Camp Fire Tales

These stories were written to tell round the camp fire. Horror tales were prefered, but I like to mix things up, either way, they were certainly enjoyed.

The Tale of the Tellers Stone

Once upon a time there lived a great and powerful story teller. He was known throughout the land. People would come from miles just to hear his stories. He was an old man with a long white beard and wherever he wandered he carried a big round stone with him. He would sit on the stone and tell his stories and regardless of the laws of each town he went to, he would go unabaited.
People began to follow him in his travels. He was a quiet man who kept mostly to himself when he wasnt telling stories. The followers began to talk amongst themselves about the purpose of the stone. Was it some powerful mystery only the teller knew about? Was it the last trace of some attachment formed years ago? Was it just a stone? They asked to teller about it, but he refused to speak about it, except to say, 'I am bound to the stone, it is my curse.' Laus, the most arrogant of the group said to the others, 'Its got to be magical for him to keep it with him everywhere. Look how the villagers part on his approach and never question him. The elders tell their children to stay away from him.' The young followers muttered their agreements. 'I say he is a powerful sourceror and that stone is the key to his power.' The people cheered. Laus stood on a box above the people edging them closer to his view. 'That power can be ours, we can take it,' he cried out. A few of the followers abandoned him and wandered back home, the remaining ones were in Laus's power. They snuck into the village barn where the teller was sleeping. It was dark, but the stone was still visable in the moonlight.
It took four of them to carry it off, amazingly the old story teller didnt wake up. The followers wandered off into the moonlight of the cold night air. The teller awoke the next day to find the stone gone. He walked outside and looked around then after not seeing the stone he began to dance.
The men had carried the stone far from the tellers resting place. they stoped on a barren plain and put it down, it was then that the stone began to shake. A crack appeared on the stone, the people stepped back in fear as a bright light shone out of the stone. From the stone came forth a great monsterious beast. Fire spewed out from some of its many heads, from the others came lightning, electrocuting everything it touched. The followers screamed and ran, but the creatures arms extended accross deserts to hunt them down and cut them up. Some it devoured, some it fried, some it just took pleasure in pulling appart. Its red eyes widened with every kill, its toothy grins released blood stained drool from every mouth. When the creature had finished only one man remained. It was Laus, his hair had turned white from fear and he crouched a broken man. The creature rolled its stone over to him and whispered softly, 'You belong to me now, if you leave me I will find you and eat one of your limbs, this I will continue to do until you are nothing but a head, a living head, still able to witness my fury. You will carrry me as far as you can everyday, if you stop I will kill all but you. Now carry me.' The creature disapeared inside the stone and if it were not for the dismembered bodies scattered everywhere, you would not have believed it had happened.
On a different horizon an old man walked free, a smile on his face.

The Tale of the Island


A local holiday camp spot on the edge of a beach sat comfortably on the shore. Sarah and Eric had chosen this place for their holiday. The beach stretched for miles, and connected to the mainland by a series of rocks sat a desolate island. Sarah and Eric confined themselves to the beauty of the beach for the first day and Sarah was quite content with that, but Eric saw the island as a challenge that he must overcome. So the very next day he informed Sarah of his intention and set out to explore the island. When Eric hadn't returned by nightfall Sarah got worried and called the police. Upon questioning they asked if Sarah knew where he had gone, she answered, 'the island.' the cops looked at each other with a confused expression, 'What Islad?' they both asked. 'The one right over there,' she said and turned to look at the island, but there was nothing there save a pile of rocks being bashed about by the waves.
She wondered if she'd imagined it, could it be possible, and more importantly, where was Eric?

The Tale of the Fishermans Apprentice

The town of Grover was a fishing town, the docks were lined with trawlers and skips. Just north of the town were the scattered houses of the village Tolwin barely surviving the fishing by forcing their row boats out over the breakers to the big blue.
Merid waited on the shore for his useless apprentice to show up for work. Tak was arrogant for his age and for his abilities. He arrived smiling, Merid said nothing, he was too old to bother enforcing decency in the youth. He waited for Tak to take the left oarsmans seat then he pushed to boat out and jumped on before the sea soaked him through. They cleared the waves and rowed out till the land was nothing more than a speck on the horizon. It was there that they dropped anchor and lowered their lines. It was a lond day and they had caught nothing. They hadn't caught anything for weeks. Tak proached the subject of finding a better job, Merid had expected it, as much as he hated Tak, it would be hard to find a new apprentice. It was at that point that Tak's line started to jump. When the fish had been caught it barely fit in the boat. Tak was already bragging and boasting about the catch, Merid ignored the spoilt brat. It was then that Tak sad, 'you've been holding me back old man. I'd rule these seas if I wasnt stuck here with you.' The old man's blood began to boil, his eyes turned bloodshot red and he siezed the boy and pushed him into the sea. 'You wont be stuck with me now boy,' he shouted, but Tak couldn't hear him, he was struggling to get his head above water, but the old mans hold on him was too strong. Merid held him under until he stoped moving, then he let go and watched the boy slowely disappear into the vast depths of the deep blue sea. Merid looked at the fish, it was his now. Wouldn't the villagers be impressed with his catch, he could say the boys death was an accident, that he tried to save him, but at his age he just wasnt fast enough. He turned to stare at the speck of land that was his home. , he would go home early, too sadened by the loss of his apprentice to go on the whole day. He sat in the right oarsmans seat and reached for the oars, but he just couldnt reach them both. He looked at the empty oarsmans seat, Taks seat. Without Tak he would never see his home again, in murdering Tak, he had killed himself.

The two headed dragon and the ship

I destroyed a painting on wensday night. I had put so much effort into it, did it in oils.
I was puting a 'protective' coat on it and all the colours bleed into each other, looking at it now disgusts me, it was to be a gift for a friend, now I have nothing. I cant believe I destroyed it. I have decided to paint only in acrylics from now on and save myself any future pain. Wouldn't ya know it, it was the first painting where I ever got the ocean to look perfect and now no one will ever see it.

Chapter 44

If you are not always wanting, you can be at peace.
And if you are not always trying to be someone
You can be who you really are
and go the whole way.

happy halloween

I dispise fads, they cost me money.

My phone died, funeral on friday

brand new phone with wonderful features - $679
the fact that I have no idea how to use it - Priceless

There are somethings money can't buy, everything else is TOO FUCKING EXPENSIVE

Smokey is playing at the c'town catolic club...lol

Scott's Dead

A friend of mine died on tuesday, I wasn't told till friday. They say he hung himself, but I can't bring myself to believe that. I was one of the few friends he had, not many liked him because he was so strong willed and could not be brought round to a different point of view, in fact almost no one liked him. In that respect he was the last person that would have killed himself, he also did not agree with suicide. It happened in his exwifes house, not his own, this is also unusual and suggestive.
I may not have been a good friend to Scott, but he was always nice to me, even when we argued. I would like to make sure it was a suicide, but how does one go about disproving the police, and I have no connections. It wouldn't matter if I was wrong in my assumptions at least then I would know. I wish they'd told me sooner, I missed the funeral.

The Big Issues - ray martin

My readers, let me introduce you to ray martin. ray is a man on channel 9 tv in Australia, he shows up at any tragedy and exploits it for television ratings. I'm sure you all have like minded individuals in your countries. Little ray is our most ruthless, he manipulates the public into thinking he is doing it for them, if the people are not willing to tell their story, he offers them money, a lot of fucking money, I don't know about you, but that wreaks of payoff to me, it even borders on bribe.
ray's latest victim is Terri Irwin, Steve's wife. Yes we know she is greaving, do we have to witness ray milk it for all it's worth. We know she wouldn't have taken any money for her interview, not like those unfortunate idiots that got stuck down a mine and saw dollar signs.
I don't need to see people break down on tv to know that they are hurting, ray you little cunt, give these people back their dignity, have you no shame?
Sadly another Australian is boadering on martinism, Denton, step back and look at yourself before it's too late.
We as a planet know of the big issues, we don't need the same issues flashed in front of us a million times. THINK ABOUT IT. How many times have you seen the world trade center fall? 50 times is a reminder to never forget, 100,000,000 is just to boost those fucking ratings. The only thing worse than the level ray sinks to is those damn quiz shows on late at night. PLEASE TAKE THOSE FUCKERS OFF AND KILL THEM.

I was listening to an old cd of mine today, I've not put it on in years, and wouldn't you know it, I come across a song I used to sing along to. And as I was singing I couldn't help noticing how familiar the tune was, and then it hit me, the bloody osama medley, there's another song paul has destroyed for me :P

Life is like a house of cards. You just get all the cards perfect and then the wind comes along and blows it all away.

Too Heavy

The weight of inanimate objects never changes, merely our perception of them.
This statement is obviously true yet it begs the question, why is it that sometimes objects are perceivably heavier than other times? Occasionally the weight of the world seems to drag down your very being. Do objects appear heavier when you are tired? Of course they do because you are not at full strength. Objects also feel heavier when you are depressed. It is odd that emotions can twist perceptions, it’s almost as if depression is weighing you down. Does this mean that when you are happy everything is lighter, literally suspended by the height of your happiness? But this is not the case.
Logic suggests that weight remains the same; it also suggests that the earths gravitational pull on the moon effects the weight of objects on the earth. When you weigh yourself directly under a full moon you will weigh less. Based on this fact above, this is logical, but it’s still hard to comprehend.
Why is it that our perceptions of weight change with our moods? How can object feel heavier when it weighs exactly the same? Think of atlas with the weight of the world on his shoulders, does the weight ever vary? It cannot, otherwise sooner or later he would have to drop it. Yes this is only mythology, but logically speaking it still shows obvious facts.
Weigh the facts out, objects weigh the same all the time and occasionally they vary, just as occasionally our perception of their weight varies.
Nietzsche says there are no absolute truths; perhaps he is right, everything is just perceived speculation.

Why put off until tomorrow what you can do today?



...Because I can't be fucked.

News today

ANZ shares rose .28,

Aboriginal elders are molesting the youth,

And Steve Irwin is still dead.

Life is beautiful

Paint me a picture of an overcast day. Make the sun break the clouds on occasion, streaming rays of sunlight like a patchwork quilt. Have the trees in the foreground be willows, lush and green, and the grass around them unkept. have a field in the distance fenced off from the world, with yellow strawlike grass waving free in the wind. Put a horse in the field of the purest black with the deepest coal eyes you could make. Paint it untamed and wild free in the world but still locked behind a fence. Place a child between the horse and the trees, expressionless but still visably sad, where the child is looking is your discression. It is a female child, her hair long and blowing gently in the wind, she's wearing a plain blue dress with an off-white apron and brown non-discript shoes...

Do you see it in your mind?

Now discribe it to me,
everything you see,
but not how I told it to you.



Yes, life is beautiful.

Poetry

I could almost forget you

I could almost forget you
I could almost forget your cute little laugh
even though I've heard it so many times
I could almost forget your angelic smile
forcing me to return it even when I dont want to
I could almost forget your eyes looking through me
just as mine stare through you
I could almost forget your scent
calling to me whenever you walk in the room
I could almost forget your face
dancing round my mind
I could almost forget your voice
and many times I think I've forgotten you complete
But then you walk back into my life
and consume my soul a new


The Buccaneer

Avast, they cry my crew of men,
a scoundreless lot in a bloody den.
Loyal as the scorpion, they'd slit their mothers throat,
But I'd have none of that whilst my ship was afloat.
Handsomly we made for our ship, "The Roving Gnat,"
As the men moaned and grumbled. I yelled, 'Belay that.'
'Ye will dance with Jack Ketch if ye defy me,'
Damn the dogs that inspire mutiny.
The oggin lay before us, a vast treasure trove,
The sea rovers took to the sails and we departed the cove.
T'was a sweet trade the buccaneer,
No creature alive that we did fear.
Carved with blood our fame rose high,
It's the flag of the fist and cutlass we fly.
Damn yer eyes if ye cross by us,
We'll send ye to Davey Jones without much fuss.
And when they gully me they can ave the rest,
I will die a content man in a dead mans chest.

Spring

It was with abscentmindedness that I approached the first day of spring. It was a beautiful day. The sun warmed my back, my hair blew in the wind as I careened down the motorway, even the line in the dole office moved faster. Did this raise my curiosity? I think not, I remained blissfully oblivious to it all. The sunlight shone in through the classroom window, I accounted it to simply never siting on that side before. It was not until I was driving home that I noticed I had not seen the grass look so green and lush in ages, then it hit me, I was in spring. Sure enough as I drove on I noticed the fields and paddocks were all blossoming with flowers, the trees were a glow of different colours, Scents from the many flora filled the air and even the animals looked happier. Sure enough Spring is upon us and I for one am enjoying every second of it.

It's suposed to reach 27 degrees celcius tomorrow, at least it's the weekend. :)

Come in from the cold

It's cold out there, it's always cold out there. I hate going out in the winter, I'm always deseased and cold. As I sit here today I notice that although it is raining(not near any dams though), at least it's getting warmer. Every winter I become a bit of a recluse, it's been very hard this year, I've aquired more friends and for some strage reason they want to spend time with me. It's never in the day either, it's always at night when the cold is unbearable and my sickness is at it's worst. Thank god for spring, I can come out of hiding.

Who would you shag?

I was asked yesterday that if I could shag anyone in the world, who would I shag?
I pondered this question as no name jumped to mind, and in the end I had to say there was no one in the world I wanted to shag.
Don't think me weird for this comment, it's that I would like to be inlove with the person I'm shaging, and I don't love anyone, not enough to shag them. But don't let my modest morals hold you back. Who would you shag if you could?

A story for University. Enjoy.

I’ve always wondered if one person can exist solely for the purpose of another? When I met my wife it was like that, we exited only for each other’s pleasure. The rest of the world faded away when we were together and we were oblivious to it. Her name was Elizabeth and she was my salvation. For all the agony I may have faced in solitude, she saved me from myself.
The day appeared as any other to me, I was a young man with the world at my feet, why would I notice the majesty of the day. I was walking through the park on my way to work when I first saw her. It was as if the suns rays followed her across the park, I of course took no notice of this, and it is only in reflection I can record it so eloquently. She was beautiful even I could see that. As I approached the road she was right beside me, my mind was so focused on this beauty by my side that I failed to notice the lights change on the street and I stepped out into the oncoming traffic. She grabbed my hand and pulled me back to safety. My saviour, how could I not fall in love with her? She was still holding my hand, I couldn’t speak, and thankfully she mistook this for shock. She led me over to a nearby café and sat me down at a table. It was only then that she released her hold on me. She told me to stay there and I, like a little lost puppy obeyed. I watched her as she walked up to the counter and bought me a drink. I find that in my life beauty is contained in mystery, the more I know of something the more I loose interest, but this was not the case with Elizabeth. I never went to work that day. We talked for hours, she was trying to relax me and I was trying to attract her.
Looking back it was a beautiful day. We were married in the spring the next year, there was another beautiful day, but one I wont bore you with.
When I was a child I used to get up early on Sunday mornings, I’d walk the streets and blow a whistle. I’d watch as people ran out of their houses in their pyjamas to buy a newspaper, only to discover that no one was there. This morbid take on life stayed with me into my adulthood. Elizabeth soon became aware of my odd habit of shardenfreude; she had caught me topping off saltshakers with chilli powder. I assumed she would look down on this, hence the reason I kept it hidden from her, but she loved me even more for my bad habits. She never contributed to my nasty pranks; instead she took me to the park where we first met. We sat down under a widely branched tree and just watched people. This we did quite often and although at first I thought it boring, I soon found myself looking forward to these outings. I even let her catch me pranking from time to time in order for her to suggest them. When we sat under that tree, and it was always the same tree, Elizabeth would ask me about the people we saw. ‘Imagine you know them, everything about them. Tell me everything.’ The lives we made up for these people, originally my tales were absurd or dull, but gradually these people evolved in my head to be fascinating individuals. Elizabeth seemed to focus on the children, and I could tell she wanted one although she never brought the subject up.
Elizabeth was an artist, her paintings may never hang in any gallery, but they are worth more to me than gold. I would watch her paint for hours and even though I know my watching disturbed her immensely, she never once complained. She had two showings of her works in the time we were together; I being the loving husband attended both. At the first showing the critics were harsh, one in particular made my Elizabeth cry. Elizabeth took her paintings home and started to put her paints away. I had to stop her, save her as she had saved me. I asked her to paint me a picture, it was the only time I had ever asked her to paint me anything. The look on her face when I asked her was almost unbearable, but I was certain I was doing the right thing. I still remember the exact wording, ‘Elizabeth darling, before you pack up your paints forever would you paint me just one thing?’ She of course replied, ‘Anything.’ ‘I want you to paint me a portrait of that horrid critic. I want him to look as real and as happy as possible.’ You could have heard a pin drop after I had finished that sentence. She painted it and the thoughts going through her head about me must have been astounding, just as astounding as my actual request. While she was painting I spent much of my free time organising a new showing of her works, I picked out what paintings to display and I made sure all the same people were invited. When the painting was finished Elizabeth presented it to me, she had done a beautiful job, I asked her if I could name it and this honour she allowed me. Then I told her about the showing where I would unveil it. She was so mad at me, ‘another showing? I don’t need to be humiliated again, what were you thinking?’ The money had been paid so she went along with it. She was very good to me, even when her sense of self worth was at stake.
The night itself was just what I pictured it to be, the critic went round to each painting and attacked it verbally to every onlooker. His pompous manner and arrogance in his craft were his defining characteristics, he thrust his opinion onto his listeners and they had no choice but to concede to his opinion. The moment for the unveiling of the show centrepiece came. I took the stage and began my speech; luckily it was videotaped so I can repeat it to you verbatim. ‘My friends, I have gathered you here to behold my wife’s wonderful creative ability.’ I motioned to my wife, she stood smiling at the side of the crowd near the front, but I knew she was a bundle of nerves. ‘I chose the works displayed here and I entitled the showing, “Destruction of Creativity.” This main work I am about to unveil does not stand alone, it stands with you. You are part of the work, just as you are part of life, everything interacts and I’ll explain how after the unveiling. I was given the honour of naming this piece painted by my beautiful wife, I call it The Rotten Apple.’ I lifted the veil, the critic stood ready to pass a judgement he had already decided, but on seeing it he was speechless. I had earlier coated the paint in kerosene and now lighting a match I threw it onto the painting. The effect was spectacular, the audience gasped, one woman shrieked, and my wife stood in shock. I had positioned a fire extinguisher nearby and it was the critic that reached for it to put out ‘The Rotten Apple,’ the fire was soon out. ‘What are you doing man? You’re burning a work of art.’ I stepped back up beside the painting to address the people, ‘people, now the painting is complete. One rotten apple can spoil the opinion of an entire room, but you take that rotten apple away or heal it and you are able to think for yourselves once more.’ The show was a remarkable success, many paintings were sold, the critic wrote a great review of my wife’s bold artistic statement and he even bought the badly singed ‘Rotten Apple,’ hopefully it will remind him not to pass judgement so quickly in the future. Elizabeth glowed that night and her paints polluted our lounge room for long after that event.

It was a cold day in November one year when Elizabeth died. I’ll never forget that day, I wish I could have loved her more, I wish I had told her more what she had meant to me and I wish I could have saved her. We never saw it coming. She got out of bed like any other day and made us both some breakfast. Around midday she complained of a headache, I told her to go and lie down. Who pays any attention to a headache? They tell me she passed out. I just thought she had gone to sleep. It was not until I went to wake her that I discovered the awful truth. I called an ambulance but it was too late, she was gone. Gone. The most wonderful thing in my whole world and I never even said goodbye. The doctor said there was nothing anyone could have done even if they had known, it was a brain tuma, he started to explain it all to me, but I couldn’t listen, I was thinking about Elizabeth, my sweet Elizabeth. How would know what killed her help me? I would never see her again, never touch her skin, and never hear her soft and gentle voice. How cruel was the world that it would let me find something so magical and then take it away and expect me to go on?
I meandered round in a daze for so long, ignoring life because there was nothing in it that interested me. I slept on the couch, the smell of Elizabeth’s paints still hung in the lounge air. The more I tried to grasp her memory, the more she slipped from my mind. Months past before I could bring myself to go back into the bedroom, our bedroom. The last place I had seen my Elizabeth, even at the funeral I had insisted on a closed coffin. I wanted to remember her full of life, anything less would be an insult to her, but looking at the bed all I could see was her cold, lifeless body. I lunged at the bed and tore the covers off, ripping them to pieces with my hands. I heard something drop from between the bed sheets to the floor; I bent down and there on the floor lay a diary. I did not know Elizabeth had kept a diary, I had never seen it before. I took the book to our tree in the park, it seemed to me the perfect place, our place. As I read the diary Elizabeth returned to me, her thoughts, her pleasures, her life. In those words I found my first sense of happiness since I had lost her, I had always known that she made me happy, but now I knew that I made her happy as well, even with my foolish pranks.
The last page written on was dated the day she died, reading it my eyes filled with tears, tears that poured down my face, tears that I could not wipe away for fear that her spirit would think I was ashamed. It was as if she had known what was about to pass. Under our tree where she showed me the world, I read the last paragraph, her last words. ‘He will always amaze me. One my darling will read this, one day I will show it to him, we will both be smiling, and when we walk together we will be like one, two minds and one heart. Should he be forced to walk alone I will whisper on the wind, “Don’t just exist my Gabriel, live.” As I read the last line the wind picked up and blew the leaves around me, I was crying, but I was smiling too.

Famous for nothing

I recently had the missfortune of being on tv. I did not watch of course, I amused myself with the BBC's rendition of Bleak House by Dickens. This did not however stop me from getting many phone calls to remind me of the fact, cause naturally you would never know you are on tv, that video camera they stick in your face is only there to look good. I knew I'd be on it, as Catherine says, the camera men either love us or hate us, but they certainly make sure we are not camera shy. My sister felt the need to remind me over and over that it was aired nationally, this I was also aware of, every time I pop up on that annoying box it seems to be national. Two days later at university, people were screaming out to me across the compound, 'Kelly, I saw you on tv.' Others attacked me in lecture theatres. It's amazing how easy it is to become famous for doing nothing, i used to have people stop me in the streets, thank god that doesn't happen anymore. How do you respond to someone saying they saw you, 'yes, you did,' or 'Good for you mate.' It's too annoying to comprehend.

I knew I would be on the debate, this however is not why I boycotted it, everytime channel Ten put on a debate, they put it in Criminal Intent's time slot and I must wait an extra week for a new episode... The bastards.

Watching over the sheep

Children on a train discussing the purpose of god
Although the journey be short the debate goes on and on
All wars are fought for god, fighting to gain peace
Men dying among other men all searching for release
The more you have the more you want, that is what they claim
Possessions are material, everything's the same
'My soul I've sold to Satan,' the boy cries
'I did it to know my purpose, but I've found that Satan lies.'
Two young boys philosophize the meaning of it all
i sit baring witness and yet i feel so small.
So bright are they, so faithful, so lost among the sheep
But I was never in the flock, in silence alone I weep.

Poem for 2nd assessment

Metaphor

Tick. Tick. Tick. The clock is ticking
As the remnants of my mind are slowly dripping
Dripping into what was once called a soul
But now nothing remains but an empty bowl
Eyes bloodstained, hands are shaking
Pain in the chest where my heart is breaking
Feet are cold, gangrene setting in
Cancer eroding what is left of my skin
Perineum severed, guts fallen out
Spleen long dislocated and hanging out of my mouth
Time is moving fast
As my brains become more like my ass
Filled with excrement which occasionally
Spews forth from my mouth
Sending more crap further south
But now you know I’m talking shit
As no doubt you realise I’m full of it
Yes this mental constipation must be
The creation of some inner motivation
To wallow in my own decapitation
Rip my head from my neck and
Stick it up my ass I’m all class
You may think this writing selfish
But really this is just a metaphor
Of internal anguish.

Phosphoresce

I've always loved phosphorous, it's a wonderful little element on our periodic table and if you are being poisoned with it your vomit glows. Always a good thing to know, but then gain who examines their vomit that closely. Ferrem Sulfide glows as well but I prefer pure elements, god knows why. I just find in amusing tat things can glow.

We can all glow from time to time.... Without poison off course.

One Day

What is one day?

Sometimes it can feel as if a whole year has past in the space of a single day, and for me tomorrow is that day. We put so much emphasis on getting old, but is it really that bad. Are you happy? Does your life have purpose? Have you left a mark on the world? Will people miss you when you're gone?
All these questions are true of everyone, whether they know it or not, everyone leaves a mark the only thing that varies is the size of that mark. Everyone has been happy at least once in their life, it may have been fleeting, but it was there. Will people miss you? Even your enemies miss you, and the people that find your rotting corpse will know doubt have that visual mess embedded in their heads for life. Does your life have purpose? This is perhaps the most complicated question of them all, for what is purpose? It can't be easily defined because it varies from individual to individual. But simply put, if you really felt you had no purpose at all, you would have off'd yourself along time ago, and remember people, even friendship is a purpose.

So wish me well on my birthday tomorrow, I turn 27 and I may not be moving mountains, but I'm headed in the right direction.

Mapping the World

When we are born we know of no location, then as we grow we start to identify places. We map the layout of our house, we map the layout of our grandparents house. Thus we begin to acquire a collection of small maps in our mind. Each one is in no way connected to another, that will come later. As time goes by we learn roads, only the main ones at first, but then you branch out and learn some side streets as well.
And so it is that your expanse of the world grows with the map in your head. Two maps become one when you can plot the course between them. But still several maps exist, if you've ever flown anywhere, where you weren't the pilot, you may know the general location of this new map but you can't connect to any of your others.
Not everyone expands their maps beyond the necessity, but most do. So as you grow so too does your knowledge of your surroundings. Occasionally when I'm driving to university or somewhere similar I'll pass a street, the same street I've passed a million times before, and a visual map will appear in my head. It will have the turn off for that street coming off the one I'm on but then there will be a blank space. That section of my map is still uncharted. I've connected my maps around it but never explored the area in it's entirety. I contemplate turning down those streets, they are the parts of my map that are missing, the choices in my life that I never took. If every choice was as easy as turning down a street I'd imagine we'd have the whole globe mapped. Life is like mapping. You chart your course and set sail. When I look at those streets that I know the names of but don't really know they allow me to realize that although I've never traveled them, the roads still exist if I should ever change my mind, anything is possible you need only take a different route.
We may not be great, we may not go far, but we are all map makers and we chart our own course. Charting our way to the stars.

Real?

As I sat on the plane and stared out the window I could make out the shape of Sydney in the fog. Easily distinguished by centrepoint looming over the other buildings. It felt as though I was coming out of a dream, still tired. Did that week and a half really happen or did I never leave the runway? I walked through the terminal, no people, not even at the baggage checkin, I did not find many until I reached the train platform.
I know it was real, I'm sick from it. It must have been real, I have a poster with me. The flights had to be real, I've got Quantas' morning tea menu imprinted in my head for life... Nice apples. I know it was real, but being back here where time doesn't stand still, it's hard to believe such a wonderful place exists even when I've seen it with my own eyes. Despite the cold, despite the funds, despite the anticipation doubts I wouldn't change a thing.
It is what it is and that's perfect for me.
it's a place where the magical, the mystical, the comical become reality.

It had to be real, if it never happened where the FUCK is my luggage?

22-4-06

Still filled with fear and anxiety
Still all a wonder of curiosity
Still alone in empathy
Still spinning uncontrollably
Still dancing to the memories
Still these things do confuse and frighten me
But now at least I am free

Melbourne

To breath
To feel
To fly
To be free
To live
To live

Tomorrow I go to Melbourne

untitled

Hit me hard so I reach the ground
Cut me so I know I bleed
Hurt me so I know I care
Hold me so I know you care
Leave me so I know I'll survive
Stay so I'll feel safe
Teach me to fly and teach me to fall
Show me how to live and I'll show you how to die
Just be there for me
Hold my hand when I cry

Mortality

I was watching tv the night when they announced that Gene Pitney was dead at 65. I loved his music.

Most of the time I live life in a fantasy world where we all live forever, things like this bring me back to reality. It's hard to think that if you live a long life you will have to live through all your friends dying around you.

I was once asked if I wanted to be imortal, even back then I knew the answer. I wouldn't be able to take the pain of it.

Idea

have an idea for a story, but don't have time now

g - Drive
removable files

One word says it all

DISEASED

Ever feel like you're slowly slipping away from reality?

I've said it before and I'll say it again

NOTHING BEATS CLEAN SHEETS

Fall in love with fall

The sky is grey
The wind ripples through the trees and tugs on my hair
raindrops mark the tips of every blade of grass
You begin to understand why it's so easy to
Fall in love with fall

The weather cools down, the dams fill up
The earth sighs after the sweltering heat
Warmer clothes come out of mothballs
Yes it's clear to see why people
Fall in love with fall

Daylight savings end and darkness comes
Easter one step around the bend
Children relaxed after Christmas break
You can't tell me people don't
Fall in love with fall

And for me there is Melbourne
Comedy festival
The cold breeze freezing me, alcohol bringing warmth
Yes I know why I
Fall in love with fall

Trees loose their leaves
People loose their hearts
I loose my mind
I long for Autumn all the time because I have
Fallen in love with fall

So much to say

Requires too much effort

Why

I haven't said much these past few months. I didn't say anything because I didn't want to be pityed, but the reason for it was I was in a very depressed mode, nothing would go right and it was hard to clear those thoughts from my head.

Last night was the first night all year that I truely smiled, finally something good in a hateful world, something to lift my spirits.... I hope the feeling lasts.

So lost right now, lost for so long, hidden well but still there.

Tagged by Dr_George_Huang

1. Do you have a nickname? (other than your blogger nickname).Yes, I have several.
2. If so what is it? Mac, Kel, Wilko, Spawn of Satan, SoS, shadow
3. What is your favorite memory as a child? I don't know, I can't remember anything good in my childhood, I blocked it out, only the bad memories came back.
4. What relative did you like the most? I don't know
5. Who is your best friend? Catherine
I am tagging other people, if you want to do this feel free, but no pressure.

What's been happening with me.

It's been noticed that I haven't been around much, This is because I've had to go back to university, holidays are over. In my infinite wisdom I decided to do writing poetry because it's a bird course and I can produce poems faster than George bush slurs words.

So here are the ones I've spat out so far, none of them have been edited or polished and all together they would have taken me 20 minutes to write maximum.

The Poem

Sadness fills the poet whose words are ripped apart
The meaning so obvious, lost among the sheep
Why destroy what was once so beautiful
You've made bitter that which once tasted so sweet
Why can't it be what it says it is
Plainly beautiful on the page
Read me, sing me, recite me out loud
But leave me as I am; Uninterpreted


Knot 1

Bob loves Sue
Sue loves Gary
Gary loves Debbie
Debbie loves Bob


Knot 2

Paul loves Kate
Kate loves Paul
Paul is too shy to act
Kate is too shy to act
Kate and Paul are sad


Concrete

I stood beside him, we danced together, our souls entwined as one
The music soft, the lights turned low, the look of ecstasy on his face
Drunken and worn down from the days work, we danced as if entranced
Our minds no longer functioning as we moved in time together
Together I felt we could do anything, together we were gods.
Then I sat down at one table, he sat at another
We no longer knew each other
Without the music we are strangers, we never speak a word
But tomorrow night the music will start again
And so the dance goes on


Weary

The battle field empty
Alone he wanders
Lost in the sea of memories
The war long over
The men gone home
One old soldier left
Too tired to die

What am I?

I walk without standing
I float and yet I sink
I am old yet still a boy
Pass me on the left
Pass me on the right
But never the same both ways
You'll never find me on land
But in truth I have no sea legs either


This riddle copywright to SoS piracy 29/2/06

Song snippets

How does your heart beat?
Why do you breath?

He's insane, truely mental and sometimes I fear it's rubbing off on me

It's clouds illusions I recall
I really don't know clouds at all

The world has died

A tear, a simple tear nothing more
A reflection, a mirror of my thoughts
Just a sadness moving in
Like a storm upon a spring day

It doesn't matter to them
They cannot comprehend,
But to me the world has died
And I am left behind to cry

The lights are fading out
The sun's rays shine no more
The trees have fallen down
And lay withered on the floor

Smile love, no one notices a tear when you're smiling
Say a prayer,

Place a rose upon the grave

For the

world is

dead.

Rob; My Wannabe Savior

Rob, Robert, Bob, Bobby, I swear his name changes with his moods.

Rob offered to fly over, pack me in his suitcase and fly me back to New York with him, I tell you, some days it's very tempting. I talk with so many people online, I know most of them I'll never meet, some of them I wouldn't want to meet, and some I wish could cross continents to find me.

It's kinda sad really, talking to someone you will never see, never touch, never hear them call your name.

It's funny, when I first started speaking to Rob I didn't like him much, he seemed to know everything, so naturally I assumed, 'typical American.' (Friends excluded of course.) Then one day he mentioned something and I quoted the reference and we just hit it off. We are great friends, we're always discussing Lovecraft's work, or some other obscure cult following that no one around us understands and occasionally we get together and mind fuck people, that's always fun. We get alot of annoying people where we chat so there is never short supply.

So many other friends I 've made out of similar details, sure I've made a few enemies too, but I don't mind if people hate me. It's the world of the web, but that's all it will ever be, a keyboard, a screen and an anti-social.

The Mind Fuck

There is nothing I love better than a mind fuck.

That is where you get inside someone's head so much that they loose all control and usually go psycho.

Most often there is intellectual debate at the beginning, but as with my recent one today, some people don't have the brain capacity to participate in those, so it becomes merely a matter of angering them further until they loose all reason whatsoever.

One thing I have always been excellent at is reading the inner most emotions of people, usually I say nothing or tune out. My skill is not a useful one, but when people go out of their way to hurt others out of no reason other than malice, I find a use for it after all.

I know it's wrong, but I find it so much fun to get inside other peoples heads and push all their little buttons.

The human mind has always fascinated me. I used to study people from afar, learning how much I could understand based solely on their actions, and then confront them to confirm my deductions.

I doubt I will ever loose interest in the way the human mind works.

Valentines Day

I forgot.

It's notlike it matters though, it's just another day for me, and that's all it will ever be. I'm sure it was invented by the stores to make more money.

How do I see today?

I look at it as the day the currency changed in australia in 1966, Valentines Day didn't exist then.
The day of the St. Valentines Day Massacre.
The return of RoveLive, another good reason to skip today.

I konw lots of things will happen today, at dust on top of the harbour bridge at least 20 romantic idiots will be proposing to their sweethearts. Some where some poor bastard is giving birth, and somewhere some lovesick teen is committing suicide.

Thank god that to me, it's just another day.

The Wind Master

It was an unusual night. There was no wind. I felt odd so I went outside for a walk. I heard it in the distance moving across the land like a tidalwave. I stood and looked to the east, I knew what it was, I could tell by the sound, but I had to see it coming to believe it.

The wind hit me with full force and seemed to centre around me not unlike a wirlwind. The power of it was so intense, yet somehow I never lost my footing. With it came a message. The wind was calling me, begging me to acknowledge it. The call was so demanding, so overwhelming that I danced uncontrolably in its power. The mastery of the wind controlling my every move. My head swam with the sounds it produced, my bare flesh tingled under its touch. I was intoxicated by this tornado of force, all the while the call kept crying out, 'Come to me, I need you.'

Who sent it? I cannot say, but the message was there all the same, floating on the wind, wrapped in the breeze, calling me, calling me to the sea. So enchanted was I by this magical mystry that I stood for hours in its secure hold, mesmerised in its majesty. I wanted to answer, I wanted to go. I was happy to let the wind consume me, to carry me to the waiting arms of the sea, but I was afraid of what I might find there.

What if there was nothing?
What if there was something?
Which is the greater fear?

And so I remain. I denied the wind, I denied the sea, denied the message meant for only me.
Not completely.
I sent my heart to the WindMaster waiting at the sea. Now I have nothing, I am empty.

Somedays words have no meaning. Today isn't one of those days, but I'm not in the mood.

Not today.

women are impossible to please

A store that sells husbands has just opened in New York City, where a woman may go to choose a husband. Among the instructions at the entrance is a description of how the store operates. You may visit the store ONLY ONCE !

There are six floors and the attributes of the men increase as the shopper ascends the flights. There is, however, a catch....you may choose any man from a particular floor, or you may choose to go up a floor, but you cannot go back down except to exit the building!So, a woman goes to the Husband Store to find a husband.

On the first floor the sign on the door reads:Floor 1 - These men have jobs and love the Lord.
The second floor sign reads:Floor 2 - These men have jobs, love the Lord, and love kids.
The third floor sign reads:Floor 3 - These men have jobs, love the Lord, love kids, and are extremely good looking.

"Wow," she thinks, but feels compelled to keep going.
She goes to the fourth floor and sign reads:
Floor 4 - These men have jobs, love the Lord, love kids, are drop- dead good looking and help with the housework.

"Oh, mercy me!" she exclaims, "I can hardly stand it!"Still, she goes to the fifth floor and sign reads:
Floor 5 - These men have jobs, love the Lord, love kids, are drop- dead gorgeous, help with the housework, and have a strong romantic streak.

She is so tempted to stay, but she goes to the sixth floor and the sign reads:
Floor 6 - You are visitor 4,363,012 to this floor. There are no men on this floor. This floor exists solely as proof that women are impossible to please. Thank you for shopping at the Husband Store Watch your step as you exit the building, and have a nice day!

Bout bloody time

Criminal Intent starts back tonight with grow, finaly I get some decent tv viewing.






Update

Nicole still shits me - 11:15pm

My 5 cents Worth

It had to be around 6am, I was in McDonald's... No, it must have been later, I'd already had my breakfast gone for a walk and come back. I'd been awake all night and all I wanted was a warm cup of tea. I'd waited hours for the shops to open and sell me one.

She was a foreigner, either Russian or Chezh, but I wasn't going to hold that against her. She seemed overly rude, but perhaps that was just a custom of her people. There were a total of three people in the store, multi-tasking must not be one of her specialties because she could serve the other two at the same time and yet felt the need to ignore me. I waited patiently. When it got to my turn I placed my order, she replied, 'What chin?' Now this was obviously not the response I was expecting, so I made her repeat herself, yes I'd heard it right. I didn't try to understand, I just said English breakfast. She entered the details in her little register and said $2.95, I handed her $4 and she put a dollar change on the counter. I picked it up and I looked for my five cents, not there. I asked, 'where is my 5 cents?' She looked at me blankly and in a gruff voice said, 'no change.' We were in a McDonald's Cafe, there were other registers.

Now surely she could have said beforehand, 'I don't have the five cents,' or how about, 'Do you happen to have the five cents on you I'm all out.' The right thing to do would be to give me ten cents instead, but no, she tried to pocket my five cents like a thief. Now money has very little value to me and I wouldn't have cared letting her keep it except that she expected to keep it.

I looked at her with what I like to imagine is a look of give me my money or I'll cut your head off and shit down your neck expression, and said, 'I want my five cents.' She did not loose her charming personality, but she did ask me to sit down and drink my tea and she would bring it out to me. I expected her to slam it on the table, but I guess she valued her job too much to make such a public scene.

With some things in life, it really is only about principle.

As it happens she was from Brazil(not relevent really, but true.)

damn it, my limbs still hurt, but at least I'm getting back to sleeping at regular hours. In hind sight probably a stupid thing to do, but it was interesting.

Drugs

It's amazing. Some nights I can down 20 panadol to stop the pain and I'll be fine, no effect what so ever.

And other nights I can take 2 panadine forte and be off my face.

So it was last night. My head was throbbing like a pounding drum, I tried to ignore it, but there was no way I could sleep with it like that. We were out of my preferred drug of choice so I took what I found. Certainly ecstasy and weightlessness feels fantastic, but I would gladly give it all up to escape the hell I suffered when I awoke.

I was blind, I couldn't see a thing. I had to make lunch for my father, I worked quick but don't ask me what I fed him all I know is he didn't complain. My neck spasmed and the room was spinning. I could feel it coming, it felt like I was about to collapse, but I never collapse so it could only be one other thing; projectile vomit. I ran to my bed, hit the fan and lay there in the dark. It stopped anything from happening, if you are going to take drugs I recommend you know how to halt the effects of them.

Last nights events have not changed my view of drugs in any way, I still hate them, but it would be much nicer if I could live without them.

Freedom

Rest easy head
Breath softly sleep
Lay me down
Beneath the sheet

Cast off my sorrow
Take hold my hand
Deliver me
Unto Neverland

Heavily hung
Those lidded stones
Wet glass raining
All alone

Heart beat slow
Too slow to tell
Leave me lie
Where I have fell

shall we speak
upon The morrow’s break
So weak now
This life I take

No touch of breath
No light of day
The end is freedom
So fade away

Sleep, sweet sleep. Where hast thou gone?

Sleep, sweet sleep. Where hast thou gone?

The clock ticketh; one, two, three. I watch the hours pass, mine eyes hang heavy and weary and yet sweet sleep does not come to me.

Has it abandoned me?

I sit throughout the night, viewing anything I can get my hands on. Lately I've found myself sitting on an easy chair at four in the morning playing the violin and watching old black and white Sherlock Holmes films.

I try to sneak some sleep in as dawn approaches but sleep is denied once more, as the phones start ringing, as they stampede on the door bell and I know my chance is gone.

I've not written anything lately. My sleep is gone, and slowly my mind doth follow.

I was looking through my old jokes today, some of them are so tasteless I shocked myself

The Power of Words

I'm working on building a website, this is the poem that greets me;


The Power of Words

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


A simple flower, a wilting rose, a lifetime spent in sadness

Now my petals bloom anew and deliver me from madness

I feared so long that I'd fade away and be easily replaced

But now I know I'm loved by all, I'd never be missplaced

Fore my words live on forever more and many people read

By sharing my work I live forever and that is all I need

Intruder

I was terrorfied this morning at a quarter to five by an intruder, I greeted the poor man with a bat. I must say he looked a little startled as well. No harm done, I invited him in and for the first time in what felt like an age I slept well. No fear, but what about tonight?

Fear

Night after night I face my terror, I quiver alone in fear
I can hear voices everywhere but I know no one is near
I don't dare close my eyes for fear of what may come
This anguish building up inside me is more than I can take
I Sit alone in the darkness praying that I wont see someone
I know I've got to hold on to something, but what happens when I Break?

I am lost and afraid, there is no one to save me
No hope of safety or any chance to be free
Tonight again I'll face the terror
I'll sit all alone in a small closed in space
it's my own fault I'm here, I made this error
I brought this upon myself by trying to save face

Now alone, oh so alone, forgive me for my fear
and spare me your pity on this cold lonely night
Spare me everything, but please stay near

Free

I was taken back to Melbourne today, if only in mind, but still a voyage I would not pass up.

I saw myself walking through the cobblestoned alleyways as I do everytime I'm there. Discovering little shops hidden from the world. Dancing along the banks of the Yarra, marveling at the water in the Crown. Drinking at the bar, Seeing faces I've not seen in the longest time. Making poeple laugh at my strange antics, eating flesh melting pizza by the slice, roaming the streets at some ungodly hour of the morning and yet still feeling safe, drinking at the bar, Dancing, how I miss the dancing. To be lost in what is a facinating experience right in the heart of a city of old and have most of the locals not know about it. To be free, because that's what Melbourne is to me, a place I can stop caring and just be free.

width="240" height="180"
alt="Kitten-Eating Lycanthrope from the Legendary Yonder"
border="0">


mmm kittens

Ten Years Today

Another Tag

D_______Best________
1. Male friend: too many to decide
2. Female friend: Catherine
3. Vacation: Comfest
4. Memory: Holding porkchop for the first time

_______Worst________
1. Time of day: A.M.
2. Day of the week: Monday
3. Food: Chinese
4. Memory: The horse flattening the car I was in

______Lasts_______
1. Person you saw: my mother
2. Talk on the phone: A machine
3. Hugged: hmmm.... Porkchop or buck
4. Email/message: enlarge your penis
5. IM: I don't IM

_______Today________
1. What are you doing now: Wasting time online
2. Tonight: Not much.
3. Wearing: Blue denim jeans, a shirt and a JB jumper
4. You eat for lunch: haven't had lunh yet, I'll probably just nibble on crap.
5. Better then yesterday: No, I'm alone.


________Tomorrow________
1. Is the ten year anaversary of my hell, I did want to do something, but probably wont.
2. Got any plans: Cooking and cleaning.
3. Dislikes about tomorrow: it's another day
4. Do you have work: does housework count

________Favorites________
1. Number: 17
2: Song: good christian man, by daas
3. Color: Blue
4. Season: Fall
5. State: Unconcious

1. Have you ever been searched by the cops?
Not that I can recall, but there's a first time for everything

2. Do you close your eyes on roller coasters?
Nope.

3. When's the last time you've been sleigh riding?
Never, too clod

4.Would you rather sleep with someone else, or alone?
>> Alone

5. Do you believe in ghosts?
I'm openminded

6. Do you consider yourself creative?
>> Hell Yes

17. Have you ever Ice Skated?
>Yep, took lessons

18. How often do you remember your dreams?
Quite often

19. When was the last time you laughed so hard you were crying?
when porkchop slaped my sister in the face, even now the thought of it still cracks me up

20. Do you believe in love at first sight?
No, that would be lust.

21. Do you know who Ba-Ba-Booey is?
Nope

22. Do you always wear your seatbelt?
Without fail
23. What talent do you wish you had?
The ability to do public speaking with confidence

24. Have you ever been on TV?
Too many times for my liking

25. Have you ever narrowly avoided a fatal accident?
I think my count is up to 5 times, but my memory is crap, it may be more

26. What do you wear to bed?
clothes

27. Been caught stealing?
>>No, I'm a good theif

28. Does size matter?
>>Not to me

29. Do you truly hate anyone?
No

30. Do you like Rap or Rock n Roll?
>>Rock, some rap

31. If you could sleep with one famous person, who would it be?
I wouldn't

32. Do you have a relative in prison?
>not that I'm aware off

33. Have you ever sang in front of the mirror like your favorite singer?
Nup

34. Do you know how to play chess?
Yep, and chinese chess

35. What food do you find disgusting?
the type that isn't real but for display purposes only

36. Did you ever play, "I'll show you mine, if you show me yours"?
Nope

37. Have you ever made fun of your friends behind their back?
Not that I can recall

38. Have you ever stood up for someone you hardly knew?
Yes
39. Have you ever been punched in the face?
Yeah often, it bloody hurts

40. When is the last time you threw up?
Two weeks ago, boy was I sick

41. Have you ever walked out on a movie at the theater?
No, but I've been tempted

42. Do you ever sit through a bad movie, just to see how bad it is?
Yes, it was an adam sandler movie set on a boat

43. Would you consider yourself obsessed with anything/anyone?
Crime, it facinates me

44. Have you ever met someone famous that you really wanted to meet?
Yeah, Al Murray

45. Have you ever been stood up?
No, don't think so.

46. When's the last time you screamed at the top
of your lungs?
Never, I hate screaming.

47. Did you ever do something that you didn't want to, just to fit in?
Yes, I regreted it later

48. Do you consider yourself "the biggest fan" of something?
Nah, I'm just one of the crowd.

I am suffering from Lethologica

Ten Years

On Friday it will have been ten years.

The 20th of January 1996, I remember most of it like it were yesterday, but there is one part I am glad I will never remember.

Ten years, that's a long time, it took me nine to get my life back on track. I'd tried before mind you, things just always fell apart. I wonder will I make it this time?

Would I change that day if I could? I'd move heaven and earth to change it, but if I did, who would I be now?

It's our actions and occurrences that make us who we are, if that evil day had never transpired 10 years of my life would have to be rewritten.

Who would I be? And would I like what I'd become?

It's funny, before that curse-ed day I wanted to be a cop... then I lost faith in the system.

I approved the poems publishing...
I went shopping....
I bought a leather case, a laptop bag, a zip thingy, a game and...
Three new books, what I've read of the first one so far is great.

Also got a new game so I wont be posting as often or as well as previously until I tire of the game.

15-01-06

I was driving through the hood tonight on my way home, and there in the gutter was a guy getting gang bashed by about 20 other males. I had to swerve to miss them. I slowed down and they backed away from their victim. I didn't stop. I didn't stop. I should have helped him, I should have dragged him into my car and driven him to safty, but I didn't stop.

I was scared, scared the attackers would hurt me, scared the victim would carjack me, but no doubt my fear could never equal the amout of fear that poor boy in the gutter was feeling. I am a weakling, always have been. I use words to keep myself out of danger, which means I don't react we when put into violent situations. I'm trained in the art of seldefence, but I doubt that will help me in hand to hand combat. It's not my problem, but I should make it my problem.

I didn't even call the police... Didn't even stop.

Murder

I must do something involving murder, I've danced around the suject long enough. I thought I wasn't worthy, that my acts in no way could compare to the greats, but so wait, even if I fail to meet my own expectations, at least I'll have tried.

Conspiracy Theory #831

I was discussing diseases and antidotes today and I wondered something.

Wars were used to cull the population, we don't have major wars anymore.
Is it possible the governments are withholding cures to such things as aids and cancer in order to dwindle our numbers?

I wonder.

Untitled

Sky is crying
Wind is colde
Your hands are missing
Earth all barren
Lyfe is dying
Nature unfoldes
You are missing
Eyes are sad as sad eyes always are
No matter how much I run to the, you will always be too far
Lying downe all hope gone
Just darkness now
I am alone

tagged by Riccie

What are you addicted too?

I have to name 5 things I am addicted to and then tag 5 more people and go on their blog and tell them they are tagged. Hmm....lets see:
Five things I am addicted to:

1) the ocean, yes it's an addiction.

2) Smoking

3) Arguments, with a compulsion to be right.

4) breathing... if I could live without breathing I would

5) Writing and painting

The Proverbial Wall

When writers hit the wall they can think of nothing good to write.

I've never feared the wall, when I've exhausted my imagination I will still have my own weird antics to write about. I must come close to the wall though, hell I'm sure I've danced around it.

I got another publishing offer the other day, "We'll publish your poem, you wont get anything out of it other than the thrill of being published... So what do you say?"

I've not yet decided... I don't even remember sending them the poem.

tagged

Everybody, Tag! You're it.

Four jobs you've never had in your life:

Grave digger
Pimp/drug dealer
Preist
Desk job

Four movies you don't want to watch even once:

Anything Danielle steel



Four places you've never lived:

UK
US
Italy
Belgium

Four television shows you've never watched:

trial by jury
Desperate Housewives
Any Reality tv
oc

For places you've never been on vacation:

anywhere outside of Oz

Four of your least favorite foods:

any organs
Cake
Brussels Sprouts
cherries

Four places you'd rather not be:

Church
Hospital
Adelaide
Iraq

Four albums (cds) you can live without:

eminem
brittany spears
macy gray
missy higgins

I am trying not to care.

For many years I've seen myself through others eyes. Saw what they saw in me, thought what they thought of me. Recently I thought I'd kicked the habit, but it is hard to stop doing something you've done your whole life. I am trying not to care.

It's hard to live for yourself when you don't know what you want. At least I know I already have everything I need.

The Curious Village

It was a small country town, Pascal didn't want to stop in but his car had broken down leaving him little choice. The mechanic said it would not be ready for a couple of days leaving Pascal to find lodgings at the local inn. The local villagers all seemed very nice, but out of the corner of his eye Pascal could see them attacking him with their eyes, he also heard the whispers although he could not make out what was being said.

It was a curious little village, the shops all covered the standard fields, but they only sold necessities. There were no souvenirs and it was then that Pascal realised he didn't even know the name of the village. There was a mountain to the north of the village; Pascal could see it clearly from the balcony of his room. The village offered very little excitement so Pascal decided to climb the mountain during his stay.

That first night, as soon as it got dark Pascal noticed the villagers disappearing from the streets, within half an hour the village was like a ghost town. Pascal a little concerned returned to the inn for dinner and then retired to his room. At about 2am Pascal was awoken by a loud sound, he couldn't quite tell if it was real or if he had dreamt it. His room was filled with light coming from the window, it was a bright blinding white light, but like no man-made light he had ever seen. Pascal rose, opened the balcony door and was momentarily blinded from the immense brilliance of the light. As his eyes grew accustomed he could slowly make out the village and the mountain behind it. Pascal couldn't tell whether the light was coming from the top of the mountain or just on the other side of it. The power of it was enough to light up the whole sky. Pascal was mesmerised, he dragged a chair out onto the balcony to provide him comfort while he observed this curious phenomenon.

How long he sat there before he drifted back to sleep is anyone's guess though it couldn't have been more than an hour, for when he opened his eyes again the sun shone brightly on his face and the village was as if the light had never occurred. Pascal tried questioning a few of the villagers, but none of them had seen it or they just denied it, Pascal couldn't be sure. That morning he bought himself a canteen, a first aid kit and a few supplies necessary to climb the mountain. By the time he had acquired his goods it was too late to set out. Pascal was disappointed, but he knew for a climb like that he would need a whole day, so he stowed his new belongings in his room and went to the one place he thought he might get some answers; the local tavern.

They were a rowdy bunch, but they listened to his story of the light in the sky with keen interest. He even got quite a few suggestions of what it could be, aliens, ancestral ghosts, a meteor shower, reflections off a satellite, etc. Each suggestion was as weird as the next, but Pascal decided some were plausible, the meteor shower he completely discounted. That night he waited up till one, the light had not returned, he knew it would come if he waited but he had a big task the next day and he wanted to set off early, so he turned in without seeing the light.

The sun was just breaching the horizon as Pascal emerged from the inn ready to face the mountain. It was a warm day, but the cool breeze blowing through the tall pine trees refreshed Pascal enough that he barely noticed the suns rays shining down on him. It was just after noon when he reached the summit; he looked around in hope of finding something unusual, something that might explain what he saw. He discovered some interesting markings on a rock face, but soon after noticed a plaque nearby crediting the local school for the work. Saddened and dismayed he began his journey back down the mountain.

It was a long journey, made even longer by his saddened mood; he was so sure that he would have found something. When Pascal returned to the village it was just after dark, an eerie haze had formed in the warm night air and was blanketing the village. The villagers had once again retreated in doors, rather than join them Pascal decided to lie down in the middle of the main street. He was waiting for a car, anything, but after a few hours nothing had happened so he went back to the inn for dinner.

Whilst dining, Pascal was informed by the innkeeper that he had received a phone call earlier in the day saying Pascal's car was ready for pick up. Pascal would have to leave in the morning; he was already a few days late, that night would be his last chance to witness the strange phenomena of the curious little town.

When Pascal got back to his room he put the chair back inside, he wanted no comforts to lull him to sleep, he would stay awake all night if he had to. The night wore on as Pascal stood watch on the balcony, his eyelids hung heavy as he fought back sleep, but he would not give in. It was just past two thirty when the light appeared, as beautiful and entrancing as the first night he saw it. It lit up the sky once more. Pascal watched for an hour, as the light got brighter and intensified, then when it felt like it could get no brighter a round object emerged from behind the mountain.

Pascal's heart sank, had this been all it was? Was this what he had wasted his time on? Wounded by his stupidity he went inside and collapsed on the bed. From his bed Pascal looked out the window and stared at his so-called phenomenon. What did he see? Nothing more than a country style full moon, the illusion of brightness coming from the fact that there were no city lights for it to compete with.

The Holiday

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Tagged

the Rules of the Game

You must write a journal entry listing those weirdnesses you posess~as well as the rules of the game. Then you select 5 people to tag and link their names/blogs in your entry. Go to their journals and leave a comment informing them that they have been tagged by you and to read your journal to see in what way they have been "nailed". Those 5 MUST then write an entry listing their weird habits and tag 5 more suckers.........

1. I live in my mind more than I live in reality, I'm terrorfied that one day the two worlds may mesh.

2. I can't go to sleep without a fan blowing, the wind blowing or the sound of the ocean, one of these things is necessary. Intoxication allows me to collapse anywhere without these.

3. I hate set rules, if I can't bend them I'll brake them, a good example of that is I'm not going to tag anyone :P

4. I have to wear my watch on my right hand, even though it bumps the mouse pad and irratates my arm, it just doesn't feel right on the other arm.

5. Hmm... I know. I hate having to go to the toilet, it's time wasted that I could have been doing other things.