Well, can't sleep again, looking over the blog, realising now how this really doesn't show much about who I am, or what I stand for.
Assuming I don't know the answer to either of those, this is just to say how I have no right to complain bout anything I do.
First, I have the most amazing girl, who makes me happy just knowing she is mine. Suddenly all the cheesy love songs I used to have just for the tune now make me think 'yup', and make me smile randonly, even whilst walking down the street, much to the bemusement of the passersby, who see a weird kid bobbing along to music suddenly break into a mile-long grin and start skipping. But pah, strangers, who needs 'em.
Secondly, I have friends. Lots of friends, all of them I can have a laugh with, most of which I can talk to, some even talk back. And then there are those, very select, who I trust. Actually, genuinely trust. And hey, if your reading this, your probably one of them. These are the ones are constantly there for me, and who probably feel underappreciated, so I APPRECIATE IT GUYS!
Thirdly, I guess, comes family, who I know are there for me, even if I don't really want them to be. Money, a roof, food, clothes, and love. What more could a guy ask for? I mean I can't talk to them, but hey thats what friends are for. ( see above)
So basically, what I'm saying in my sleep deprived state here, is that I'm actually happy, and don't have any reason why not to be, which is why I let the little things bug me, cos I know I've got the big things covered.
Around me, faces, plastered with grins,
arms outstretched welcome me in.
My brain is racing with what to think,
but it now longer matters as i start to drink in the looks of sheer delight,
bathing my skin in this friendly light, as adventures unfold,
shirtless in a field, lying in a road, partying til dawn and beyond
with mates old and new, I know I belong.
And with this new joy and social might, I'm me. And all the while,
my face is covered with a genuine smile.
And whilst I can't usually write what makes me glad,
sunshine and snowflakes and pixies, oh my,
I just want to show that I ain't ever sad,
cos I'm always buzzing from this dizzying high
Thursday, 26 March 2009
Tuesday, 24 March 2009
Poem what I wrote.
Poems what I wrote, late one night, when all was pleak before the dawn.
Desolation
The shadows fall across the empty table, where hands no longer squabble for bread.
A man is still, as if asleep, arms cradling his head.
The wind blows defiantly, picking up what ruins remain in its path,
though this is just the finale of the Great Aftermath.
Bodies lie where they fell on the ground, carrion for the beasts that remain.
Rot starts to settle, slowly as things begin to decay.
Shades scuttle round corners, fleeing the light and what it may bring, the only sound to be heard
other then the ominous creak of a childs swing.
No footsteps to work, no men in suits and a tie.
No women to wait at the door to see them off, no long goodbye.
Those days have long departed, led in the night.
The suits lie discarded, solely a reminder of the days of the light.
And whilst the city dies brick by brick,
the inhabitants stay, and devolve with it.
Retribution
The Light casts its' eye upon the table, once more heaped with food.
The man awakens, well rested and feeling good.
Wind has died down, no longer a threat,
but carries the bodies and the past along with it.
Shades emerge from the edges and slither away,
the swing no longer creaks but groans as children play.
The men go off to work, but the women do too,
there is no time to stand and wave, there is work to do.
For whilst the city is rebuilt piece by piece,
work is never finished, never able to cease.
Lessons learnt.
Whats done is done.
Life must continue,
The world still moves on.
Desolation
The shadows fall across the empty table, where hands no longer squabble for bread.
A man is still, as if asleep, arms cradling his head.
The wind blows defiantly, picking up what ruins remain in its path,
though this is just the finale of the Great Aftermath.
Bodies lie where they fell on the ground, carrion for the beasts that remain.
Rot starts to settle, slowly as things begin to decay.
Shades scuttle round corners, fleeing the light and what it may bring, the only sound to be heard
other then the ominous creak of a childs swing.
No footsteps to work, no men in suits and a tie.
No women to wait at the door to see them off, no long goodbye.
Those days have long departed, led in the night.
The suits lie discarded, solely a reminder of the days of the light.
And whilst the city dies brick by brick,
the inhabitants stay, and devolve with it.
Retribution
The Light casts its' eye upon the table, once more heaped with food.
The man awakens, well rested and feeling good.
Wind has died down, no longer a threat,
but carries the bodies and the past along with it.
Shades emerge from the edges and slither away,
the swing no longer creaks but groans as children play.
The men go off to work, but the women do too,
there is no time to stand and wave, there is work to do.
For whilst the city is rebuilt piece by piece,
work is never finished, never able to cease.
Lessons learnt.
Whats done is done.
Life must continue,
The world still moves on.
Oh. Great.
Zzzzzzz
Ew-eh
one eye opens
Ew-eh
Then the other eye, consciousness slowly coming to me
Ew-eh, ew-eh
Whats that noise?
Ew-eh, ew-eh, ew-eh
Its not from here, it seems to be coming from...
EW-EH 'uh'
...my parents room.
Oh. Great.
Ew-eh ew-eh ew-eh ew-eh ew-eh ew-eh ew-eh ew-eh.
What is one supposed to do when you hear the ominous creaks from across the hall? Cos you cant stay awake, listening to that, and there aren't enough pillows in the world to smother your ears against that sound, to drown out that creaking bedspring that makes every child wish for the love of god that they didn't have an imagination. That they couldn't see, every time they closed their eyes, That. But to turn the music on and up, to let them know that you know, thats even worse, would make breakfast more awkward, each cringing 'ew-eh' more drawn out and hideous. God how I envy orphans.
Below, I have posted everything I feel is wrong with the world. And ask, why?
When the pimp's in the crib ma
Drop it like it's hot
Drop it like it's hot
Drop it like it's hot
When the pigs try to get at ya
Park it like it's hot
Park it like it's hot
Park it like it's hot
And if a nigga get a attitude
Pop it like it's hot
Pop it like it's hot
Pop it like it's hot
I got the rolly on my arm and I'm pouring Chandon
And I roll the best weed cause I got it going on
And people like this? These people are clearly morons. " I specialize in making all the girls get naked" Do you really Snoop Dawg, do you really? Is because you are are able to spell out your own name in verse, or is it because you can rhyme 'dizzle' with 'pizzle' and 'shizzle'?
Or, alternatively, are you full of crock?
Ew-eh
one eye opens
Ew-eh
Then the other eye, consciousness slowly coming to me
Ew-eh, ew-eh
Whats that noise?
Ew-eh, ew-eh, ew-eh
Its not from here, it seems to be coming from...
EW-EH 'uh'
...my parents room.
Oh. Great.
Ew-eh ew-eh ew-eh ew-eh ew-eh ew-eh ew-eh ew-eh.
What is one supposed to do when you hear the ominous creaks from across the hall? Cos you cant stay awake, listening to that, and there aren't enough pillows in the world to smother your ears against that sound, to drown out that creaking bedspring that makes every child wish for the love of god that they didn't have an imagination. That they couldn't see, every time they closed their eyes, That. But to turn the music on and up, to let them know that you know, thats even worse, would make breakfast more awkward, each cringing 'ew-eh' more drawn out and hideous. God how I envy orphans.
Below, I have posted everything I feel is wrong with the world. And ask, why?
When the pimp's in the crib ma
Drop it like it's hot
Drop it like it's hot
Drop it like it's hot
When the pigs try to get at ya
Park it like it's hot
Park it like it's hot
Park it like it's hot
And if a nigga get a attitude
Pop it like it's hot
Pop it like it's hot
Pop it like it's hot
I got the rolly on my arm and I'm pouring Chandon
And I roll the best weed cause I got it going on
And people like this? These people are clearly morons. " I specialize in making all the girls get naked" Do you really Snoop Dawg, do you really? Is because you are are able to spell out your own name in verse, or is it because you can rhyme 'dizzle' with 'pizzle' and 'shizzle'?
Or, alternatively, are you full of crock?
Come on, dive in, the waters warm
Wow, didn't think I would do this, but oh well
*holds breaths, takes the plunge*
I'm a compulsive people pleasure, so don't expect anything offensive here, I just can't bring myself to do that, this is gonna be about me. My selfish corner. (damn should have called it that, oh well)
I have friends. I am in no way a loner, yet sometimes I feel alone. So alone that I feel cold even in the sunshine. Have you ever been around friends but yet not felt in the conversation? Do you know that lonliness in the pit of your stomach you get when that happens, that terrible, heart stopping, buttock clenching feeling of being left out? Thats how I feel. And do you know the worst thing? No, you probably don't. The worst thing is the way they see me, as the 'funny one.' Oh, I'm not complaining bout that, I have a sense of humour which I am proud of. But no one sees me as anything more then that, as the one who you can have a laugh with. With notable exceptions, I haven't had a proper conversation in years. Its a horrible feeling, to be the 'funny one'.
The mask across his face seems to be slipping,
the grin plastered on the jesters face is fading.
The bells jangle and the crowd applaud, but the moves are routine.
No joy or effort within the performance.
And yet still people turn to the fool for distraction, but who knows what thoughts fleet across his joyous face, what darkness whells within?
Emptiness behind his sparkling eyes, his infectious laughter fake.
How can the clown make others laugh when he has forgotten how?
*holds breaths, takes the plunge*
I'm a compulsive people pleasure, so don't expect anything offensive here, I just can't bring myself to do that, this is gonna be about me. My selfish corner. (damn should have called it that, oh well)
I have friends. I am in no way a loner, yet sometimes I feel alone. So alone that I feel cold even in the sunshine. Have you ever been around friends but yet not felt in the conversation? Do you know that lonliness in the pit of your stomach you get when that happens, that terrible, heart stopping, buttock clenching feeling of being left out? Thats how I feel. And do you know the worst thing? No, you probably don't. The worst thing is the way they see me, as the 'funny one.' Oh, I'm not complaining bout that, I have a sense of humour which I am proud of. But no one sees me as anything more then that, as the one who you can have a laugh with. With notable exceptions, I haven't had a proper conversation in years. Its a horrible feeling, to be the 'funny one'.
The mask across his face seems to be slipping,
the grin plastered on the jesters face is fading.
The bells jangle and the crowd applaud, but the moves are routine.
No joy or effort within the performance.
And yet still people turn to the fool for distraction, but who knows what thoughts fleet across his joyous face, what darkness whells within?
Emptiness behind his sparkling eyes, his infectious laughter fake.
How can the clown make others laugh when he has forgotten how?
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