I’ve never been good at reading people gestures. I can spot something minutely out of place from a mile away but the blatantly obvious always escapes me. Sometimes I just don’t see the signals people are making towards me, and other times I’m sure I read too much into what is just politeness, luckily I’m too gutless to act so I never make an ass of myself in those awkward moments. I have found a solution to stop me second-guessing myself. This will only help you if your vision is not 20/20. So to all you people that can see without glasses, sucked in this is one advantage that works in us blind fuckers favour.
I’ve taken the Dumbledore approach… No, I haven’t gone homosexual, I mean where he is always glancing over his specs. I’ve researched this, yes my life is that sad. The actor has used this trait in almost all his films, the earliest I’ve found is ‘Magret,’ but I’m sure there are more. Put away the contacts, stick your glasses on and when you start to wonder if you’re seeing more than is actually there, look over the top of your glasses and blur your vision, nothing is much better than something false, and if your vision is that bad, that’s exactly what you’ll see. Sure you don’t get laid as much, but I’ve not been laid and I’m okay with that. Why is it that of all the things in the world, humans are the hardest to understand? I’m spent a good portion of my life trying to understand human behaviour. I’m not a professional; it’s just a hobby of mine, like insulting people. Humans are unpredictable, many of their behaviour is readable, but emotionally speaking there is no way of telling what the human will do, or even what the human is thinking. I once though if I could read their minds then I would know for certain, but this is not so either. Humans act without thinking. The only solution is obvious, blind yourself to the possibility of misreading others, blur it all.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Sunday, November 04, 2007
Creative Criticism - Rehashed and reworked, and submitted for marking
The critic, the interpreter, the wanker.1 How I despise these know-it-all hypocrites. Always giving their opinion where it's not wanted, forcing it upon you, and assuming that you value their words, but very rarely, are they ever actually right. A thing of beauty, intricately woven, written with poise, painted so delicately, taking anywhere from an hour to a year to complete, can be destroyed by 15 minutes of writing by some two-bit hack, that rather then go out and make something of themselves, they spend their lives viciously dismantling all that others create. For a critic, beauty is merely a way of shattering people's dreams to make up for their inadequacies; your failure is their success. Yes they dress it up with humor and witticisms, but in the end it is what it is: criticism of your work.
Criticism has been around since the dawn of time. God was the first critic of course. Look at Sodom and Gomorrah, God, did not like it, he told them they were wrong and nobody listened so he burnt the towns to ashes.2 I was not actually present at the time, but I hear it was a hot time had by all. You just can’t argue with a critic that has the power to destroy everything. The real problem began when people began to criticise. They then attributed to themselves the title of ‘critic,’ meaning they saw themselves as powerful enough to pass judgment on others. In this respect it can be said that they saw themselves as gods.3
Now the planet is so overrun with critics that actual people are very hard to find. It is a common factor of life that one person can feel better by making others feel bad, but only a completely egotistical prat would actually make that their profession. You cannot even call it a profession, as it requires no real skill. No, it is merely an occupation and that suits critics perfectly as all it really does is occupy their time until they find something of value to do.
We can forgive the critic many things, but the main thing we cannot forgive is that they are usually wrong in their criticisms. Many is the time they have pronounced something pure and utter trash only to find the public absolutely adore the work. Take for example the film, The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Now this film was attacked by every mainstream critic the second it hit the box office. The public, yes the proud and gullible public, they believed the critics and did not see the film when it was first realised, but today in practically every major city including Sydney there are screenings of this film every Friday night at around midnight. I have been present at one of these screenings and people dress up, get up and re-enact the entire film while it screens behind them. Not really my idea of fun, but they appeared to love every second of it. Other films that should have sunk without a trace the critics rave about, take for example the film Titanic, Spielberg’s version of course. Despite the rave reviews I have yet to find one person who loved every aspect of the film, the main complaint being that there was too much water and no intermission. If you bladder did not burst you might have been fortunate enough to witness Jack’s death, as for myself and everyone else, we were in the toilet.
Critics incorporate tacky slogans like Margaret and David’s star ranking from At the movies, or Siskil and Ebert’s two thumbs up system. Even the Wall Street Journal gives film reviews. Now I’m sure they are great with stock and bonds, but are they really qualified to tell me was a good film is. Siskil and Ebert I’ve heard of many times, but I’ve only actually seen one of their reviews. That was for The Horseman on the Roof. Now I haven’t seen the film, but I’m sure you’ve spotted the same inconsistency I have. A roof cannot support a horse, therefore our horseman, would be horseless and so just a man on a roof. I don’t know whether Siskil and Ebert missed this, but they still gave it two thumps up. I don’t recommend hunting it down at your local beta cord store, I think every copy has been burnt.
We all know the excuse critics use to validate their vagrant destruction of your creation: to help you improve. They believe you won’t know you are wrong until someone else tells you. While this is true it is also cruel especially if you are already aware of your faults. Both these types of criticisms are valid, because there is room for improvement and they are criticising you for your own benefit. It is the selfish critic I despise. The ones that cares nothing for your creation or you; the ones that seek only to destroy the creative flow. These are the god-like critics; they feel they are above the rest of us lowly mortals. Let’s look at the novelist critic, yes some critics’ span more than one field; it appears people can know nothing about many things now days. The novelist critic attacks a finished novel, the writer can no longer improve that book and the next one cannot be similar to it so any criticism placed on the novel is done solely to sell the product or to hinder sales. Occasionally the write or the publicist can employ the critic to give them better sales. This may or may not have been done with the novel The Secret, I have no proof as such but that book was certainly not Oprah-worthy, and I don’t even hold Oprah that high. Other such novelists can employ critics to give them a bad review, because we all know popular books are never considered to be the novel of the decade. I don’t know why this is so, it just is. Other critics, such as Margaret and David review for the purpose of gaining TV ratings from their competitors. This is beneficial because they review things you would never have come across in mainstream publication and film, it is also annoying because the items under review at very hard to locate if you actually find them interesting. One good thing about David and Margaret is that they rarely agree on anything, so going into the film you’ve seen reviewed does not biased you because you still have no idea what it is even about. Critics have no loyalties, David and Margaret swapped networks, they moved from SBS to the ABC and still act as if nothing has happened. Yes they are still on a community based broadcast, but how long till their pockets get empty and they start seeing stars in the big networks. No loyalty at all.
The internet has widened the field allowing anyone to take on the role of critic or reviewer as they so light-heartedly put it. Why say reviewer instead of critic? One reason only, because it does not sound like your sole intent is to crush someone’s creative juices. Site such as web log, live journal and writing.com allow the lowly mortal to review the work of others. These reviewers, however, are usually writers themselves and that is how they justify their right to review. Their work too, is up for scrutiny. The real critic, the one I detest does not put themselves up for judgment, they are not creative. They do not wish to be vilified by the public. Why not? Because after all the dirt they have dished up on others, it is unlikely they’d get a pleasant review and because they cannot create. They have no artistic talent and it is these people we turn to, we apparently value their opinion, why? Don’t answer that, I don’t want to know. Why is their opinion more important than our own, than my own? So many questions and I don’t know the answers. One thing is certain; we will go on listening to these people, believing what they say and passing that information onto others.
I am aware of course that this piece of creative flow is entirely hypocritical. How can I justify the problem of the critic without criticising them and then how can I stop myself becoming one of them? I cannot. To unmask the demon I must bare the mask myself, how else can I truly understand their ways. So yes, I’ve known the harshness of hurting others with my words and yes I have been wrong many times and no doubt will be wrong many more. I have tried to be honest in my criticisms, though being an excellent deceptionist has made it rather hard. I have very little moral fibre which made it quite easy to take on the role of a critic. I try to avoid focusing on myself, it is so much easier to find fault in others so the position of the critic is quite perfect, but I do have some moral fibre and I just can not bring myself to completely rip apart someone else’s work unless it is utter crap or unless I bare some unobvious insignificant grudge against that person. Guilt always gets the best of me in the end; very few critics survive if they feel guilt. Guilt is what you feel when you offend people, I can’t handle culpability, not many of us can, even those who seem to be able to are usually pining up inside dealing with what they have done to others, but critics seem immune. Their actions can make or break someone, but do they think about it? Do their thoughts on that alter what they reveal to the world? I wonder.
I may sound biased in my opinion, but I have no reason to be, it's a very rare moment when I leave myself open to "constructive" criticism. Another trait I share with the critic, yes I’m a coward, though I am slowly trying to overcome this fault. I've seen it happen to so many others. We all criticise the work of others. I know I do, but I do not put it up on display for countless others to view it and I certainly do not pretend to be an official on the matter. The critic, usually old and senile, though I do not wish to generalize, saunters around, playing cock of the walk, pretending to know what they’re talking about, taking pride only when quashing someone else’s hopes and dreams. They are devious, cunning folk, never hesitating before stabbing their best friend in the back, then sucking up the second their friend is facing them, and they all seem to have the same sly, evil smirk; hideous. These people disgust me, finding joy in the suffering of others. I find it quite sad that someone can devote their life, their entire being, to causing misery, what self-centered, egotistical prats. I'm sure they are nice people, far beneath that bitter, sinister exterior, these cruel blood-sucking leaches, festering in the dark, must have some friends, though who would admit to it; no self-respecting person I know. The critics lead lonely lives, surrounding themselves with pain and suffering, hoping that if they see people that are worse off, they can begin to feel better about them selves. Do I have proof of this? Of course I do not. I pity the critic, as do many others, but we must stop this now. We must, for their own good, begin to criticize the critic, pull them apart and analyze them. Reflect onto them what they have done to us for so long. If you want the truth seek it out for yourself, no ones opinion is more important to you than your own and at least then you will be able to live with yourself. If we can begin to treat them like shit, perhaps the knowledge might dawn on them, that their opinion is insignificant, unwarranted and unwanted. It is only then that they can hope to join society as respected pillars of the community. Critics are not a dying breed, they are mating and they are multiplying. They are spreading over the planet like a plague, if we don't do something to stop them soon, it will be too late. Do the world a favor, kill a critic today.4
1. I am aware the word wanker is probably inappropriate, but hey, prove me wrong.
2. Any similarities to any religions, living or dead are purely coincidental.
3. I have not asked any of them if they see themselves as gods, I just assumed.
4. Don’t kill anyone. Violence is bad.5
5. These points I feel needed to be explained but did not quite fit into the subject matter.
Criticism has been around since the dawn of time. God was the first critic of course. Look at Sodom and Gomorrah, God, did not like it, he told them they were wrong and nobody listened so he burnt the towns to ashes.2 I was not actually present at the time, but I hear it was a hot time had by all. You just can’t argue with a critic that has the power to destroy everything. The real problem began when people began to criticise. They then attributed to themselves the title of ‘critic,’ meaning they saw themselves as powerful enough to pass judgment on others. In this respect it can be said that they saw themselves as gods.3
Now the planet is so overrun with critics that actual people are very hard to find. It is a common factor of life that one person can feel better by making others feel bad, but only a completely egotistical prat would actually make that their profession. You cannot even call it a profession, as it requires no real skill. No, it is merely an occupation and that suits critics perfectly as all it really does is occupy their time until they find something of value to do.
We can forgive the critic many things, but the main thing we cannot forgive is that they are usually wrong in their criticisms. Many is the time they have pronounced something pure and utter trash only to find the public absolutely adore the work. Take for example the film, The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Now this film was attacked by every mainstream critic the second it hit the box office. The public, yes the proud and gullible public, they believed the critics and did not see the film when it was first realised, but today in practically every major city including Sydney there are screenings of this film every Friday night at around midnight. I have been present at one of these screenings and people dress up, get up and re-enact the entire film while it screens behind them. Not really my idea of fun, but they appeared to love every second of it. Other films that should have sunk without a trace the critics rave about, take for example the film Titanic, Spielberg’s version of course. Despite the rave reviews I have yet to find one person who loved every aspect of the film, the main complaint being that there was too much water and no intermission. If you bladder did not burst you might have been fortunate enough to witness Jack’s death, as for myself and everyone else, we were in the toilet.
Critics incorporate tacky slogans like Margaret and David’s star ranking from At the movies, or Siskil and Ebert’s two thumbs up system. Even the Wall Street Journal gives film reviews. Now I’m sure they are great with stock and bonds, but are they really qualified to tell me was a good film is. Siskil and Ebert I’ve heard of many times, but I’ve only actually seen one of their reviews. That was for The Horseman on the Roof. Now I haven’t seen the film, but I’m sure you’ve spotted the same inconsistency I have. A roof cannot support a horse, therefore our horseman, would be horseless and so just a man on a roof. I don’t know whether Siskil and Ebert missed this, but they still gave it two thumps up. I don’t recommend hunting it down at your local beta cord store, I think every copy has been burnt.
We all know the excuse critics use to validate their vagrant destruction of your creation: to help you improve. They believe you won’t know you are wrong until someone else tells you. While this is true it is also cruel especially if you are already aware of your faults. Both these types of criticisms are valid, because there is room for improvement and they are criticising you for your own benefit. It is the selfish critic I despise. The ones that cares nothing for your creation or you; the ones that seek only to destroy the creative flow. These are the god-like critics; they feel they are above the rest of us lowly mortals. Let’s look at the novelist critic, yes some critics’ span more than one field; it appears people can know nothing about many things now days. The novelist critic attacks a finished novel, the writer can no longer improve that book and the next one cannot be similar to it so any criticism placed on the novel is done solely to sell the product or to hinder sales. Occasionally the write or the publicist can employ the critic to give them better sales. This may or may not have been done with the novel The Secret, I have no proof as such but that book was certainly not Oprah-worthy, and I don’t even hold Oprah that high. Other such novelists can employ critics to give them a bad review, because we all know popular books are never considered to be the novel of the decade. I don’t know why this is so, it just is. Other critics, such as Margaret and David review for the purpose of gaining TV ratings from their competitors. This is beneficial because they review things you would never have come across in mainstream publication and film, it is also annoying because the items under review at very hard to locate if you actually find them interesting. One good thing about David and Margaret is that they rarely agree on anything, so going into the film you’ve seen reviewed does not biased you because you still have no idea what it is even about. Critics have no loyalties, David and Margaret swapped networks, they moved from SBS to the ABC and still act as if nothing has happened. Yes they are still on a community based broadcast, but how long till their pockets get empty and they start seeing stars in the big networks. No loyalty at all.
The internet has widened the field allowing anyone to take on the role of critic or reviewer as they so light-heartedly put it. Why say reviewer instead of critic? One reason only, because it does not sound like your sole intent is to crush someone’s creative juices. Site such as web log, live journal and writing.com allow the lowly mortal to review the work of others. These reviewers, however, are usually writers themselves and that is how they justify their right to review. Their work too, is up for scrutiny. The real critic, the one I detest does not put themselves up for judgment, they are not creative. They do not wish to be vilified by the public. Why not? Because after all the dirt they have dished up on others, it is unlikely they’d get a pleasant review and because they cannot create. They have no artistic talent and it is these people we turn to, we apparently value their opinion, why? Don’t answer that, I don’t want to know. Why is their opinion more important than our own, than my own? So many questions and I don’t know the answers. One thing is certain; we will go on listening to these people, believing what they say and passing that information onto others.
I am aware of course that this piece of creative flow is entirely hypocritical. How can I justify the problem of the critic without criticising them and then how can I stop myself becoming one of them? I cannot. To unmask the demon I must bare the mask myself, how else can I truly understand their ways. So yes, I’ve known the harshness of hurting others with my words and yes I have been wrong many times and no doubt will be wrong many more. I have tried to be honest in my criticisms, though being an excellent deceptionist has made it rather hard. I have very little moral fibre which made it quite easy to take on the role of a critic. I try to avoid focusing on myself, it is so much easier to find fault in others so the position of the critic is quite perfect, but I do have some moral fibre and I just can not bring myself to completely rip apart someone else’s work unless it is utter crap or unless I bare some unobvious insignificant grudge against that person. Guilt always gets the best of me in the end; very few critics survive if they feel guilt. Guilt is what you feel when you offend people, I can’t handle culpability, not many of us can, even those who seem to be able to are usually pining up inside dealing with what they have done to others, but critics seem immune. Their actions can make or break someone, but do they think about it? Do their thoughts on that alter what they reveal to the world? I wonder.
I may sound biased in my opinion, but I have no reason to be, it's a very rare moment when I leave myself open to "constructive" criticism. Another trait I share with the critic, yes I’m a coward, though I am slowly trying to overcome this fault. I've seen it happen to so many others. We all criticise the work of others. I know I do, but I do not put it up on display for countless others to view it and I certainly do not pretend to be an official on the matter. The critic, usually old and senile, though I do not wish to generalize, saunters around, playing cock of the walk, pretending to know what they’re talking about, taking pride only when quashing someone else’s hopes and dreams. They are devious, cunning folk, never hesitating before stabbing their best friend in the back, then sucking up the second their friend is facing them, and they all seem to have the same sly, evil smirk; hideous. These people disgust me, finding joy in the suffering of others. I find it quite sad that someone can devote their life, their entire being, to causing misery, what self-centered, egotistical prats. I'm sure they are nice people, far beneath that bitter, sinister exterior, these cruel blood-sucking leaches, festering in the dark, must have some friends, though who would admit to it; no self-respecting person I know. The critics lead lonely lives, surrounding themselves with pain and suffering, hoping that if they see people that are worse off, they can begin to feel better about them selves. Do I have proof of this? Of course I do not. I pity the critic, as do many others, but we must stop this now. We must, for their own good, begin to criticize the critic, pull them apart and analyze them. Reflect onto them what they have done to us for so long. If you want the truth seek it out for yourself, no ones opinion is more important to you than your own and at least then you will be able to live with yourself. If we can begin to treat them like shit, perhaps the knowledge might dawn on them, that their opinion is insignificant, unwarranted and unwanted. It is only then that they can hope to join society as respected pillars of the community. Critics are not a dying breed, they are mating and they are multiplying. They are spreading over the planet like a plague, if we don't do something to stop them soon, it will be too late. Do the world a favor, kill a critic today.4
1. I am aware the word wanker is probably inappropriate, but hey, prove me wrong.
2. Any similarities to any religions, living or dead are purely coincidental.
3. I have not asked any of them if they see themselves as gods, I just assumed.
4. Don’t kill anyone. Violence is bad.5
5. These points I feel needed to be explained but did not quite fit into the subject matter.
Writing exercises
Writing exercise – Expression
Shiny shoes, a river of alcohol and a dance that goes on forever
Laughing, always laughing, nothing but laughter and tears
A watch ticking backwards, a man is a rabbit
Lungs filled with tar, lights everywhere
Half dead, unfed but still the dance goes on
Do nothing. Remember anything
Do you feel eyes upon you?
Dance with me shiny shoes.
List of thoughts
Got to get up, got to get out
Book flights
What would it be like to kill him? I’d never get away with it
Live- beauty of grey, must sticky tape that back together
This is just like a hangover only without the alcohol: I should have gotten drunk.
This isn’t pass worthy but at least it’s not plagiarised
Must work on Malus, it needs more blood and description
Thank god it’s raining
Walking with a song in the heart
I don’t need a smoke right now… bugger it I want one.
How can I possibly know what they are thinking, it’s not natural.
Tax, must do tax
Forgetting everything, forgetting wisdom
If the world spun the other way would it really change anything?
Shiny shoes, a river of alcohol and a dance that goes on forever
Laughing, always laughing, nothing but laughter and tears
A watch ticking backwards, a man is a rabbit
Lungs filled with tar, lights everywhere
Half dead, unfed but still the dance goes on
Do nothing. Remember anything
Do you feel eyes upon you?
Dance with me shiny shoes.
List of thoughts
Got to get up, got to get out
Book flights
What would it be like to kill him? I’d never get away with it
Live- beauty of grey, must sticky tape that back together
This is just like a hangover only without the alcohol: I should have gotten drunk.
This isn’t pass worthy but at least it’s not plagiarised
Must work on Malus, it needs more blood and description
Thank god it’s raining
Walking with a song in the heart
I don’t need a smoke right now… bugger it I want one.
How can I possibly know what they are thinking, it’s not natural.
Tax, must do tax
Forgetting everything, forgetting wisdom
If the world spun the other way would it really change anything?
Travel Writing - Submitted for marking
Macquarie Fields, home of the 2005 summer riots, considered the worst suburb in Australia, but only by the people that have never been there, has a great history dating back to when Wally Melish blockaded his house and fought off the police. When you first drive into town you see the entire valley stretched out before you. Ignore the smell of sullage. You drive down into Glenquarie Shopping Centre. James Mehean High School is on the right, named after one of the local founders. Don’t be surprised if you mistake it for a prison. Take a left on to Rosewood and view the historic site where Jason Kelly crashed his car in a police chase beginning the 2005 riots. There is still a shrine marking the spot where he killed his two friends and ran away. Take Eucalyptus Drive from there. Not too far along is the hovel that Ray Martin stayed in to show everyone how compassionate he was toward the local population. A few doors down and you come to the house where the two freaks kept their daughter imprisoned for half her life; she is free now, but still can’t talk properly. Simmo’s Beach is the local swimming hole: don’t let the name fool you, it’s a river. Occasionally a body will float down stream, just swim around it. Simmo’s is part of the George’s River, a little way down river is the spot that an old lady drowned her five kids; rumour has it her ghost can still be heard there, cackling away. Go up stream to the quarry if you are the partying type. Almost every weekend there’s a drug party on there. Go early if you want the good stuff, the cops will not show up until about 11 pm. If you can’t make the party, look for sneakers hanging over power wires, there are some every few blocks marking each drug dealer’s territory. Up near Macquarie Fields Primary we have the local pools. They’re still proud of having a zero death toll. The power station next door is not so fortunate. Kids are often climbing the fence and getting shocked to death. It is an interesting town full of history. Although the places are not charted well, it’s not too hard to find them. Do drop in to this quaint little town, but don’t go in the summer time, the bush fires get quite close.
Soliloquies - Submitted and marked
Soliloquy 1 – They say they know me
They say they know me
But they know nothing
They run about free
But they do not know
This captivity
I can hear them now
Listening at doors
They are everywhere
Hear them in the walls
I really must scream
Rip out all my hair
But will they even see
They don’t really care
Who are they? Who? Who?
Can they see my pain?
Do they keep my tears?
This ruse I must maintain
Act normal stay sane
Listen. Listen hard
Ignore the rumours
Lies, lies, just discard
Discard all of them
Run away yet stay
To defy them all
Defy and obey
Soliloquy 2 – To take hold take arms
To take hold, take arms
Surely it is time
Better to kill them
Than suffer the wrath
Destroying my qualm
Must go on being
Struggling to breath
Fighting, fighting now
Why do they haunt me?
I must find meaning
Find sense of it all
Perhaps they can leave
They’ll die if they don’t
A blade cross their necks
I’ll watch them all fall
Then blood everywhere
I can almost taste
The pure subtle tide
They cry out in pain
But still unaware
Ignorant to me
Pleas fall on deaf ears
Soon they will know why
My anguish inside
Might soon now set them free
Soliloquy 3 – Rest easy head
Rest easy head
Breath softly sleep
Now 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
Oh so alone
Heart beat slowly
Too slow to tell
Leave me lie
Where I have fell
When shall we speak?
Perhaps upon
The morrow’s break
So weak now
This life I take
No touch of breath
No light of day
The end is death
So fade away
They say they know me
But they know nothing
They run about free
But they do not know
This captivity
I can hear them now
Listening at doors
They are everywhere
Hear them in the walls
I really must scream
Rip out all my hair
But will they even see
They don’t really care
Who are they? Who? Who?
Can they see my pain?
Do they keep my tears?
This ruse I must maintain
Act normal stay sane
Listen. Listen hard
Ignore the rumours
Lies, lies, just discard
Discard all of them
Run away yet stay
To defy them all
Defy and obey
Soliloquy 2 – To take hold take arms
To take hold, take arms
Surely it is time
Better to kill them
Than suffer the wrath
Destroying my qualm
Must go on being
Struggling to breath
Fighting, fighting now
Why do they haunt me?
I must find meaning
Find sense of it all
Perhaps they can leave
They’ll die if they don’t
A blade cross their necks
I’ll watch them all fall
Then blood everywhere
I can almost taste
The pure subtle tide
They cry out in pain
But still unaware
Ignorant to me
Pleas fall on deaf ears
Soon they will know why
My anguish inside
Might soon now set them free
Soliloquy 3 – Rest easy head
Rest easy head
Breath softly sleep
Now 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
Oh so alone
Heart beat slowly
Too slow to tell
Leave me lie
Where I have fell
When shall we speak?
Perhaps upon
The morrow’s break
So weak now
This life I take
No touch of breath
No light of day
The end is death
So fade away
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Saturday, June 23, 2007
An Alley of Morality
Scene: A dank alleyway with minimal lighting. Alley must appear dark and seedy.
It is early night time.
In the alley sits a piano side on to the wall, a man stands nearby aiming a torch at the pianist, on the side opposite the piano chair on the floor sits a homeless beggar.
The piano is of the best quality.
The Pianist is wearing a tuxedo but is barefoot.
The beggar is wearing everything he owns.
The Pianist walks up to the piano, sits down and begins to play. He plays instrumentals until quite a crowd has gathered.
Pianist: Thank you thank you very much, now for my last piece.
Enter rich pompous man. Rich man strolls up to piano near beggar.
Rich man is pretentiously; his manner shows his distain for the lower classes.
Enter violinist from the back of the crowd already playing violin. Violinist takes up position behind the pianist and continues to play.
Beggar: Hey buddy can ya spare some change?
Rich man: Get away from me.
Beggar moves closer to the Rich man.
Beggar: oh come on mate, you can spare it.
Rich man: Get away from me you pathetic excuse for a human.
Beggar: just a dollar, you can spare that.
Beggar grabs rich man by the leg in a begging position.
Rich man takes a little while to shake beggar off
Rich man kicks beggar to the floor.
Rich man repeatedly kick beggar until beggar stops moving.
Pianist looks toward the Rich man with concern and annoyance.
Torchbearer shifts torch light to the scuffle.
Pianist notices the crowds focus shift and plays the piano with more vigour.
Rich mans beating of the beggar runs in time to the music, getting more violent as the music gets louder.
Rich man spits on beggar and throws a dollar on his motionless body
Enter two police officers in uniform, a male and female.
Male officer: All right what’s going on here? Break up this crowd.
Female officer: Look (she approaches the beggar)
The beggar remains still.
Male officer: you are all witnesses, no body move. I’m calling this in.
Pianist finishes his piece
Rich man applauds and holds his hat out to the onlookers
Rich man: come on show your appreciation for the piano performance.
Pianist appears hesitant, looking to the other side of the piano.
Pianist: Er thank you
Beggar stands up, seemingly unharmed
Beggar: Yeah we hoped you enjoyed it
Beggar, Rich man, Police and Pianist all laugh and take a bow.
Male officer: All you onlookers, you played the part of observers tonight, in the future we hope you will do more, Charlie certainly does.
Beggar: Yes, yes it would be nice to not take another pounding.
All performers bow again.
It is early night time.
In the alley sits a piano side on to the wall, a man stands nearby aiming a torch at the pianist, on the side opposite the piano chair on the floor sits a homeless beggar.
The piano is of the best quality.
The Pianist is wearing a tuxedo but is barefoot.
The beggar is wearing everything he owns.
The Pianist walks up to the piano, sits down and begins to play. He plays instrumentals until quite a crowd has gathered.
Pianist: Thank you thank you very much, now for my last piece.
Enter rich pompous man. Rich man strolls up to piano near beggar.
Rich man is pretentiously; his manner shows his distain for the lower classes.
Enter violinist from the back of the crowd already playing violin. Violinist takes up position behind the pianist and continues to play.
Beggar: Hey buddy can ya spare some change?
Rich man: Get away from me.
Beggar moves closer to the Rich man.
Beggar: oh come on mate, you can spare it.
Rich man: Get away from me you pathetic excuse for a human.
Beggar: just a dollar, you can spare that.
Beggar grabs rich man by the leg in a begging position.
Rich man takes a little while to shake beggar off
Rich man kicks beggar to the floor.
Rich man repeatedly kick beggar until beggar stops moving.
Pianist looks toward the Rich man with concern and annoyance.
Torchbearer shifts torch light to the scuffle.
Pianist notices the crowds focus shift and plays the piano with more vigour.
Rich mans beating of the beggar runs in time to the music, getting more violent as the music gets louder.
Rich man spits on beggar and throws a dollar on his motionless body
Enter two police officers in uniform, a male and female.
Male officer: All right what’s going on here? Break up this crowd.
Female officer: Look (she approaches the beggar)
The beggar remains still.
Male officer: you are all witnesses, no body move. I’m calling this in.
Pianist finishes his piece
Rich man applauds and holds his hat out to the onlookers
Rich man: come on show your appreciation for the piano performance.
Pianist appears hesitant, looking to the other side of the piano.
Pianist: Er thank you
Beggar stands up, seemingly unharmed
Beggar: Yeah we hoped you enjoyed it
Beggar, Rich man, Police and Pianist all laugh and take a bow.
Male officer: All you onlookers, you played the part of observers tonight, in the future we hope you will do more, Charlie certainly does.
Beggar: Yes, yes it would be nice to not take another pounding.
All performers bow again.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
The blue book on the shelf
Whenever I am depressed or blue I reach for my bookshelves. It's always the same book I pull down although it does seem to move around a lot on its own. It's not the bible or any great book on life, it's a simple blue book filled with story-type observations about life. I open it at any page and for some reason it always opens to the right page I need in any circumstance. How it does this I do not know, but I'm not complaining. When I have read the two or three page account my head becomes clearer and life seems to take shape once more. It's one of the few books I own that I remember the circumstance of the purchase of the book, and none save one that I remember the day so perfect. It was in December, years ago although I can't remember the year, it could even have been the first of December. It was raining; I think we even saw a bit of hail that day. I remember siting at the back door and writing about the storm. That was the day I bought the blue book. Why I went out in such weather to get a book that could easily have waited until the next day I can't quite remember, but I'm sure I had my reasons. Why I remember that day so well down to the weather and what I wrote, I have no idea. I don't think it was my intention to commit these things to memory, what purpose could it ever have? But tucked away in the back of my mind I have the history of this book in my head and although there is no longer a price tag on it I think it cost me around $19.95. This simple over looked blue book; you could probably pick it up for $2 now. I doubt even the author knows its true value. In the words of Bennet and Royal, 'the author is dead,'1 so let the novel speak for itself. This book speaks volumes to me, but were you to ask me what it was about, I’d remain silent. It is about everything and nothing, it says so much but tells no story. What makes it so great to me? It’s mine and it helps me to fly.
1. Not literally in this case, to the best of my knowledge anyway.
1. Not literally in this case, to the best of my knowledge anyway.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Why so long??
I've not been on in a while. The truth of the matter being I couldn't be bothered joining the googe upgrade. I was quite content with the old version, but I have the urge to write once more and this is my only outlet at presnet.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
untitled
There is a man who lives in a house
Still in his parents care
From all the world he has gathered
A trove of tresures rare
He does not play the records
He does not race the cars
He does not lick the stamps
He prefers things as they are
In this room he sits and waits
A tiger in its lair
And god have mercy on any soul
Who dares to enter there
He sits alone and does not move
The possessions in his care
To all of those who touch his treasures
I say to you Beware
The records dont leave the plastic
He claims theyre never played
The cars dont leave the box
The stamps have never strayed
He will never touch them
His love is way to dear
But noone else shall either
No one can get near
He will die one day
His fortune still untouched
His precious prizes sold
For mere chimp-change and such
I wonder what hed think
I wonder what hed say
He spent his whole life collecting
And now its all been thrown away
All his valued treasures
Gone without a fuss
And the irony of it is
He never touched them once
Still in his parents care
From all the world he has gathered
A trove of tresures rare
He does not play the records
He does not race the cars
He does not lick the stamps
He prefers things as they are
In this room he sits and waits
A tiger in its lair
And god have mercy on any soul
Who dares to enter there
He sits alone and does not move
The possessions in his care
To all of those who touch his treasures
I say to you Beware
The records dont leave the plastic
He claims theyre never played
The cars dont leave the box
The stamps have never strayed
He will never touch them
His love is way to dear
But noone else shall either
No one can get near
He will die one day
His fortune still untouched
His precious prizes sold
For mere chimp-change and such
I wonder what hed think
I wonder what hed say
He spent his whole life collecting
And now its all been thrown away
All his valued treasures
Gone without a fuss
And the irony of it is
He never touched them once
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
