months later
we are less like lovers
and more like students
[i'm hoping none of you read my other blog, because i've just despicably double posted.]
Tuesday, 29 April 2008
Wednesday, 23 April 2008
Feels Like Home
The air so heavenly, it feels so surreal
This place feels somehow familiar
The wind passing through the tree leaves
This place feels like home.
Everything here is so gentle
A sense of warmth that attracts a smile
Everything around me gives off a happy aura
This place feels like home.
I feel i traveled so very far to get here
There are some old friends here to
I feel there is something different
This place feels like home
So different; so much that i like it
Safe, Secure and far from trouble
Flowers are blooming here
This place feels like home
Sudden flashes of white light
I wonder if this is a dream
No, this is no dream
This place feels like home
Because this is home
This is my dream
My dream come true
I finally made it.
Im in heaven.
R.I.P Nan - Love you always and forever.
This place feels somehow familiar
The wind passing through the tree leaves
This place feels like home.
Everything here is so gentle
A sense of warmth that attracts a smile
Everything around me gives off a happy aura
This place feels like home.
I feel i traveled so very far to get here
There are some old friends here to
I feel there is something different
This place feels like home
So different; so much that i like it
Safe, Secure and far from trouble
Flowers are blooming here
This place feels like home
Sudden flashes of white light
I wonder if this is a dream
No, this is no dream
This place feels like home
Because this is home
This is my dream
My dream come true
I finally made it.
Im in heaven.
R.I.P Nan - Love you always and forever.
Wednesday, 16 April 2008
My philosophy on friendship
Without other people, I would not be myself. Without help from others, I would give up. Without someone else caring, I wouldn't care about myself. But when someone else is in trouble, it is VERY important you return the favor and without owing anything, you do everything you can to help them. Because that's just what friends do. And that is what makes us who we are. Because together we really are unstoppable. But alone we can only be stopped.
Monday, 14 April 2008
Her Scream Resides - James
Just like a cloud in the sky, in time it fades away
Just like the sound of your voice getting softer
Feeling the heat rise up pressuring your decisions
Choking the life right out of you...
Would you want it any other way
What would you want me to say
Its all over, its to late
your decisions lead to your fate
Her scream resides…
Life for you came to a hold; it began to blur
You wished you were a never-ending story
Feeling your way through life as if you new what was next
Not everyone’s wish comes true…
Would you want it any other way
What would you want me to say
Its all over, its to late
your decisions lead to your fate
Her scream resides…
There is no perfect ending
Words wouldn’t have changed anything
Would you have the world known you tried?
These are my last words before you died
You wanted there to be some other way
There was something you wanted me to say
Its not over, Its not to late
Your decisions lead to your fate
Her scream resided...
Sunday, 13 April 2008
It wasn't until a complete stranger asked me...
"What would you do if you knew you couldn't fail?" that I knew exactly what I wanted to do.
And in my mind I had said: "Well...I'd like to build an orphanage, I suppose."
The man then stared into the crowd and said "Well why haven't you?"
Amendment: For anyone that lives in Australia, you may know that orphanages do not actually exist and have been replaced with foster and state care. So building an orphanage was more of a directional answer than a solid and direct one. I'd like to imagine myself involving youth in whatever career I choose in life.
Amendment: For anyone that lives in Australia, you may know that orphanages do not actually exist and have been replaced with foster and state care. So building an orphanage was more of a directional answer than a solid and direct one. I'd like to imagine myself involving youth in whatever career I choose in life.
Thursday, 10 April 2008
Recognition Is A Reward Fit For A King
'Thank You'
Its a recognition of the deed you have done. Some people take it for granted and feel like it is not enough, no, they want more ... money and power. I would have to say recognition is a reward fit for a king.
Sure you do not gain money or power from a 'thank you' but you should have a little respect and gratitude, accept it as good faith and move on. Recognition is more powerful then most people realise. Some think its just a word, while others have a sense of accomplishment toward a unselfish deed.
To many people are forgetting the purpose of recognition, its not always about money, nor' is it always about power. Recognition is something you receive from an honest person in the world who struggled with something you were able to help with.
Genuine people who would go out of their own way to help someone in need should expect nothing more yet nothing less than a thank you. Just remember that a thank you is a reward for unselfishness, its recognition that you have done something good.
Cherish the words, they may not come often in this world.
Its a recognition of the deed you have done. Some people take it for granted and feel like it is not enough, no, they want more ... money and power. I would have to say recognition is a reward fit for a king.
Sure you do not gain money or power from a 'thank you' but you should have a little respect and gratitude, accept it as good faith and move on. Recognition is more powerful then most people realise. Some think its just a word, while others have a sense of accomplishment toward a unselfish deed.
To many people are forgetting the purpose of recognition, its not always about money, nor' is it always about power. Recognition is something you receive from an honest person in the world who struggled with something you were able to help with.
Genuine people who would go out of their own way to help someone in need should expect nothing more yet nothing less than a thank you. Just remember that a thank you is a reward for unselfishness, its recognition that you have done something good.
Cherish the words, they may not come often in this world.
Wednesday, 9 April 2008
The Honor Badge
Honor can be brought back your virtues. Honor gives a social distinction of what is right and what is wrong. But is society always right and is honor only your pride on your sleeve? How important to you is it to be good and how important to you is it to be be good and better than everyone else? Not only that, but to show your honor. Honor is given and never bought. It is something that has to be earned, but I can't say I appreciate, no matter how well intended, honor can be when its thrown around to belittle others. People flash their pride and expect us to feel bad for ourselves.
Recently I experienced the feeling of my dream being crushed by someone's deceitfully powerful hands. How can someone destroy your dream? By achieving it and doing better than you had envisioned. I take a bitterness toward that, which I believe to be wrong but my anger is good at taking control of things like this. When something hurts me (and believe me I am a masochist on the inside), its always an emotional hurt rather than physical. It's starting to leave scars.
I feel like I've changed, not because of surroundings, people or influences of some sort, but because continuous injurious events. Like any wound it becomes a scar if it goes deep enough. I don't see the point in honor, but dreams give people reasons to live. Reasons to hope and find something that is worth their lives dedication. I find honor to be something that shows on the outside and says nothing about the inside. Just like a badge. It seems like nothing more than a social recognition. There will always be reasons for why people are honored, and some of these people really have evoked incredible notions. But for me, I'd respect a poor man who tried and failed at everything he did and still wears a smile just a little more than the man who grew rich and studied and became the best. Not because of Honor, but because of his dreams.
Recently I experienced the feeling of my dream being crushed by someone's deceitfully powerful hands. How can someone destroy your dream? By achieving it and doing better than you had envisioned. I take a bitterness toward that, which I believe to be wrong but my anger is good at taking control of things like this. When something hurts me (and believe me I am a masochist on the inside), its always an emotional hurt rather than physical. It's starting to leave scars.
I feel like I've changed, not because of surroundings, people or influences of some sort, but because continuous injurious events. Like any wound it becomes a scar if it goes deep enough. I don't see the point in honor, but dreams give people reasons to live. Reasons to hope and find something that is worth their lives dedication. I find honor to be something that shows on the outside and says nothing about the inside. Just like a badge. It seems like nothing more than a social recognition. There will always be reasons for why people are honored, and some of these people really have evoked incredible notions. But for me, I'd respect a poor man who tried and failed at everything he did and still wears a smile just a little more than the man who grew rich and studied and became the best. Not because of Honor, but because of his dreams.
zine
hi everyone-
me and my friend patrick [i've posted on his account by accident, and from the looks of it he also commented on one of Bez's stories] have started a new zine called Tom-Tom - after the main character in The Million Dollar Hotel. we're putting together a mail subscription list, and i was wondering if any of you would like to be on it? send me an email with your address if you would. cost for the first issue is obviously nothing; we haven't worked out a price if you decide to keep getting them.
me and my friend patrick [i've posted on his account by accident, and from the looks of it he also commented on one of Bez's stories] have started a new zine called Tom-Tom - after the main character in The Million Dollar Hotel. we're putting together a mail subscription list, and i was wondering if any of you would like to be on it? send me an email with your address if you would. cost for the first issue is obviously nothing; we haven't worked out a price if you decide to keep getting them.
Tuesday, 8 April 2008
Today's Fight...
The following is a piece of fiction and was not intended for any particular person.
“Inflict? Or Waiting?”
She slammed the door behind her. She turned on the computer, searching, finding, reaching for someone. She longed for closure and so much more. She was neither ugly nor the essence of beauty but her opinion was widespread.
She made herself be heard but couldn’t hear herself…
Her only friend was occupying the backyard. That friend never spoke back. Never gave her disloyalty but only acceptance. Every time the friend looked into her eyes, there was no hate, no disagreements and no blame shifting, but only its full attention for support. She could never ridicule the friend, no matter how bad she was tested.
Her assumption that; the lack of prevention was the key to unlocking the friendship door and letting freedom prevail. She tried to understand others when she wasn’t understandable. Her grip on the trophy was now slipping away with her hopes and emerging nightmares. She could no longer handle the insecurities of fate.
She turned off her computer.
Now silence.
Like the trees outside stretching it branches out to hold the sun.
She had forgiven the unforgettable, and forgotten the unforgivable.
The day was over, the damage had been done.
She went to sleep to prepare for tomorrow’s battle.
Footnote: I choose the title because it’s an anagram of
“Fictional Writing”
I should also point out that I rushed and compacted this in one night; usually I spend more than a week’s time coming up with fictional material.
“Inflict? Or Waiting?”
She slammed the door behind her. She turned on the computer, searching, finding, reaching for someone. She longed for closure and so much more. She was neither ugly nor the essence of beauty but her opinion was widespread.
She made herself be heard but couldn’t hear herself…
Her only friend was occupying the backyard. That friend never spoke back. Never gave her disloyalty but only acceptance. Every time the friend looked into her eyes, there was no hate, no disagreements and no blame shifting, but only its full attention for support. She could never ridicule the friend, no matter how bad she was tested.
Her assumption that; the lack of prevention was the key to unlocking the friendship door and letting freedom prevail. She tried to understand others when she wasn’t understandable. Her grip on the trophy was now slipping away with her hopes and emerging nightmares. She could no longer handle the insecurities of fate.
She turned off her computer.
Now silence.
Like the trees outside stretching it branches out to hold the sun.
She had forgiven the unforgettable, and forgotten the unforgivable.
The day was over, the damage had been done.
She went to sleep to prepare for tomorrow’s battle.
Footnote: I choose the title because it’s an anagram of
“Fictional Writing”
I should also point out that I rushed and compacted this in one night; usually I spend more than a week’s time coming up with fictional material.
Sunday, 6 April 2008
Tuesday, 1 April 2008
Yesturday was Today, Tomorrow
The following is a piece of fiction and was not intended for any particular person.
“Clarity”
The smell of gasoline invaded Jack’s nostrils as he stepped onto the bus. The street was busy, it was peak hour. No space for thinking. He regularly noted the amount of cars and people. There was always the old lady with the white handbag, the tall man in a pinstripe suit and most distinguishable of them all was a little girl with golden-straight hair. But of all of these details he made sure that he was safe, and not just on the bus.
Jack had become accustom to each and everyone’s company on-board. Like himself, for sitting only on the left-hand side, each one of them had their own distinct behavioural characteristics. Jack chuckled every time he would overhear the music through someone else’s headphones on the opposite end of the bus. If it wasn’t the music he was listening to, then it was the gentle calm whistling noise of the breeze passing by his ears when the windows are down. He would like to sometimes imagine that voices were talking to him through the wind, trying to reach out to him and tell him something valuable. He enjoyed the one and a half hour bus rides. Whenever he could, he would lay back deep into his seat, with closed eyelids and picture the rest of the journey home.
One afternoon, where the sun seemed to light-up every part of the bus, Jack noticed a person come onto the bus. This was no ordinary person; this was a person Jack had never seemed before on his rides home. He was curious as to what behavioural characteristic he was going to remember this person by. The skinny long legs, the dark coloured sunglasses identical with the hair would be enough he thought. The person had a tattoo on their ankle, he couldn’t make out what it was, but its importance was matched by the sheer size of it and amount of skin it was covering. The person gently sat down one seat in front of Jack, placing the almost-seemingly weightless bag beside them and falling back into the seat. Appearing to be asleep, Jack leaned forward enough from his seat to whisper, “Hi, are you new around here?”
Silence at first, rising from the seat and turning around was a snapped response,
“Afraid not, are you?”
Breaking a smile, Jack noted how friendly this person was by the facial expression;
“Nah, I live way out over there…”
He announced while pointing through the window into the distant nothingness.
“…But I do like it around here, there seems to be quite a number of quiet people so I guess it’s a nice feeling coming here”
From then on, the two spoke as if they knew each other their whole lives for the entire journey until the person bluntly interrupted Jack to mention their stop was next and will not return back onto the bus since it was only a one-off trip. Jack, apart from being a little sadden by this, was surprisingly upbeat since his day got better knowing he made at least one person happy today.
The person stepped off the bus, paused, turned around to wave once and starting walking. Jack nodded, waved once and pierced the sky to see how clear it was.
He thought he could change a person’s life today that would change his own life tomorrow.
“Clarity”
The smell of gasoline invaded Jack’s nostrils as he stepped onto the bus. The street was busy, it was peak hour. No space for thinking. He regularly noted the amount of cars and people. There was always the old lady with the white handbag, the tall man in a pinstripe suit and most distinguishable of them all was a little girl with golden-straight hair. But of all of these details he made sure that he was safe, and not just on the bus.
Jack had become accustom to each and everyone’s company on-board. Like himself, for sitting only on the left-hand side, each one of them had their own distinct behavioural characteristics. Jack chuckled every time he would overhear the music through someone else’s headphones on the opposite end of the bus. If it wasn’t the music he was listening to, then it was the gentle calm whistling noise of the breeze passing by his ears when the windows are down. He would like to sometimes imagine that voices were talking to him through the wind, trying to reach out to him and tell him something valuable. He enjoyed the one and a half hour bus rides. Whenever he could, he would lay back deep into his seat, with closed eyelids and picture the rest of the journey home.
One afternoon, where the sun seemed to light-up every part of the bus, Jack noticed a person come onto the bus. This was no ordinary person; this was a person Jack had never seemed before on his rides home. He was curious as to what behavioural characteristic he was going to remember this person by. The skinny long legs, the dark coloured sunglasses identical with the hair would be enough he thought. The person had a tattoo on their ankle, he couldn’t make out what it was, but its importance was matched by the sheer size of it and amount of skin it was covering. The person gently sat down one seat in front of Jack, placing the almost-seemingly weightless bag beside them and falling back into the seat. Appearing to be asleep, Jack leaned forward enough from his seat to whisper, “Hi, are you new around here?”
Silence at first, rising from the seat and turning around was a snapped response,
“Afraid not, are you?”
Breaking a smile, Jack noted how friendly this person was by the facial expression;
“Nah, I live way out over there…”
He announced while pointing through the window into the distant nothingness.
“…But I do like it around here, there seems to be quite a number of quiet people so I guess it’s a nice feeling coming here”
From then on, the two spoke as if they knew each other their whole lives for the entire journey until the person bluntly interrupted Jack to mention their stop was next and will not return back onto the bus since it was only a one-off trip. Jack, apart from being a little sadden by this, was surprisingly upbeat since his day got better knowing he made at least one person happy today.
The person stepped off the bus, paused, turned around to wave once and starting walking. Jack nodded, waved once and pierced the sky to see how clear it was.
He thought he could change a person’s life today that would change his own life tomorrow.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)