.
I want to feel her hug and see her smile. I want to sleep with her again. I want the ice in my stomach to melt away from her touch.
I miss how she was mysterious but vulnerable, I miss having the chance to make her mine. I wanted to be with her for the rest of my life, and now that is impossible. I wanted to hold and protect her, but I hurt her and she hurt herself. I couldn't make her happy.
She thought I was her dog, so devoted I was to her. I am nobody's dog. I loved her anyway. I loved her in a way that scared me. It wasn't a love for show, a feeling of trying to prove I was capable of it. It was just the quiet wish to spend the rest of my days with a girl who made me feel complete.
Every night I stay up until I am too exhausted to continue. Missing her. Missing anything which can fill the hole that is there. The hole has always been there, since I can remember. I've had many girls, but she is the only one I ever chose. Some girls can fill it temporarily, but she could have had it forever.
She wasn't the prettiest or best fit for me. I know our personalities were different enough. She could have been taller, had bigger breasts, been more sporty and kind. I loved her anyway. I loved her fully and completely.
I never forgave her, and I don't think she ever forgave me. Nothing can undo what was done. I could forgive it all if I felt she had any sincerity. I feel used and discarded, replaceable and worthless. Penny paper in a dime store.
I can't tell anyone. They think that it was a stupid, puppy love. They think that it has happened to everyone before. It probably has. Just because everyone has the scars doesn't mean that my wounds aren't fresh.
She was the second to throw me away. The first to throw my love away. I threw away the love of another, I am not innocent.
I don't think I'll ever truly understand her, but I think I was good enough for her at the time. Then she wanted something else.
Even in the arms of another woman, I think of her.
I remember how tortured I was, alone. When it was only myself and the abyss. This is still better than those days. To have known the love of another lights a candle against the darkness. To not have that love brings bitterness.
I was happy. I was happy but I wanted more. I wanted a brighter future for both of us. Some patience, some thinking and I would have done everything to get it.
Now there is nothing, but myself.
And me.
And I.
And the abyss.
I want to feel her hug and see her smile. I want to sleep with her again. I want the ice in my stomach to melt away from her touch.
I miss how she was mysterious but vulnerable, I miss having the chance to make her mine. I wanted to be with her for the rest of my life, and now that is impossible. I wanted to hold and protect her, but I hurt her and she hurt herself. I couldn't make her happy.
She thought I was her dog, so devoted I was to her. I am nobody's dog. I loved her anyway. I loved her in a way that scared me. It wasn't a love for show, a feeling of trying to prove I was capable of it. It was just the quiet wish to spend the rest of my days with a girl who made me feel complete.
Every night I stay up until I am too exhausted to continue. Missing her. Missing anything which can fill the hole that is there. The hole has always been there, since I can remember. I've had many girls, but she is the only one I ever chose. Some girls can fill it temporarily, but she could have had it forever.
She wasn't the prettiest or best fit for me. I know our personalities were different enough. She could have been taller, had bigger breasts, been more sporty and kind. I loved her anyway. I loved her fully and completely.
I never forgave her, and I don't think she ever forgave me. Nothing can undo what was done. I could forgive it all if I felt she had any sincerity. I feel used and discarded, replaceable and worthless. Penny paper in a dime store.
I can't tell anyone. They think that it was a stupid, puppy love. They think that it has happened to everyone before. It probably has. Just because everyone has the scars doesn't mean that my wounds aren't fresh.
She was the second to throw me away. The first to throw my love away. I threw away the love of another, I am not innocent.
I don't think I'll ever truly understand her, but I think I was good enough for her at the time. Then she wanted something else.
Even in the arms of another woman, I think of her.
I remember how tortured I was, alone. When it was only myself and the abyss. This is still better than those days. To have known the love of another lights a candle against the darkness. To not have that love brings bitterness.
I was happy. I was happy but I wanted more. I wanted a brighter future for both of us. Some patience, some thinking and I would have done everything to get it.
Now there is nothing, but myself.
And me.
And I.
And the abyss.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)