Archives for September 28, 2014

PostModern Borderline

Chapter One-Day-(Introduction)

There comes a time in one’s life rather a point in existence where the howls and barks echo through the cricket orchestra which plays the ambience and sets the mez-on-scene that lays ignored by dreams.
Little is the harsh cold smoky comfort from ones warm milk which as smooth jazz trumpets in the lucid haze that is rarely remembered. When Sun punches in with steamy coffee porcelain and Styrofoam mugs and the silent trumpets of morn forgone by a lighter fuelled alarming view.

Only one who has seen a year dwindled in failure can, will, may, truly understand or rather appreciate its worth and the time lost as a decade to child is a day to geriatric as minutes snoozed to a scholar become hours as necessary narcotics to a terminal patient; once upon a failure to a success is as bitter a certain medicine that an addict is first formed.

In Joseph rainbow coloured form the vehicle reversed out of its miniature doors ,these battered and bruised by Father Time, as rumble with drops of now turquoise brown paint. It’s been awhile since his skin saw the golden orb this meeting two cut his cornea through his matured green tints of rectangular glass.

He wasn’t one for friends as friends he had none if food or drink good company makes then a shoulder for tears was found in bloodied icy drink, a rarity at best, as he pulled at the grime part he now called a job he filled his mind with clouds ,being one of the few who know what it meant be besides himself he watch himself enter The Marketsquare from his passenger seat after flicking the amber butterfly-like and watched them grey the offspring take to them sky and he closed his eyes.

Chapter Two-Origin-The Echoing Solace

At birth we exist in the warm comforting never lonely solitude of absolute lack of worry, sorrow and loneliness, that is the mother’s womb. A tomb of joy and pleasure. A heaven upon the Earth, rather the only true bliss next to that lucid dream like feel of youthful days in an infatuated daze. Now what has become of these days? In age the angst-ridden daze that now, not only envelopes, but fills the depths of our heart, souls and our being. This exquisite paradise replacing abyss that now we dwell and find the treasure of excitement and pleasure. One’s memory, rather mine, serves me to the mere mischievous and innocent age of five. This kindred soul, adventurous and playful.

He continued his venture and in his dreamy state, until the age of ten, where self-image, self-esteem and all that is self began to come into view. The crowd psychologies of which Sigmund Freud wrote came into play in the fray of life. Circles with eccentric circles concentric within it all, leaving all the squares with a circle of their own in which they in great hopes may fit. The great extents a number of the squares and many-a-shape with great intendment cut their corners, smoothen their edges and attempt to enter or fit into even the outer edges of the concentric circles.

A decade has passed now curled in the silent corner sits. Until day the echoing voices cease with her, a ne’er goddess, if not she is a gift. Her gait, her eyes, her smile that beams like hope it reaches out and warms the cockles of the most icy-frozen hearts.

The dark daylights return to their original star filled brightness. No longer can he pen up the relentless emotions and thoughts.

Chapter Three-Ezelda

A name to place to this goddess, Ezelda. “It’s fitting,” he thinks. She warmly smiles as she blushes and she slowly removes the few mahogany locks of hair that have accidently fallen on her face. Then she slowly opens her matte crimson lips and she speaks. “Oh she speaks but not in words alone, I smile at the melodic harmony of her syllables, this smile is genuine and complete.

Weeks pass, months pass and now my thoughts, every last particle in the expansive beaches of his mind, are spent on Ezelda. Nearly absorbing his entire being yet she doesn’t suffer from the feeling when they are apart. He can hear her heartbeat echo with her voices melody, still her scent lingers on his skin. The smell of bliss.

The hands of time swing on, and thus as easily or rather elegantly created the masterpiece above all others as a fresh blooming field with the passing seasons wilts in the winter’s heat, thus the carefully woven tapestry fully unravels, and all that was is now fully lost and forgotten. Slowly the glorious chariot upon the Olympian peak backslides, past rock bottom to the whispering depths that soon became a necessary comfort. In the solid solace he finds his long forgotten comfort and not even a friend nor may brother suffice, on shadows he now leans.

Chapter Four-Voices

The voices within began to converse with his intoxicated conscience and they come to the agreement that these emotions he experiences are the cause for all his suffering, now the conscience with the soul eloped. The former has passed as a metamorphosis in beautiful solitude as a caterpillar in its amber cocoon. A new being emerges as a god of the old world, as a phoenix but in blue dark aura reminiscent of the fallen angels that great legends speak, above the stars at the gates of heaven once again now defying all the laws of nature.

The destiny now set in stone and sculpted in darkness, the voices of his abyss are now, within him and with his essence, intertwined. Ambivalent to all laws that these lesser beings abide and live. Now he is unbound, unchained, limitless, still he seeks what once brought him great bliss across vast plush green wastelands finally he finds, chloroforms the fateful kerchief and in muffled screams her final sounds of freedom wither in his palm.

From the abyss rattling of chains and mechanics of a suffering art are heard. The sound of snapping latex elastic gloves and the enticing macabre cabaret begins to perform and to this most vivid scene, and the echoing multitude on every end of the pitch scale. The glorious masochist filled and sadistic chorus, to which, she awakes.

Chapter Five-Meander

Four o’clock again, and this Thursday was no different to any other these walk ways taken where he’s mindlessly counted each jagged rift without a single eye off the path and the withering white, now grey, laces while rolling his fingers playing with the bulbous savoury textured edges and strumming the coiled chain that sounded unlike the ordinary this made a low staccato hum reminiscent of a tortured souls remains distorted by his dissociative course that in turn made a melody of contorted wind chime ambience. The orchestral moan awoke him as he crossed the road in a jay-walking saunter ,two trucks, small in size, in phase as if a perfect wave and one step to either side or an arm’s length stretch in 5, horns simultaneously sound, 2, 1… Ha-ha…
A three finger flick off adjacent the right temple…how flirtatious the angel Grim how one shares the bliss of thine lips how selfish gains unselfish remain

Four Forty-Five

Chapter Six-Memoirs

As thoughts emerged and constantly blaze his brain from state of dreams now icy mind the more moments born upon descending hearts psyche ,the misanthropy that steady lingers and builds with blank flashing visuals and momentary accompaniment amplified yet the silence that surrounded a sound mind was deafening.

Brain still buzzing from frontal lobe to stem in thought tangible conscience dripping from ceiling down wall on right of door as one enters ,the withering chord shore soon to snap carries a fading dreams remains with un-suiting shades upon mahogany round next to handheld torch and carton of cancer finger with a side of ecstasy and asphalt type lingerie. As fuel and flame mocks that which god’s ancient gamed war. She viddy well the sights of extraord’, “glorious gore! Gored and gored and poured once more.” Garnishes of red indeed may make pearls clench to lips, with ice or black upon thy skin and thread like seams and crystal clear on cheek yet beside smile of lush and tru’st in pupils 9wide.

Yet to unfold the encapsulated soon lays torn, no catharsis in sands that freely fall down vertical gyres two but spherical core shut these cage doors and within them none but you.

Chapter Seven-Night

Eyes wide as mind as I shall not. Yes I now with mind of silence the tocs tic audibly throughout with absinthe on buds shall they be found clear or any existent thought process in mind? Little.

Ignorance, Thee that plagues us all he and he wonders on as porcelain basket of corn with flowing white a complete meal doth make.

There and there and there empty loads of singles and glass and tunes of ages before thine own.

There and there and there cleanliness hath peak and cathartic carcinogen remain unseeked, those which define in societal pools drown and those keep in holster most true reflect thee.

Liquid sparks to liquid flame, a bud nipped and pupils float in expansive pools, time is sped and accessory bled now hath come but flame is quickened and soon…
Shall fade.

Rock Bottom

We stand in the elevator looking out the glass wall at the city as we begin to slowly rise above it and our view is filled with high risers, empty sky and in the distance, the pastel blue ocean. Josie pulls me closer to her and I let her head fall against my chest. She looks up at me, smiles, and I kiss her and then she stares out at the city again and I hear her sigh.
The doors slide back and the noise of holiday shoppers intrudes on our time immersed in the moment. We walk past shops, without any place to really go. Josie grabs my hand as we walk and she looks happy, her thumb gently stroking the edge of my hand and I also feel happy in a mellow way, as if this isn’t really happening. It all seems too normal. We have lunch at what is meant to be an Italian café, but they’ve missed the mark by far and it’s just ended up being some sort generic Mediterranean place anyway. I think that normally I would have made some comment about it to the manager, but instead Josie has my attention and we hold hands across the table. The conversation is light, nothing really intellectual but I don’t mind because Josie has my attention. The food arrives and I think about how strange it is that I don’t just want to fuck her. I actually want to kiss her. I want to kiss her right now even, but the practicalities of how we’re seated make it potentially awkward, so I go about eating my pasta instead and Josie tells me about how she walked in on her best friend having sex with a guy that she thought she was dating at the time. I listen and wonder why she’s telling me this and it makes me feel vaguely uneasy but her legs brush against mine under the table. The cheque arrives and Josie offers to pay half of it and I refuse shoving her money back to her and quickly hand the little book back to the waiter as he passes by. She takes my hand again as we walk out of the café.
We pass by a Cotton On and Josie drags me in saying, “I want to buy you scarf. You’ll look so handsome with one with those blazers you wear. Just like my own little Russell Brand.”
She finds the scarfs and starts trying them out on me, taking a step back and then scrutinising the look with her head tilted to the side and a hand on her hip. We go through six scarfs and when I think we’ve found one Josie says, “No. It….just….doesn’t work.” She takes it off and with a blank expression on her face says, “We’ll find one somewhere else.”
When we’re leaving the store Josie stops by a wrack with a bunch of Led Zeppelin shirts on it and I pick a black one and buy it for her despite her vague protests, because this all feels normal and it makes me happy to give her something.
As we’re walking my phone vibrates and beeps to let me know that I have a message. It’s from Lola and it says: “Party” at my place tonight?” I haven’t seen Lola in about six months and I don’t reply to the message, but not before thinking how easy it would be, but then Josie is saying something and I’m reminded that this feels normal and that this actually feels like something.
In the car Josie insists on holding my hand in her lap as I drive us along. We don’t speak much and Josie is playing an album from some indie group which has a girl singing in this faintly melancholic happy way and her lyrics are about break ups and hoping that some guy will notice her but the music has this really mellow beach vibe to it and it makes me feel good as we drive with the sun beating down on us and the wind in our hair.
I stop outside Josie’s house and she turns to me smiling and we kiss. Her hands circle my neck pulling me towards her and my hand caresses her face and traces faint lines that I hope will gently tickle her. We keep at it for a long time and at some point she pulls away and says, breathlessly, “I can’t stop kissing you.” And then she comes back at me, harder this time.
I think how great it is that this feels like something and I hear my phone beep again but I ignore it this time.

It’s been about three weeks that Josie and I have been hanging out during this summer vacation. We’re driving along the peninsula heading towards Rock Bottom for lunch. Josie is reserved and I ask her what’s wrong and she doesn’t reply.
“I’m scared.” she finally says. I ask her what she’s scared about. After a moment she says, “Us.”
She lights a cigarette and I wait for her to say something because I’m confused.
“It’s only a matter of time before someone gets hurt,” she says eventually. “We’re….friends…and it’s only a matter of time before something bad happens and I just don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
“Friends don’t do what we’ve done.” I say. She stares out the window with a hand held against her forehead and the cigarette is between the index and middle finger.
“Oh god….Lou…I really….we’re….we’ve never spoken about any of…this before.”
“I thought I meant something to you.” I say after a while.
“You do Lou…oh god…you do! We’re friends and I just know someone is going to get hurt. I’m sorry ok? Let’s just go to lunch ok?”
At Rock Bottom we order sushi and Josie starts talking to me about this friend of hers who’s also in a band and she’s telling me how he sends her these audio clips of him singing songs that he’s busy writing.
“His voice is so amazing and he plays guitar too. Ok he doesn’t play as well as Johnny, but it’s still really cool though.” Pause. “And sweet.” And then she’s saying how cool it would be if I managed them too.
The sushi arrives and I notice that the waiter hasn’t brought any chopsticks but a pair of knives and forks instead and suddenly I shout at the waiter, “Get your shit right! We’re eating sushi you idiot.” And then to no one in particular I say loudly, “Jees, fucking restaurants these days.”

Education for Democracy

Young people of today are parents of tomorrow: young people of today are spinal cord of a country, young people of today are a spinal cord of a nation. Young people are a reflection of national image: young people are a symbol of elders, young people are fragile towards the pillow of influence. No force is greater than the youth, no force is stronger than the youth. To promise is the is the urge of giving: to promise and give nothing is pointless, to promise and give nothing is a vacuum for a python. Don’t blame the youth, don’t fool the youth, instead find a solution and change the strategy…

Yesterday my history, tomorrow my future: what defines my future is what I desire now, what determines my destiny is what I do today. Today is a dream, tomorrow is a reality: If today today is a desire then tomorrow is a destiny. When a leader speaks, action must emphasize because revolution begins in a empty stomach but ends up in action.

Every pain is difficult: to get a job you need experience, to get experience you need a job. Whom who fulfills it knows it, whom who knows it can tell a life time story. Every generation blames the next, not knowing that every generation is a citizen of society. When qualified graduates become hopeless and desperate for a job: when young people are told to wait for a long time, patience becomes a boiling point of anger. Anger is a short madness: A hungry youth is a angry youth, a angry youth is a symbol of vandalism: change the teacher but not the subject, change the picture but not the frame.

Share the wealth with the youth, share the riches with the young people of today. Don’t blame the youth, don’t fool the youth: find a solution, change the strategy but don’t blame the youth. silence is the golden generation for ignorant cowards, who never learnt to reason. When freedom for some is prison, reality must provide a answer to a numerous question marks. People have freedom but still are homeless: people have freedom freedom but people are still hopeless, people have freedom but still are learners.

Why are people homeless, if they have homelands, why do people  not have bread at their homes if there’s bread at the bakery. Each one teaches one, each one teaches all. Young people of today are our future leaders, give them respect to receive respect back to you, give them a iron fist to get a middle finger: when the bin falls the rubbish shall fall out too.

Don’t blame the youth, don’t fool the youth: when parenting is taken over by television, don’t blame the youth. When children become pregnant, don’t blame the youth: when bribery and corruption couples to fail society, don’t blame youth: when politics fail society don’t blame the youth, when leaders talk  to leaders to start to rule, don’t blame the youth. When leaders toast champagne in the name of corruption don’t blame the youth, don’t blame the youth for the enforcement of corporal punishment.

Art is longer, life is short. Whom am I to be long; young people cannot be young forever, young people cannot be fooled forever, young people cannot be cheated forever, young people cannot be promised forever: you told them things would be right, you told them things would be better, you told them things would be easier, you told them things would be cheaper, you told them education would be free, you told them textbooks would be given, you told them neighbor brokers would be broken…

Don’t underestimate the power of the youth.