Black and White
Rainbows engulf the sea;
Its shadow embodies itself as an ouroboros – yet these,
Remain unhunted.
Silver clowns reign among the circus tent.
Yet in reality, they are the prisoners.
And the caged lions that they whip,
Struck for no purpose.
Rainbows can too be view as a single colour.
Clouds raining among the over-drenched summer;
They aren’t contrasting, rather, complimentary.
One white leaf stands astray from the others,
All differences aside, he reconciles and finds peace,
In a glassy meadow, with one’s reflections as clear as a night,
The leaf is drowned in a metropolis of city lights,
It is then that he might realize how the river’s flow has come to cease.
A yellow shimmer of a broken heart;
What passion, let us hear it, has been evoked, awoken,
To sew this glass tonight?
If prefecture is perfect, then why do I feel alone?
If a lights purpose is to remove all fears then,
Why do they shine one distinct colour?
Grassy hills bear trees and fruits,
Longing to survive, the tree-monkeys grasp onto the truth,
Longing to be awoken, slaves compose songs bearing flute
Melodies, rhythms; yet they’re emotionless, stagnant
For the lights in the machines eyes shine’s all
But that of the monkey’s favourite fruit’s colour.
It is not the tree-monkey now that sits atop the hill, but the machines.
Blood-stained, working,
Working, working, to uphold an idea
Yet these workers were also born on branches, just as the tree monkeys were too,
So can we not summon our arms, and thrust them against our own trees?
Or rather, plant their seeds in various environments, in
An attempt to understand each-other once more?
Surrounded by green; money, grass
Are the two ideas so different, so as to be met so hesitantly,
When the rivers we once floated on are connected at last?
Why shouldn’t robots become monkey? Or monkey robots?
And why should we let the preset current of life continue to
Manipulate and control us?
For we’re all sailing to the same place, we’re all living the same day
And the colours we bear are in fact, not white and black but
Blue and Grey
The clouds that are above us, and the sea that is beneath us,
Reflect our true selves and our true desires.
The ocean is an illusion, and just too is the sky,
The lights we all hold are ours alone, and all shine our own colour.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Guitar Pic
I was in my room and printing off guitar tablature for a song I was learning. I had logged onto the computer yesterday to download it, but for some reason, it just wouldn’t work! For some reason, my family always use to leave the TV on. They just left it on, even when they weren’t home, even when there wasn’t anything good on, even. Today it was softer than usual, thank god. Something about a natural disaster. Something about a war, explosions and fire. I went to play my guitar, albeit, pausing midway through plugging my guitar into the amp to grab my pic, and I held as tight in my mouth as my mother would me as a child. The pick was large, green, and was inked bearing a fluorescent skull, that seemingly spoke to you as if to say, “You want to be this badass!”. Caught in a moment of admiration, I found myself breathing heavily, and therefore, swallowing the guitar pic I, a few seconds ago, held tight in my mouth. Well that is to say, chocking, as I was likely already suffocated by the time I head swallowed it. And my parents would probably come in my room and panic, cry, call the ambulance, the police. Fuck, fuck, I don’t know. I had never seen somebody die before. I’d seen people talk about dying, and reenact dying, but I’d never died myself. So when it came around to it, I felt an odd hesitation, though I decided to paint myself red.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Shopping
The walls of the establishment were expendable, the contents forever shifting. Mirrors covered the floors, revealing the true nature of the individuals held prisoners.
‘Humans still migrate, humans still find it in themselves to want to change.’ It was a blurb on the back of a book they were selling, entitled; ‘The True Eyes’. I was not too sure if it was suppose to be fiction, or non-fiction – the author had probably intended it to be the latter, however this I considered madness. Eyes? A laughable concept to base a worldview off! And of what relation had change to eyes? Surely I was a better person, a better human being than this man who wrote this book, for thinking this.
That is what I thought.
I knew little in the field of economics; however, I did somehow acquire a hobby for collecting things. Any things really – toasters, coffee makers, children’s toys, cereal, bowls, cups, ice-cream makers, doughnut makers, books, music players, televisions, computers, surround sound systems, beds and other similar furniture (such as cabinets, tables, desks and shelves), printers, cameras, air conditioners, washing machines, chairs, carpet, matrices, apples, oranges, milk, meat, chicken, utensils for cooking, stationary, biscuits, chips, fish. Immortal is the list – it always has been.
Say, I wonder, why do I collect these things? God pray, why?
At approximately twelve fifty five at noon, three business men entered the shopping complex. I thought of the people as self-proclaimed rulers in a graveyard. They probably did too – which is why the enjoyed being rulers.
And there was a stream running down the middle of this figurative graveyard which was quite unusual for one – streams don’t normally run through the middle of graveyards. I’m sorry; let me reword that; graveyards aren’t usually built on either sides of a stream. I knew little in the field of graveyard building however; however, what I do know, is that this graveyard is mistakenly viewed as a paradise; a utopian place – because of that stream. There! – Look; for there are people drowning in it just as we speak! Isn’t it sad? Doesn’t it make you lose faith in society?
My eyes narrowed in focus with the mirrors. ‘Hello and welcome, is there anything I can do to help you sir?’ In a situation like this I would usually, as a snake of a man, shed my skin and continue on my venture. However I knew better this time – I wasn’t going to fall into the river I had previously fallen into. I went up to that river with a bucket. I took the bucket and slowly, oh so slowly began filling it with water and emptying it on the banks. Haha! Ahahaha! Immortal was my laughter! Without this river, the graveyard would be ridden of it’s dystopian status and it’s captives free!
Then, something unusual happened. It had not occurred to me, the thought had just simply not occurred, that there was a machine constantly pumping water into the river via and underground system of pipes and other small machinery. No, no – what I was doing now wouldn’t have any effect. No effect at all. The water was immortal.
‘Humans still migrate, humans still find it in themselves to want to change.’ It was a blurb on the back of a book they were selling, entitled; ‘The True Eyes’. I was not too sure if it was suppose to be fiction, or non-fiction – the author had probably intended it to be the latter, however this I considered madness. Eyes? A laughable concept to base a worldview off! And of what relation had change to eyes? Surely I was a better person, a better human being than this man who wrote this book, for thinking this.
That is what I thought.
I knew little in the field of economics; however, I did somehow acquire a hobby for collecting things. Any things really – toasters, coffee makers, children’s toys, cereal, bowls, cups, ice-cream makers, doughnut makers, books, music players, televisions, computers, surround sound systems, beds and other similar furniture (such as cabinets, tables, desks and shelves), printers, cameras, air conditioners, washing machines, chairs, carpet, matrices, apples, oranges, milk, meat, chicken, utensils for cooking, stationary, biscuits, chips, fish. Immortal is the list – it always has been.
Say, I wonder, why do I collect these things? God pray, why?
At approximately twelve fifty five at noon, three business men entered the shopping complex. I thought of the people as self-proclaimed rulers in a graveyard. They probably did too – which is why the enjoyed being rulers.
And there was a stream running down the middle of this figurative graveyard which was quite unusual for one – streams don’t normally run through the middle of graveyards. I’m sorry; let me reword that; graveyards aren’t usually built on either sides of a stream. I knew little in the field of graveyard building however; however, what I do know, is that this graveyard is mistakenly viewed as a paradise; a utopian place – because of that stream. There! – Look; for there are people drowning in it just as we speak! Isn’t it sad? Doesn’t it make you lose faith in society?
My eyes narrowed in focus with the mirrors. ‘Hello and welcome, is there anything I can do to help you sir?’ In a situation like this I would usually, as a snake of a man, shed my skin and continue on my venture. However I knew better this time – I wasn’t going to fall into the river I had previously fallen into. I went up to that river with a bucket. I took the bucket and slowly, oh so slowly began filling it with water and emptying it on the banks. Haha! Ahahaha! Immortal was my laughter! Without this river, the graveyard would be ridden of it’s dystopian status and it’s captives free!
Then, something unusual happened. It had not occurred to me, the thought had just simply not occurred, that there was a machine constantly pumping water into the river via and underground system of pipes and other small machinery. No, no – what I was doing now wouldn’t have any effect. No effect at all. The water was immortal.
The Rebel
An eerily all too familiar noise and smell was omitted from the crosswalk as the city’s lights began to brighten in anticipation for a chaotic surge in activity regarding the social activities held there – or rather – they dimmed; in respect for the absence of those who forbid to partake in such deeds. On a particular street were several shops selling jewelry, and this jewelry was targeted, primarily, towards middle-aged workingwomen, who had enough money to buy such meaningless items. On another particular street were several young people of whom were quite apparently in the progress of dealing with synthetic drugs – if sighted within an arms length. It was something that, precious and forbidden, was regarded as secretive, after all. The thoughts, the feelings and emotions of the young men engaged in these deals was unknown. One may be able to attempt to guess their motives, perhaps even their reasoning; but their exact state of mind is a concept that quite clearly, wasn’t reproducible. Were the expressions on their faces snarls? Laughs? Frowns? That’s something that those people would only reveal among themselves. On another particular street was an alcohol store, and this alcohol was targeted, primarily, towards middle-aged workingmen, who had enough money to buy such meaningless items.
Max was in his room. He was thinking about how rules should be destroyed in society, and how society should rebel against and overthrow the government. Max was called to eat dinner by his older brother. The food that his Mother had prepared was called steak, and to cook it took her almost as long as Max took thinking about such a meaningful subject. After Max finished eating, his Mother kindly asked him to wait at the table until the other members of his family were finished eating. This is bullshit! Max thought. I shouldn’t have to wait for them to leave after I’ve eaten! To hell with that! After his family had finished eating he helped them wash-up. Did he have anything else better to do?
Max was in his second year of high-school, but he didn’t often tell people just what high-school he attended. And for very good reasons too. Max thought that people would start defining him based on what school he went to. Like, ‘Oh, you go to that school? You must get excellent grades, I heard it’s tough to get into there.’ Of course, Max didn’t know if people talked like that or not, because he didn’t actually go to one of those schools. If he ever did, he lied to himself, he wouldn’t tell people what school he went to. ‘The education system has numerous flaws.’ Max typed on his computer. He paused and sipped some Pepsi. He right-clicked on the mouse to correct the spelling of the word ‘numerous’. He had spelled it incorrectly and the computer had corrected it. He continued. ‘For one, we should learn what we want to learn, instead of being just told to do things.’ Max was a Christian, and he believed in God. Two years later, he named himself an Athiest, and claimed that God was a man made concept. In university he majored in Creative Writing, in his first year at least. By the next he had switched to Economics. He got a job in the Australian Bureau of Statistics after he graduated. The job payed well. He began to think differently. When he was 55 years old his house nearly was destroyed in a storm. Oh God, Jesus help me! He got on his knees and prayed. He scrambled towards his bookcase, before turning to run towards his bedroom, to search for a bible. Christian, Mormon, Taoist, Islamic; it didn’t matter what one.
It never occurred to him,
That he had never owned one.
He concluded he must have lost it.
The day after Max typed about the Education System, in Max’s high-school, a group of young boys approached him. Max’s favorite sport was golf, and he was quite skilled at it, although not nearly as much as he would have liked to be. He liked it’s qualities in that everything was very structured, yet free, and thought of it as a metaphor of how life should be. Of course, there were lots of rules in Golf. There was lots of rules in most sports. The sport that the group of boys played was soccer. They spoke with strong British accents, and Max hated them, because they were from England. He was born in Australia, but he also hated Australians. He was a very sociable person and went to a lot of parties. He claimed he was being ironic, because he really wasn’t very fond of the people he met at the parties either, but he pretended he was. The group of boys he recognized from one party or another. He disliked them.
He walked up to the boys. As he did so, stepping on gum. Bubble gum, the brand was Hubba Bubba, the flavor either blueberry or strawberry (common flavors) from first glance, but it was actually a new experimental flavor called APPLEGRAPE, and was labeled so on the gum’s wrapper in capital letters, to make it stand out. It was a new and exciting initiative to boost their profits. Or rather, more than something ‘new’ and ‘exciting’, the introduction of new flavors had become somewhat of a seasonal event. Max greeted the boys, ‘Hey’. The boys said something of ridicule to him, decorated by the words ‘Faggot’ and ‘Homosexual’, to which Max replied to with, ‘You guys are seriously the most unintelligent people I have ever met. You just go by, living your life like this in this system’s grips – you think you’re rebelling by using the language you do and doing the things you do, but you’re not – you just end up buying shit. Heaps of it. You’re pathetic.’ The boys who Max attempted to lecture, later that day, went to their soccer training. The next day’s afternoon they had work. Some of them worked in a fish and chips shop, another a sportswear shop and another a bookshop. The boy who worked in the bookshop was only there because his Uncle owned it, but he enjoyed reading books. His favorite book at that moment was by a fantasy author, and it was about a young boy traveling through the woods, and killing himself there. The boy thought it was very well written, and had ordered more of the author’s writings from his local library. The boy had a particular dislike for horror films. He kept this all a secret from his friends. They might ridicule my tastes if I tell them, he thought, but they’re good people inside. Everyone’s the same I guess really. That boy died at the age of 39. He overworked himself in whatever job he had at that time. It doesn’t matter, right? But worry not of his life; he would live on – as a series of facts and figures on a sheet. And then one day something would happen, like the Sun exploding or nuclear warfare, and everyone would die.
When Max got home that day he turned on his PC. This particular computer Max’s parents had paid for two years ago, and Max wanted a new one. On his computer that evening he chatted to one of his friends. ‘so did u read Tujis latest esay that Ms08 posted this morning?’
‘Not really.’
‘its one of his more notabl works. good social commntery on the modarn perseption of Marxism.’
‘Oh, I see. I’ll have to read it later, I’m a bit busy trying to finish this assignment for class tomorrow.’
‘Dude,’ Max typed, ‘Screw schol, ur just gona end up geting a boring job. Then, youll work until ur old or have enough money to retire, and youl die in some hospital.’
‘Oh, right. I never thought about it like that.’ Of course he was lying. ‘Well you’ll have to link me to more of those essays tomorrow. What was the site called again?’
‘CorruptUnion.org’
‘I typed it in to the address bar just then, that isn’t a real website.’
‘u needa pasword to get into it. this is the stuff that midle-eastern extremasts plan there latest ideas with. i even helped them with some stuff one time. did u heard about the van incidant?’
‘I’d love to keep chatting but I’ve got this assignment to do. Cya man.’
The User only talked to Max a handful of times after that.
He felt no, or little, regret for doing this.
The next day Max woke up, and got a hammer from his family’s garage, and used it to smash the Television that his parents had brought for him for his birthday. I am breaking free of the system! It no longer confines my soul to the stereotypes that generations before me have been ensnared into! I am truly alive!
And there he was, smashing his television.
Max was in his room. He was thinking about how rules should be destroyed in society, and how society should rebel against and overthrow the government. Max was called to eat dinner by his older brother. The food that his Mother had prepared was called steak, and to cook it took her almost as long as Max took thinking about such a meaningful subject. After Max finished eating, his Mother kindly asked him to wait at the table until the other members of his family were finished eating. This is bullshit! Max thought. I shouldn’t have to wait for them to leave after I’ve eaten! To hell with that! After his family had finished eating he helped them wash-up. Did he have anything else better to do?
Max was in his second year of high-school, but he didn’t often tell people just what high-school he attended. And for very good reasons too. Max thought that people would start defining him based on what school he went to. Like, ‘Oh, you go to that school? You must get excellent grades, I heard it’s tough to get into there.’ Of course, Max didn’t know if people talked like that or not, because he didn’t actually go to one of those schools. If he ever did, he lied to himself, he wouldn’t tell people what school he went to. ‘The education system has numerous flaws.’ Max typed on his computer. He paused and sipped some Pepsi. He right-clicked on the mouse to correct the spelling of the word ‘numerous’. He had spelled it incorrectly and the computer had corrected it. He continued. ‘For one, we should learn what we want to learn, instead of being just told to do things.’ Max was a Christian, and he believed in God. Two years later, he named himself an Athiest, and claimed that God was a man made concept. In university he majored in Creative Writing, in his first year at least. By the next he had switched to Economics. He got a job in the Australian Bureau of Statistics after he graduated. The job payed well. He began to think differently. When he was 55 years old his house nearly was destroyed in a storm. Oh God, Jesus help me! He got on his knees and prayed. He scrambled towards his bookcase, before turning to run towards his bedroom, to search for a bible. Christian, Mormon, Taoist, Islamic; it didn’t matter what one.
It never occurred to him,
That he had never owned one.
He concluded he must have lost it.
The day after Max typed about the Education System, in Max’s high-school, a group of young boys approached him. Max’s favorite sport was golf, and he was quite skilled at it, although not nearly as much as he would have liked to be. He liked it’s qualities in that everything was very structured, yet free, and thought of it as a metaphor of how life should be. Of course, there were lots of rules in Golf. There was lots of rules in most sports. The sport that the group of boys played was soccer. They spoke with strong British accents, and Max hated them, because they were from England. He was born in Australia, but he also hated Australians. He was a very sociable person and went to a lot of parties. He claimed he was being ironic, because he really wasn’t very fond of the people he met at the parties either, but he pretended he was. The group of boys he recognized from one party or another. He disliked them.
He walked up to the boys. As he did so, stepping on gum. Bubble gum, the brand was Hubba Bubba, the flavor either blueberry or strawberry (common flavors) from first glance, but it was actually a new experimental flavor called APPLEGRAPE, and was labeled so on the gum’s wrapper in capital letters, to make it stand out. It was a new and exciting initiative to boost their profits. Or rather, more than something ‘new’ and ‘exciting’, the introduction of new flavors had become somewhat of a seasonal event. Max greeted the boys, ‘Hey’. The boys said something of ridicule to him, decorated by the words ‘Faggot’ and ‘Homosexual’, to which Max replied to with, ‘You guys are seriously the most unintelligent people I have ever met. You just go by, living your life like this in this system’s grips – you think you’re rebelling by using the language you do and doing the things you do, but you’re not – you just end up buying shit. Heaps of it. You’re pathetic.’ The boys who Max attempted to lecture, later that day, went to their soccer training. The next day’s afternoon they had work. Some of them worked in a fish and chips shop, another a sportswear shop and another a bookshop. The boy who worked in the bookshop was only there because his Uncle owned it, but he enjoyed reading books. His favorite book at that moment was by a fantasy author, and it was about a young boy traveling through the woods, and killing himself there. The boy thought it was very well written, and had ordered more of the author’s writings from his local library. The boy had a particular dislike for horror films. He kept this all a secret from his friends. They might ridicule my tastes if I tell them, he thought, but they’re good people inside. Everyone’s the same I guess really. That boy died at the age of 39. He overworked himself in whatever job he had at that time. It doesn’t matter, right? But worry not of his life; he would live on – as a series of facts and figures on a sheet. And then one day something would happen, like the Sun exploding or nuclear warfare, and everyone would die.
When Max got home that day he turned on his PC. This particular computer Max’s parents had paid for two years ago, and Max wanted a new one. On his computer that evening he chatted to one of his friends. ‘so did u read Tujis latest esay that Ms08 posted this morning?’
‘Not really.’
‘its one of his more notabl works. good social commntery on the modarn perseption of Marxism.’
‘Oh, I see. I’ll have to read it later, I’m a bit busy trying to finish this assignment for class tomorrow.’
‘Dude,’ Max typed, ‘Screw schol, ur just gona end up geting a boring job. Then, youll work until ur old or have enough money to retire, and youl die in some hospital.’
‘Oh, right. I never thought about it like that.’ Of course he was lying. ‘Well you’ll have to link me to more of those essays tomorrow. What was the site called again?’
‘CorruptUnion.org’
‘I typed it in to the address bar just then, that isn’t a real website.’
‘u needa pasword to get into it. this is the stuff that midle-eastern extremasts plan there latest ideas with. i even helped them with some stuff one time. did u heard about the van incidant?’
‘I’d love to keep chatting but I’ve got this assignment to do. Cya man.’
The User only talked to Max a handful of times after that.
He felt no, or little, regret for doing this.
The next day Max woke up, and got a hammer from his family’s garage, and used it to smash the Television that his parents had brought for him for his birthday. I am breaking free of the system! It no longer confines my soul to the stereotypes that generations before me have been ensnared into! I am truly alive!
And there he was, smashing his television.
Requiem
One white glimmering embryo did not exist beyond the boundaries of mine; and on a near green and dihydrogen monoxide saturated tree branch, a corvus cornix took flight once again, though it has long left his. Reasons; I previous held these absent for remaining attached to Earth; physiologically and psychologically.
But as I was within proximity of the lake, and its murky waters suffocated my voices, the reason was became clearer than the waters had ever been. Clear than the waters of Earth, and likewise this lake’s. A popular colloquialism on Earth was voiced like something as to the degree of sounding like; ‘You shouldn’t teach and old dog new tricks’. I agreed.
I am joined through a twisting, red umbilical cord to Gaea herself, and I speculate we all are, at some point in time or another. This cord takes the form of a lance, and similar to Medieval knights, we partake in no form of chivalry or honor. We jousted to please our fellow cornix.
In aesthetically critical terms, the body of water was beautiful. The scene that embedded itself in my memory that is stained with the color of a very dark blue, just how one may observe the color of litmus paper when being submerged in an alkali substance. Conversely, the picturesque scene lacked a vital characteristic of which organisms undergoing photosynthesis displayed. And although all seemed peaceful on the surface, there was malevolent depths living at the bottom. I felt an emotion that people on Earth might have described as nostalgia or melancholy.
For dragons had spewed fire along a diamond edged blade, carving it into a double-edged sword which humanity blindly thrusted into their hearts. I was standing in a hauntingly black, yet pure, white lined cathedral, which possessed a sort of perfect absoluteness and symmetricality. The clouds were deep grey and I disliked the aura of which a heavy, constant rain emitted. The rain softly pattered down on the stain-glass windows and their inhabitants, the rain softly pattered down on the tin roof of the cathedral. There were countless statues of monstrous creatures created by the human imagination, decorated with intricate and graceful patterns, and although they were pale and colorless, through my eyes they emitted more color than I would ever see in my entire life.
But as I was within proximity of the lake, and its murky waters suffocated my voices, the reason was became clearer than the waters had ever been. Clear than the waters of Earth, and likewise this lake’s. A popular colloquialism on Earth was voiced like something as to the degree of sounding like; ‘You shouldn’t teach and old dog new tricks’. I agreed.
I am joined through a twisting, red umbilical cord to Gaea herself, and I speculate we all are, at some point in time or another. This cord takes the form of a lance, and similar to Medieval knights, we partake in no form of chivalry or honor. We jousted to please our fellow cornix.
In aesthetically critical terms, the body of water was beautiful. The scene that embedded itself in my memory that is stained with the color of a very dark blue, just how one may observe the color of litmus paper when being submerged in an alkali substance. Conversely, the picturesque scene lacked a vital characteristic of which organisms undergoing photosynthesis displayed. And although all seemed peaceful on the surface, there was malevolent depths living at the bottom. I felt an emotion that people on Earth might have described as nostalgia or melancholy.
For dragons had spewed fire along a diamond edged blade, carving it into a double-edged sword which humanity blindly thrusted into their hearts. I was standing in a hauntingly black, yet pure, white lined cathedral, which possessed a sort of perfect absoluteness and symmetricality. The clouds were deep grey and I disliked the aura of which a heavy, constant rain emitted. The rain softly pattered down on the stain-glass windows and their inhabitants, the rain softly pattered down on the tin roof of the cathedral. There were countless statues of monstrous creatures created by the human imagination, decorated with intricate and graceful patterns, and although they were pale and colorless, through my eyes they emitted more color than I would ever see in my entire life.
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