I'm finding this whole post-secondary educational ordeal rather drear, a waste of life, even. I need ome major motivation from somewhere other than high people in high places to get me through these years. Honestly, I don't think that's possible--I think it will have to be something I desire within, and I'm pretty sure I'm not going to go next year...but who knows. Maybe, if I can get my car over the summer, things would be a little more realistic with time management and work and such...but then again gas will at LEAST be $3 a gallon by then...I've got to open myself up more to those damned bus routes.

...I just want to live, what is so wrong with that? Years of hard work in highschool, and so much pressure and stress, only to take out some $8000 in loans for an education I could provide for myself on my own time. By the way, that loan money does not include the other $20,000 I managed to obtain for myself in financial aide...this just seems like a waste of time.

I feel stagnant, and way to close to my mother, even though she's an hour and a half away. What does she expect from me, what does she want? I could give a shit, but it is quite perplexing, she thinking I owe her my soul for "all she's done for me." Hell, anything she's ever done for me has already been cancelled out twice over for the things she has said and done to me. Fuck her. All I am to her is a plaque of recognition for her charitable contribution in this world. She can fool everyone with her plastic smiles and "humor" that she pulls out only when my friends happen to be around, but she sure as hell doesn't fool me. Oh, we have neighbors do we? Oh, you want me to come back inside so you can continue to hit me, and swear at me, and tell me you wish I were never born, among other things? Well fuck that, and fuck you. You aren't going to get any sympathy from me when you cry and tell me you think I hate you and you think I wish you were dead. I'm sick of telling you that's not true when it doesn't have any affect, I'm sick of the way you've treated my brother and I, and your selfrighteous attitude after he left, when you were crying for him to come back when we were both away. Most of all, I'm sick of you. You can have whatever you want, but get the hell out of my life.

Steve is the lucky one. He lives with dad, who's a real person, an honorable person. Dad would never ever say the things mum said to him, or demean his character, or hit him, or brag to other people about taking care of kids that he isn't the true father of. But he is, he is.

Passing Time With a Dime

I wrote a letter to myself
But it's too obscure to read
I put your picture on a shelf
But it's kind of hard to see

I left a note at the bar
But you didn't take it with you
I judged myself a little hard
So I have nothing to hang on to

I stared through the window
And watched a car go by
I kept asking myself questions
Over that long period of time

Different people, different places
But the feelings are the same
Now I wonder, even faintly
Will they always be this way?

EXACTLY

Hilton Hacker Jailed
The teenager who hacked into Paris Hilton's mobile phone and published its contents on the internet earlier this year has been sentenced to 11 months in a juvenile correctional facility. The accused was a 17-year-old boy from Massachusetts, according to a Washington Post report on Wednesday, but prosecutors refuse to reveal his identity because he is a juvenile under federal law. Prosecutors did confirm that the boy pleaded guilty to nine counts of juvenile delinquency - including hacking, theft of personal information and making bomb threats to high schools - in Boston's US District Court last week. During his incarceration and for a further two years after his release, the unnamed boy is prohibited from using computers, mobile phones or any other technologies capable of connecting to the internet.


Hehehahaa...damn, brutha. That was funny stuff, too.

My Body Talks

My body speaks,
It screams at me,
telling me to do
all sorts of things.
Pretty things,
not ugly, it'd seem,
but I can't sit with it
all the same.

Yeh, it convinces me
Once and a while,
Yet I hold strong
In physical denial.
But I'm open for
A body to talk,
To go back to being
Something natural and wild

Does your body talk?
Does it tell you things
About mine? Are they sweet?
Can it feel the beat
In passion's heat
Can it pulsate with life
And you never feel a thing?

I have a heart
Somewhere in my body
But my body, it screams
To drowned out that little sound
The only thing
That doesn't scream aloud.

A LARGE SIGH FOR MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS

Do they remember? Will they remember--two days from now--even? I wrote it in Sharpie on my arm: I REMEMBER YOU 9/11.

It was all just I I had expected on my way to the cafe. Kids walking up in groups to have lunch, like the way women always need a few more to help them with the strenuous task of going to the bathroom. Like children, back in the years of gradeschool, all grouping together so they won't have to eat alone in the dreaded lunchroom. Me, I could give a shit--I most always eat alone. I'd probably enjoy my food better anyhow, not having to listen to someone yack loudly as food spills from there mouth. As they all fall victim to the governments plan of easing our people back into the line, wrapping chocalates for $1 an hour. Did any of them remember? I doubt it. I wanted to ask the server "Do you remember?" But who am I to play big bad wolf on her pleasent Sunday at work. Surely if she did remember she wouldn't have had such a booming smile--that that everyone had. I ask you, a moment of silence, please, for our people, please!? I was tempted to scream "REMEMBER, DAMN IT!" Instead I hustled out the door with my head down. This is my display to let you know that I remember, even if you plain American swines don't. I remember, and who am I, anyways? Knowing who I am matters even less next to the fact that I am one of the few, here out in the distance, who remembers. That's the way it feels, at least...

So the best I can do, it appears, is to write this statement that I so want to cry out onto my skin, where it will remain for days to come, and during my classes, maybe it will spark some recognition, and maybe not. But I remember you, I swear it I do, and I will-not-forget.


(Here is a poem I wrote some time ago that I thought accurate for the occasion. I will leave it open to interpretation. [Neat, I rhymed...])

My Psychic Side-Kick

imagine, imagineer
dream my life away
piece all the little pixels in the puzzle
as tessilations in a geometric game
it's a guise to hide what will arise
on that second independence day
when women and children
fall victim to the Villian
and everything is emursed in ashen gray

dream, little dreamer
tell me the story mommy said was a lie
whatever happened to that guy?
feel the sparks in your brain connect
you've yet too much truth in you to reject
much more truth than any can fathom:
it's a guise to hide what will arise
when you take a stand on that day
when you show your people the way
when they finally see you are more than a child,
more than just wild--you are TRUTH
and to think, they thought you the uncouth...

wake up, sleepy thinker
for your day draws near
when all of the allusions will finally be clear
the rain will pass; green will be the grass
'Twas a guise to hide that which has still yet to arise...

I LOVE MY FUCKING RULERS

Will they remember
These tattered faces?
This demonstration
Of the Legislation?

I can, recall well
It makes my heart swell
And they say "Oh, do tell!"
Makes for a great reality show,
No?

Cries and screams
From thousands of human beings,
Fleeing for their lives
While the media thrives

Some people, they walked brieskly,
Business men who later met Death;
Brave throwing themselves headfirst
Into the fiery furnace of Hell

Smite me, you governs,
You Protestant conundrums!
Foul mouthed wretches!
Towards power, you're beckoned..

And claim, as it were
"Lost, but Not Forgotten"
As you just so stelthly
Close up the memories into your pocket

I REFUSE to be redefined
By your wishful-thinking minds!
You may possess allure to the gold ones
But you are NOTHING anymore, to my eyes.












































W
E

R
M
E
M
B
E
R

Y
O
U


EXPOSURE: This is written in regards to 9/11, as it is ever approaching. It isn't so much a retelling or anything sentimental as it is a demand for everyone everywhere to remember it. I demand it be remembered. I've been feeling lately that, though the government advirtises here and there that "We Remember" message and so forth...they are trying to make us forget. They hold no ceremony this year...though there are locally advertized things in the more urban areas, so as not to call a complete uprising. This war we are in now--it's shit, it and the people we are fighting against have NOTHING to do with anything involving 9/11, and I am pissed that people would even think in those regards. We've still yet to find Osama Bin Laden, and I'm not sure that Bush gives a shit, as long as he can try taking over a few more countries and profit on some oil. Anyways, back to the poem...yeah, this is basically me lashing out at the government and their sneaky ways of devirting our attention so they can keep moving up the scale...and I don't think many Americans see it, but it's happenning. Keep aware--they're out there. Hehehehe

I Ride the Galaxy

Gravitation takes place as we elivate with ease
We form circles in the dark, of our own complexities

Triste and trist, it never ends,
Words are conclusions, withstanding myths

But the center of the pavement
Is one that's hard to commit

We see cycles no one rides, creeping ponies where people hide
And all we're really aching to do is live out the night.


EXPOSURE:...Not sure, just wrote it. I guess parallel thinking between people, and how invasive/comforting/aware it is.

(This is a poem of a song from a notebook from a time I was in Australia, from a time I knew well the word "happiness." I do not remember the title.)

Let me die here
Let me die here
Shadows follow me home...
Alone...
Crumble into the sand
Eating away at this land
And let me die here

Stumble...out...alone
Is any-body...going to watch...me go?
Let these rocky high tides float by
And let me die here

Smell the earth
The earth is clean again
Here the birds, calling
Saying come home
Let me die here

This sand
Is melting in my hands
Slow down
One again with the grownd

Sing out
Sing out sing out sing out
Sing out sing out-

Sing out.


...and with that, I think I'm going to put a bit of explanation into my work now, since I've been recognizing more visitors than usual lately. Ummmm, yeah. At a glance, this song would-poem, yes, poem would seem dreer and...lost I suppose? Actually, though it is ment for a sort of darker, minor note, it's a writing of sanctuary--finally finding a place you know to call home, and feeling so very alive and happy and content in that, that you couldn't imagine yourself anywhere else. For me, this I suppose was based around the sandstone in Australia, that is, the references to sand and tide and what have you. I kind of felt like I stumbled out of nothingness and into such a bright and beautiful place that maybe I truly had never known what life was. Argh, this is getting unintensionally deep, but maybe it has helped the viewer understand...no one has to read this...I feeling sort of...meow?

Patriotic Patriarch

My world has been hurtled
Across this maze of nothing
And the people at the bottum,
They're all crying up for something
They need food and water
Someone to help them out
They need a hand to pull them up
From this huge, flooded draught

My people, my blood, my America--where are you?
What happened to your ideal society?
Why are your children killing and looting
When you're so yet rich and so fiery?

What will fill this viod of a gap
That has formed within my heart
The heart of the nation, what's it's true reputation?
I feel as if we're all tearing apart
Unity once was a tough thing to find
We were successful, all combined
And now, it seems, reversing this revere
That is now nothing more than a dream...

And dreams, well, they're mysterious things...

Son of America

Systematic whine of irrigation
Isn't it such an irritation?
All units, report to your stations
We're about to bomb-drop this nation

Cataclizmic calamities
Happenning throughout this country daily
Make a joke; I'm broke as one
This society isn't all it's cut out to be, son

You'll never experience
This so called government
This heirarchy of hypocrites
This Christ born nation of immigrants
Soon it'll have it's own emigrants
Let's hope the bush catches fire quick
Least our people suffer more from this-

PIECE OF PEACE OF SHIT.