Oh, blow it out your...

What was the original purpose of the car horn? Can anyone remember? I'm sure it had a purpose other than just making noise. Whatever the purpose, its fallen through the proverbial crack, now the car horn is a weapon, meant to enrage or warn off others. I've heard it many times, usually accompanied with yelling and screaming or some derogatory hand signal. I find it rather amusing that the second a driver is infuriated he slams his hand in the center of a steering wheel, even when the horn is a button conveniently located on the dash or steering column, old habits die hard.
The horn itself has changed to suit the driver, once implicit, the horn now evolves to suit the type of car it inhabits, as everyone is aware of the annoying 'beep beep' made by little cars, such as barinas, so I wont go into detail. The driver now also has the opportunity to modify the horn, many young hoons, you will find, enjoy the musical horn, mainly for its novelty and its stupidity. A friend of mine even went to the extreme of having a police siren installed in his car, although somewhat illegal, it did cut peak hour in half. Air horns are also rather popular, if you can't make anyone understand you, at least you can send them deaf trying, but I'd draw the line at six per car people, noise pollution is a crime, and the representatives of the law will fine you for it. Given time, I'm sure the horn will be replaced with a push button vocal insult, such as "hurry the fuck up" "the lights are fucking green" "move it dickhead" and "oh for fucks sake".
I myself am looking forward to the day when, small cars abandon their 'dof dof' music and adopt air horns, that would be most amusing to watch. I often walk past an old car yard and occasionally I can hear the horns cry out for their old owners, who abandoned them so thoughtlessly, you can feel their pain and you know their fate, but believe me, they love their owners. When a car spins out of control, the driver falls on the wheel dead, the horn knows, it cries out at the death of its master, its cries are painful, but the horn always knows, and the horn will keep crying until it is dead too.

Silence

She screams at me
I hold my ears
She increases pitch
I walk away
She walks closer
I've nowhere to go
She screams louder
I stare into space
she hits me
I look blankly at her
She screams again
I rub my eyes
She grabs at my hands
I try to pull myself free
She drags me outside
I struggle in vain
She hits me again and again and again
I feel nothing
She looks at her hands they are red
She cries and screams
I am soaked yet still nothing
She falls over and hugs me
I do not understand
She continues to cry
I try to move but cannot
She screams one last time
But I can no longer hear
I am free

Confused

Show me the way back to innocence, for experience has tortured me so.

I am lost in that period between yesterday and tomorrow, but today is just a blur. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I ventured and yet am still without. Is it too much to want to know everything? I'm trying to remember it all, but the knowledge is slipping away.
Yes, I am arrogant, yes, I am very observant, yes, I am smart, yes, I'm good at reading other peoples thoughts based on their actions, but what's the point? All these skills are meaningless without a purpose. I don't want to hurt people so my manipulation skills are fading. I don't want to appear cocky and clever so I try to sit in silence. I don't want to be considered nosey, I still notice every little detail about everything, but I don't say a word. I'm worried I will loose these talents, but if I'm not using them, there is little point in keeping them anyway.
I want purpose and I don't want to have to go back to the stage to find it, or worse, B-grade movies, that last one was a shocker. All I want is to be sure of myself then the rest will just fall into place, but how does one go about doing that.

What color is the Wind?

A single tear flows rapidly from my retina to my toes.

What color is the wind? When you whistle does its color flow? Why do I cry, I hate my life, but I've always hated that, why start crying about it now. I love life, just not mine, I can see beauty in the world, I see it everywhere I go, but I can only destroy it. What color is the wind, I've asked this question many times, but I've gotten no reply. I used to listen to the wind, admiring it for its grace and majesty, but mainly for the mystery, the way no one could catch it, the way it felt upon your skin, ruffled up your hair, the soft gentle smell it left on your nose. Yes, I've always loved the wind, but now the wind makes me sad, makes me cry, I'm crying now, I can just imagine the headlines, "Bush sticks foot in it once again," and in a small section down the bottom of the page "local idiot electrocutes themselves by crying onto computer" Mind you, even then, at my tragic end, I doubt I'll make the papers. Some say if you listen to the wind in exactly the right place, you can hear the voices it collects as it travels. I used to listen to the wind, I used to feel it around me, I used to touch it, hear it and even see it. Why is something not possible just because others can't see it, I never had any friends, I was shy, the wind was my friend. If you listen hard enough, you can hear the music it plays, or perhaps I was the only one lucky enough to hear that. Am I now being punished for the wonders I witnessed in my youth? I'd like to show you the world but it wont fit in my pocket. I could flood the planet with the tears I weep, but I don't know why I shed them. Why does the color blue always mean sad? Does that mean the heavens are sad? I saw a small boy today crying at the death of a feral pigeon. I find it sad that one so young is already that knowledgeable toward death. At that age I couldn't even urinate by myself. What color is the wind? The unexpected question with no possible answer. What would you tell a blind child if he asked you that question? Or would you just ignore him, pretend you can't see him, he can't see you, or maybe he's pretending too, we're all blind, only those who are willing to take chances will ever see the truth, me, I'm too scared to try. What color are the eyes of all your friends, do you know, I know I don't, eyes are windows to the soul and I know I'm not ready to face the truth. Why do we fear what is inevitable? It's not death I fear, but life, what if I actually live through it, what then? Do I grow old and wither away like a fig, or do I drop away from view like a wilting flower that never smelt good. I'd like to think that the wind is blue, it's nice to think that it's sad too, that way I'm not alone any more. A single tear is a beautiful thing, representing almost everything, but there's always one thing I'd like to know.
What color is the wind?

This has to be one of my favorite songs.

Transcended.

You float, you float across the sea
They say you're guaranteed, you've transcended
And you fly, you fly across the sky
Your arms are open wide, you've transcended
You've transcended
Go, child, go and find the arms that warm you
No, child, no, no one would ever harm you
You've run, wild, finally found the thoughts that calm you
Waiting, for silence to call
In space, you can barely breathe
I'll tell you what you'll need, to transcend it
If you hold, to another soul
Then when they let you go, you'll transcend it
You'll transcend it
Go, child, go and find the arms that warm you
No, child, no, no one will ever harm you
You've run, wild, finally found the thoughts that calm you
So stretch out, stretch out and smile
Ohh la la (x8)
With faith, you can barely speak
I'll tell you what you need, to transcend it
And the night, the night is closing in
You feel it on your skin, you've transcended
If you hold, to another soul
Then they let you go, you've transcended
In space, you can barely breathe
I'll tell you what you need, to transcend it
In space, you can barely breathe
You can barely breathe, you can barely breathe

True colors

Colors, I love colors, no artist could ever acquire all the colors I see when I look at the world. I don't know how they make paint these days, but aboriginals used to make their paint from the earth; the rocks, the dirt, the trees, would it be presumptuous of me to say that this is the way paint should be made? Every morning I watch the sun rise and turn the trees from green to gold. I've seen the sun set at Ayers rock turn the rock a million colors over a period of five hours. It's like the world's a canvas and the sun is the artist, changing the colors as it sees fit. There was a time in my life when I was blind, I was sixteen, I wont go into details, but it was due to medical illness. I didn't mind not seeing where I was going, I already knew where everything was, but I missed the colors, all the colors. They say accidents can correct your vision, and apparently that's what happened with me. Now I see better, I can see the colors that make up the colors, I can see them flow into each other and become one, I can see all the colors on a white canvas making up the picture I haven't yet created. But what if we're wrong? What if my blue isn't your blue, what if it's more like your red, maybe the people who told us got it wrong, maybe the sky really is purple. (Or burple depending on your preference) what if the powers that be altered our perception so much that we see color where there isn't any, maybe the world is black and white, void of all color, could it be possible that we've made it all up? I look in your eyes and all I see is endless black, fires are fuelled in shades of grey, and the sun is a black ball on a white backdrop. It's not probable, but it's definitely possible, if so, it would be our imagination that gives us color, would we give up our imagination, our color to see the truth, would we, could we? One thing is certain, if this theory is true, that of all the people in the world, only those that are color blind see the world as it is, the rest of us have a blurred vision. I've lost my focus...

I still see her

I saw her today. In the same place I've always seen her, but I knew she wasn't really there. It was my own eyes deceiving me, conspiring with my memory to show me visions of the past. I wish it were real. How I'd love to see her standing before me just as she once was, but I know that cannot be. I watched her die, watched her suffer, watched her fade away, and I knew there was nothing I could do. She was my dearest friend and I never told her. I couldn't bear to face her death, I couldn't let her be taken from me, but I couldn't stop it either. I was mean, I was cruel, I was downright hateful, but she took it all in her stride. Never once failing to be there when I needed her. It’s true what they say; you never truly know the value of something until it's taken from you. She was my one solid object in a sea of instability. I'm sure she knew I loved her, but I still wish I'd told her when I had the chance.

With Eyes Wide Open

What is it like to go away, to leave it all behind? I used to ponder what it would be like to run away, to escape the past; in fact, I've done it several times. And now I'm running again, but for once in my life, I'm not running away from my past, I'm running toward my future. I'm looking at my life, not at life itself and although I've always said that you have to make a great impact to change the world, I now realize that the smallest detail can make the greatest impact. We each, in our own lives, touch the lives of those around us, it may only be the smallest instance, but it can make the world of a difference. Why do we worry about the little things, why do we worry at all? A great man once said "Can't we all just get along," I wonder, was anyone listening? I see the news, I read the papers, I know of the wars and the bombings. How can anyone justify death by taking more lives? I strive to believe that I am above that; I wish the world did too. I've heard great men site fanatically wonderful statements and I've heard foolish men talking beside them, duping us into believing that they are just as great. Some say that the time for talking is over, and words are merely that, sprouting garbage and achieving little. Now I don't know the right words, but I do know what lies in the hearts of people, once you dispense with words, violence always follows suit, must we waste our lives, our children's lives staring down the barrel of a gun? Would you send your only child out to die? If only we could learn from the mistakes of others rather than suffer these grave injustices ourselves. A lot of people read my words in the hope of being inspired, if only I could change the world as easily as it is to change their hearts. I've often wondered what man would be so foolish as to lead us to war, now I know, and of all the reasons, it comes down to peer pressure, the need to be accepted by those in a higher position. I question then, do schoolyard rules still apply, what happens if your brother is bigger than mine? If only it were that simple, then perhaps innocent lives would not be lost. Look at the enemy, what do you know about them, why do they hate us so? We don't even know each other well enough to hate each other. Yes you may be hurting, but you are not alone in that, would you sacrifice even more for something you know nothing about. I wish I could write something that would have a deep enough impact, that would open the eyes of the world and free our minds to the great level of ingeniousness that is in every single one of us, forget infinite justice, what we need is infinite peace. How many more must die before we realize our mistakes? If you are unhappy, it is because something is wrong, fix the problem, don't make it worse. We can only ever be as different as we make ourselves, what would you rather say, "I killed a man today" or "I saved a mans life today" saving someone else brings one of the greatest feelings you could ever have, because you know that man will remember you and thank you for the rest of his life, you've made a difference. Killing someone also makes a difference, when you kill someone, you loose a part of yourself and that is irretrievable. I'm sorry I've rambled on, this wasn't meant to be political, it was meant to be about growing up and understanding the value of life, in a way, it still is for me, but when you finish reading this, will you be any different? I am just like you, human, my blood is red, I breath air and I want a peaceful freedom just like you. Now after all that I have written, after all that we have shared, has it ever occurred to you that I may be your enemy? You don't know. Our only enemy is our hatred for each other, it's not political, it's not religious, it's just different people with different ideas and they all think they are right. I love my country, but I am not a patriot, I hate wars, but I will fight for what I believe in, I may not know you, I may not know your way of thinking, but one thing I do know is that we only have a short time on this earth, we shouldn't waste it by ending the lives of others. When was the last time you made someone else happy? Just a simple smile could mean the world to others. It's like I always say "it's the little things that make the world a better place" and who knows, maybe your life will become bearable once more.

Left Alone in a Right-Handed World

I live in a backward lifestyle; it's hard to move forward when almost everyone is going the other way. Everything started as a challenge for my kind, what came easy to most, we had to strive to achieve. In my youth I was ridiculed for my actions, and everyone felt the need to tell me what I was and still do, just in case I'd made it this far in the world without ever having been told before. The world is slowly evolving to see us as the masters, we; the creative artists, we; the inventive thinkers, but its not fast enough for me. I am locked in the eternal battle with the can opener, I'm torn asunder with scissors and I'm at loose ends with every other right-handed contraption. For years we have had to force ourselves to use these backward devices, the alternative being to go without that which is rightfully ours. In my country, Ole British rule has kept us driving on the left-hand side of the road, so consequently here I can use a stick shift with my left hand, as well as a column shift, but it still means that whilst driving, I'm forced to smoke with my right hand and I drive automatic at present so who gives a rats about gears. That which you take for granted has infuriated me for years, pens that you twist to make them work, they twist back to nothing when I use them, I hate calligraphy pens as well, ink on the underside of my hand, smudging on the page, the ring binders and seams are always on the left side, right-handed chainsaws, edgers, baseball mitts, keyboards and mouse, etc. Don't get me wrong people, I don't hate what I am, I love being left handed, I just think that it's time the world came round to my way of thinking...
Because there's no point being insane if you can't force it upon others!

Children's 'Quality' Viewing

Allow me to introduce you to the modern day menace plaguing our society, a fiend so devious; you don't even know it's there. There is no creature more despicable, more odious than it, there is no scheme it wont concoct, no depravity it wont commit, it has no distinctive gender, no legs, no voice, and is known only as Brum. You may laugh now, but hear me out and I think you will find my points well justified. Have you ever sat down to watch this tripe? I accidentally sat down the other day to watch some decent programming, but instead I found Brum. Brum is a car so small that only a child could fit into it and yet it has the power to pull a 20ft boat that is going full throttle in the other direction, and don't even ask how the hell a car can be in the water, let alone on a surfboard and not sink, because it's just not possible, now I've heard of miracles, but even Ripley wouldn't buy that one. Brum must live in the centre of a crime wave, everyday he seems to be saving someone, or freeing the world from total damnation, and if that isn't enough, have you noticed how idiotic his adversaries are? I've met babies with higher IQ's. These so-called 'bad guys' are so incompetent, it's amazing they've managed to learn how to walk, let alone break the law. I can only assume this show is filmed in a place where intellect is hard to find. Only one thing can be deduced from this; the criminals are in actual fact, Brum's henchmen, making brum the master criminal. This minute sized menace can reach massive speed limits and has never, to anyone's knowledge, had to stop for fuel. Through all these things, this evil genius still manages to hold the gullible public in the palm of his hand… err or glove box as the case may be. Brum the malevolent has mislead us all, but it's not too late, we must take action now to rid this pint sized pest from our screens, we must unmask this vile villain for what it is, a terror to us all. Even as I type this, I know that Brum may be lurking around any corner trying to stop me from revealing this devastating news to the public, but I believe that the people have a right to know, and so help me, I am willing to give my life to make sure that the ***gun shot fired***…

You Belong in Rome

You're a big city girl with a small town heart Which is why you're attracted to the romance of Rome Strolling down picture perfect streets, cappuccino in hand And gorgeous Italian men - could life get any better?

What City Do You Belong In?

I would love to see rome.

The World

Someone once told me that a poet takes something beautiful and describes it, thereby taking away the very thing that makes it beautiful. I stopped writing poetry after that, my publisher kept calling, but nothing got sent. I appreciate beauty now, more so than ever before, but when I put pen to paper I feel I am betraying all that is beautiful. I know I could never fully capture a description of anything beautiful, so anything I write could not do justice. If I can't write something great, what is the point of writing at all? People, the smallest people can achieve the greatest things, but I am just not one of them. How does one go on knowing they will never be good enough? You have to please yourself before you can please anyone else or there's no point. I don't think I'll ever be satisfied with anything, perhaps I'm not meant to be. I want my words to come straight from the heart, to be pure, but nothing is pure anymore not even water. I feel the world expand before me and I keep getting smaller. What's it all mean? I look through my windows every day and see a world I will never know, I wonder if people look at me with those same thoughts. We all have many faults, each day I think I acquire a new one. Now I know my main fault and there's really nothing I can do about it. I have too many dreams and only one life to live.
I want the world.