Questionable Motives

Gargoyle heart

If it were so, a gargoyle heart
Such influences, with I could part;
Encased in stone, a lifeless husk
Untroubled by coil and bitter lust.

A cigarette would be nice

So for once I woke up early. Around 12-1, when the postman finally arrives with my parcel. Waited 31 days for this hoodie. Pretty excited about it, it's been laying on bed in all its glory all day. Had to email CafePress about not having to send a replacement over. Normally I would've just ignored it and receive the late order and the replacement. I've bought from these guys before and they are pretty good. It's a simple design but it was worth it. Can't wait to wear it out.
It's pretty much this one on a white hood :

http://img.printfection.com/1/548/321345/YN0BW.jpg

Anyway I spent the latter hours of the noon trying to work on my script. Just got the ideas and workings all drafted out. So all there is is to write it visually then with the scripting layout. Sweet. So I put that away and played Modern Warfare 2 for the umpteenth time, in preparation of MW3's Novemeber release. Played that for like 4 hours.
That's right, bought a few more tshirts last night. I wasn't supposed to buy anymore but the temptation was too overwhelming. A thuggish tattooed picture of Lincoln, and a Che Guevara zombies shirt. $50 in like 5 minutes. But that should be okay, getting paid tomorrow. Speaking about tomorrow, work again. Need to pick up the act and search for another job.

Need a poster of Emma Watson in her pixie cut hair. Must. Buy. Nao.
*taken over my consumerism*

History unfurled

If anything excites me more than letters on a page, it is the secrets time holds. And what better place holds both for all to see, than a library stacked with books of yore.

"I go into my library, and all history unrolls before me. I breathe the morning air of the world while the scent of Eden's roses yet lingered in it, while it vibrated only to the world's first brood of nightingales, and to the laugh of Eve. I see the pyramids building; I hear the shoutings of the armies of Alexander." - Alexander Smith

An Empty Inkwell

Why is everyone I write so similar.
All  fantastical, old, morbid or dark.
Medieval or some fragment of conjured paranoia.
Eurgh!

Winter of my discontent

In a world where everything changes, there is always something stagnant.

熱血燃燒 YND2

情和義今天我知　是我不需一再懷疑
世上無情人在變　義氣本色不太易
但我知　今天到此　生死與你創造名子

Whispers from Crowsnest

The clouds roll by on the outskirts, and the blades of grass sway softly in the eerie cold.
The occasional rain drips quietly on the charred remnants of the town, a requiem to the fires extinguished.
The earth lay fresh, soft and devoid of life at the site of graves.
The dark lake is still, reflecting the northern pine forests and the disused piers to the east, only ever bubbling when an ethereal fish passes by.
The town is empty and quiet.
Dirty and unkempt.
Full of shadows and nooks.
Dust, litter and distant whispers are carried in from the cold draft from places unknown.
Windows are cracked and smeared.
Doors boarded or shattered into pointy fragments.
The power lines are tangled and in some places, torn.
The roads are pot holed and cracked - as if a giant fist pummeled at the concrete.
Not a soul in the day light, but the crows that frequent the graves and broken roofs.
Welcome to Crowsnest, where the dead and the foul come out and play at night.      

31 clicks south east, here I am

Quiet tired actually. Therefore, I shall use a list format ha-ha.
Today I:
1. Woke up early for once and then
2. Went to the city and
3. Met the girls before going to
4. Training at RMIT with Josh and his boys.
5. Chilled outside once it was done then
6. Walked the girls to Bourke while carrying Jenny's paradoxical heavy/light bag.
7. Went to eat a burger and have a coffee - I didn't, since I dislike coffee -
8. Went to cho gao to find no one that we knew there, so we
9. Took the train and went home.
10. Now I find out that the boys are all going to eve, but that's cool.
11. I have my chicken soup.

I am going to be so sore tomorrow morning. Training was usual for me: do a few moves then sit around.
Basically all I did today was the spinning airchairs and elbow hops (lol not forearm).

To His Coy Mistress

Well my favourite part of Andrew Marvell's poem, To His Coy Mistress,
is this extract:

An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, Lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.

I think you will know why, after you've read it.

Motivation and Inspiration, or lack thereof

So the last few weeks have been generally boring. Being home, there is nothing to do but sleep and sit infront of the computer when I'm not asleep. And it's the routinely Facebook, YouTube, Tumblr and COD. It is quiet boring. Need something new, something fun, something that can utilise this time I am wasting.
Tomorrow, if I wake up in time and hopefully, I'll make it to training in the afternoon with some of the guys. Haven't been to a good training place with good people in so long. Ever since Springers started getting infested with tb's and stand-around viewers, I slacked and gave up. And I lost motivation and inspiration. I need to find something to channel it :/
Yesterday, visited V Lams. Haven't hung out with her properly in years! Good seeing her again.
Mind is all over the place atm, so what I write isn't going to be very structured at all.
What else did I do this week? Went to TAFE, watched Star Trek and 500 Days of Summer. Man, Zooey Deschanel is hot. This week's episode of Breaking Bad is kinda like the last few. Just really hope that this season still has the power that the previous season's had.
I think it is time for another poem.
Need ideas.
Motivation.
Inspiration.

Short story - Insomnia, My Name Is

INSOMNIA, My Name Is - Short story
Kelvin Au

My name is Theodore Gaunt. I was a simple man. I lived alone for almost half a century in a manor on the border of two woods. I had not left for town since my mother’s disappearance when I was a child, around the time Victoria was crowned in 1837. My father passed away on a holiday a few years ago. I had no friends either and talked little to all but my grocer and doctor. They visited me every fortnight and equally do not approve of my solitude. I also suffer from insomnia and have been burdened ever since my mother, Lucinda, vanished screaming into the night. Aside from all that, I was a simple man.

All that changed a month ago. My doctor had just left my house that evening just before sundown. I had complained about a growing unrest and troubled sleep of late and he offered no solace. I begged him to stay with me for supper yet he refused.
“It is not safe to walk after dinner. When the sun sets, the woods and roads are shrouded in darkness; it is impossible to see ones path. Sorry sir, I must go home. It is quite a distance and I shan’t want night to fall while I am heading back. I shall see you in two weeks.”
He had always used that excuse. I couldn’t blame him though; it was an hour’s ride to town from my secluded manor. However, I still suspect that it was the shadows and the darkness around my property that he was afraid off. When he had departed, I slowly walked up the stairwell towards my room, on the far end of the house. I liked to walk slowly - I loved to hear my footsteps echoing throughout the entire manor, but more importantly, it gave me time to build up enough courage to face the nights.

I had woken up in the dark and fumbled around the table for a candlestick. After I lit it, I pulled myself up and sat in bed, as I did every night. I would wake up from a nightmare or from a noise in the house and I would not be able to go back to sleep for hours.

As I sat in bed that night almost drifting into a deep sleep, I heard a noise downstairs. A clang in the kitchen, it sounded like a pot falling. The noise woke me up at that point and I was rooted to the spot. My heart raced when I tried to control my breathing. I listened as hard as I could, hoping that I had imagined the noise. Then it came. A loud crash resonated throughout my house and sent chills down my spine. It repeated again and again. A loud snap and a thundering commotion followed. Terrified, I wrenched the covers over my head and prayed. I prayed to God, I prayed for the noise to stop and I prayed to Mother. I prayed and prayed and remembered her long, brown hair and green eyes while I wept. I remembered her pretty face and pale lips while tears trickled down my face. I must have fallen asleep then, in my mother’s arms watching over me, as I wept no more.

The following day, I crept warily and slowly downstairs to survey the damage. There weren’t any at first: the pots and pans were as I had left them the night before, and the books in the study room where untouched on the shelves. But in the lounge room, my mother’s portrait had fallen off from above the fireplace, and it was lying on top of some urns and trinkets that were smashed up. The wood in the fireplace was snapped and scattered around the room.
It must have been a feral cat or a bat, I remember concluding. Something must’ve crawled into the fireplace and gotten lost. Normally the noises I heard were quieter or only a little creaking, but that night’s incident was unusual. How did a cat get up there? The fireplace runs from the ground floor to the roof on the second floor. How did a possum jump from the trees? The woods were at least twenty-five meters away.
Shrugging off any doubts, I spent the rest of that day fixing a screen over the fireplace and nailing it into the brickwork. I also discovered that some paint had faded from my mother’s portrait. I spent the rest of that evening locked in the study, fixing it up. I painted over the light brown cracks with a darker pigment for her silky hair and delicately emphasised the light scar she had on her cheek. All while I sang her favourite lullabies and songs. I happily painted until I had lost track of time and fell asleep in the study across from the fireplace.

When I finally awoke, the candle was almost dead and the shadows it cast were vivid. The flame danced and wavered while I rummaged through the drawers for a new stick. The flame died just when I grabbed a spare candle. I sat in the darkness at the time, feeling across the worn desk for a flint. I was interrupted by an abrupt, devilishly loud and guttural moan whose source I can not bear to imagine. I froze and my heart stopped. Stunned and sitting in the abysmal blackness, with one hand on an unlit candlestick and the other on a flint, I could not help but listen. I heard floorboards creaking. I was petrified. I heard scuffling off what must have been feet and smelt a woeful odour. The stench gnawed at me but I dared not move. It reeked of death and decay. It seeped through the cracks under the study door and into my nose. That snapped me back to life. I crawled under the desk and used the chair as a cover. Tormented, I grasped the objects in my hand and prayed again. The noise had come from the lounge room, the fireplace, I realised after. I felt the cold miasma envelop me and I bit into the covers, my jaw locked in fear. I could feel the presence in the next room; I could feel it watching the door where my cry had come from. I could feel the eyes of the demon, if it had any, peer into me. I had tried to remain as silent as I could but I felt the presence grow stronger, as if it had penetrated the feeble door that stood between me and the haunt outside. The festering, nauseating smell overcame me then, and I choked. I remember seeing a portion of shadow at the door beginning to darken and grow faintly against the blackness. A silhouette formed against the void when the door flung open. It darted swiftly at me with precision. The shadows overtook me and that was all I saw, on that second accursed night.

On the third day, I found myself waking up tired and under a desk. My flint was broken and my hand was covered in wax. I had held them until they broke last night. My hair was a mess and I felt groggy. I crept to the door of the study and opened it quietly. I recall holding my breath as it creaked, and I peered around the corner. My lounge room was ruined. There was a dark sickening trail of slime and decay leading from the fireplace to the door of the study. Dread struck me when I saw the cover over the fireplace. The iron bars were bent back and snapped. The nails were loosened and the bricks that I nailed them in to were crushed and cracked. The whole thing looked as if some immense hell spawn had pummelled it before deciding to wrench the grate apart like paper.
I knew at that moment that I was being tormented by something. My mind was a mess. I could not stop shaking. Was I hallucinating? Am I imagining this? What is that hellish thing on the floor? At that moment I regretted being a recluse, a hermit. I ran to the phone and dialled my doctor. No tone. I felt torn and frail as I cried in the kitchen. I was afraid. I had nowhere to go. If I ran into the night, the thing would easily kill me. There was no rest for the weary, no sleep for the troubled. I sat on the kitchen floor for hours, feeling sorry for myself. I thought of my mother, of the house and of everything that I had and had not achieved in my life. Later, I stood in the shower with my finger against the glass, mindlessly writing. Slumber’s Bane. I realised that I had just named the entity that mauled and maimed my house, and possibly, me.

Evening arrived and I sat by my bed supper-less. The large room was consumed by candle light shadows jumping eerily to-and-fro. I sat there in my pyjamas holding a picture of my mother. I didn’t even brush my teeth or shave. I sat and watched the door. I believed that I wouldn’t see the light of day tomorrow- that dusk would swallow me in her bitter maw. I just sat there staring at the door, waiting. I waited until the candle died and I didn’t even think to replace it. Darkness closed in as I waited for the entity from the smothering shadows. I was holding my breath when I heard the creaking. Grounded, I sat and listened as the footsteps grew louder. I felt my blood drain when I heard it coming up the stairs. Each creak of the floorboards sent chills down my spine. I had felt its evil emanating from down the hallway, and I could smell the stench wafting into my room, foreshadowing my doom. I was sitting, when terror rushed into my veins, taking hold over me. I could hear its shallow and death-fuelled breathing. I sat there waiting to be slaughtered and churned out at dawn. My entire life flashed before my eyes when the thing reached my door. I saw myself at the park with my mother pushing me on the swings when I was young. I saw my first day at school, latching onto her leg. I saw my mother running off into the dead of night screaming, a shadow dragging her into the darkness. I saw her hiding me in the closet, telling me that it’s okay and not to watch. I saw my mother’s manor become mine and father’s the day my nightmares began. I saw the small bushes and green woods grow wild and fill with thorns while I locked myself in the house.

As the flashes ended, I saw the thing enter the room. I opened my mouth to scream but nothing escaped me. The thing had stolen my voice away. I watched the shadow in the dark fade and my eyes darted frantically over the room. Sweat begun to make its way down my brow and I felt goose bumps on my arms. The hairs of my neck rose, too. I felt the evil aura again, growing infinitely darker. It pressed down upon me and sapped my strength. I could feel the silhouette taking shape on the bed in front of me. I choked on my breath and fought to breathe. The weight of the demon-thing was immense. My sanity began to wane when the shape took physical form. In the darkness, the devil’s face was inches from mine. It had remnants of feminine features. I could see her clearly. I would never forget what I saw. I saw her ragged and lice-filled hair grow out of a cracked and peeling scalp. The skin was raw and rotting on her pale face and she had a scar on her skinless cheek. I saw green dead eyes staring out of her sockets, and hungrily into mine. Her mouth was filled with teeth that were yellowed, decayed and fanged. I sat there with her on my chest, staring into each other’s eyes. I thought she was going to kill me. I was terrified beyond belief. No words could describe what was going on in my mind that night. The dead-thing’s mouth was pulled into a distorted grin, as if she was smiling at me. The clothes it wore were brown, old and torn. It wore rags.  As she dug her nails into my shoulders, I awaited the calling of the grave. I shut my eyes, helpless. She cackled.

When I finally came to, it was around noon. My entire bed was drenched with the hellish grime trail and the foul stench lingered over it. I sat in bed and thought about the ordeal. Impossible. Inconceivable. But could it be? Slowly, I dragged myself out of bed and ran down the hall and jumped down the stairs. There was a trail everywhere. I bolted into the lounge, still in my pyjamas. The portrait of my mother was shredded and the sofas were torn. The bricks on the fireplace littered the room and it looked as if a struggle took place. I went for the portrait and looked at it. Could it be? Hanging it back up, I went back up stairs. Walking slowly this time, I took a shower and changed into a suit. I haven’t worn one in years, since the funeral. My mind was calm. I didn’t falter or pray. I even cooked a nice dinner. I had chicken soup, some salad, half a roast turkey and some Sheppard’s pie. The cooking took me most of the day. Mother once loved Sheppard’s pie and roast turkey; she taught me to make it when I was young. I haven’t had it since she went missing. After I had my fill, I left the rest on the table and sat in the study. I thought about the possibilities of the night coming and the implications. When I finally made up my mind, dusk arrived. I dragged the armchair out into the lounge and sat it in front of the fireplace. I sat there, waiting, with a lit lantern in one hand and some lamp oil in the other. While I waited, I watched the shadows cast by the lantern dancing slowly around the room. The shadows stopped their prance and an aroma of death trickled out of the fireplace. I waited until the smell grew largely unpleasant before throwing the oil and drenching the fireplace. There was some rustling and clawing before the she appeared. She was standing there in her rags, grinning again, when I looked at her green eyes and dead face. She was waiting for me. Too see her better, I lifted the lantern. It swung when I smirked and broke the silence. 
“Lucinda Gaunt. Hello Mother.”
I let the lantern fly.

A hellish wail filled the manor and I felt the ground beneath me shudder. I fell of my chair and watched in horror as I saw her burn. It was a sight to behold: a wretched form shifting back and forth from an ethereal void to a corporeal body, lashing at its own ignited body. Shadows on fire, it writhed and exploded into hell flame as she flailed and screamed. I dived for my mother’s portrait and dragged it with me as I crawled to the front door. Crazed embers fell from her cooking flesh and set the walls on fire. Smoke erupted into the ceilings and it was terribly hard to breathe. Vision blurry and fighting for air, I pounded on the door helplessly. I heard her roaring and stumbling through the house. Orange flames licked at the roof, and the walls cracked beneath the weight of burning wood. The witch let out her last and dropped onto the floorboards. When she fell, a large force blasted out from her corpse. It shook the house and shattered windows. Ornaments and decorations fell from shelves and my ears rang from the force. A large timber plank fell from the ceiling and crushed a hole into the wall. I got up, hacking and gasping, and staggered onto the lawn. As I lay there on the grass with my heart racing and lungs burning, the manor behind me was swallowed up by the inferno. My home crumbled in the fire, slowly, to its foundations while the firestorm charged into the woods, furious and free.

Weeks later here I am, in town. The manor burned down and I escaped with nothing but the portrait. Even the gnarled trees on the property were felled. I have decided to live in town, and to spend my years here. Perhaps make some friends and make use of the time that I have left. With the manor burnt down, and my mother at rest, I can finally sleep peacefully. The weight and burden from her disappearance and fate has lifted from my shoulders.  My doctor is relieved and to celebrate, he has invited me for dinner. I live in a rented shack in town, where I own little. I live alone with a cat named Lucy, some old clothes and a large portrait of my late mother. I take walks every afternoon with my cat and work as a gardener. I sleep on a used mattress and sometimes, when I wake up at night, I see something fade into the shadows. Lucy likes to make her shadows dance in the candle light but I like to think my mother is watching over me still. My name is Theodore Gaunt and I am a changed man.

Immolated

So the popper at work burst into flames and set half the bar on fire. Place was closed down and fighters had to come down. But we didn't get the night off: we cleaned it all up and opened shop again. I have seen it all.

Viva la // London Riots 2011

I breathe and exhale the fumes of burning cities.
My fingers sow and harvest the seeds of dissent.
I speak and my voice rallies your nation into a frenzy.

When I come, I come in thousands, wreathed in the fiery essence of unrest.
Mine is the roar of disorder, the chanting on the streets, the hour your leaders fall. 
You will know I am here when your people cry out my name: Revolution.

As I walk among them, they will rise up and the wicked shall be cast down at my feet.
You will look up and see in many, my eyes of burning passion empowered, and know that I have won.

Overly descriptive, son

In a bed of silk
the Lady lies,
deep in slumber where dreams fly.
Chained to her bed
the tears flow
away from here,
anywhere, she'd go.
In her mind
she meets where rivers flow,
a man in Grey
her heart knows.

Indecision

So I have been spending the last few days deciding
how I would get my hair cut. Either the usual half shaved style or
the old fauxhawk. The problem being that they both look douchey
when I don't style it. Decisions, decisions!

On your nose
In your eyes,
The drizzling wet
From the skies


EDIT: So fucking pissed off.

Innsmouth Tuesday

Before I start: Great I am capped D:
That means limited Facebook and Tumblr. OH TUMBLR T_T
Anyway, what a day it has been. Mix up with classrooms set us back a good twenty minutes.
Also received last semester's assignments! I did better than I thought I had D's and HD.
SO BOSS! Just another review class on what we did in Editing last semester.

Active vs Passive
Plain English 
Short sentences
etc. 

More assignments though, already.. And will be going to a few theatre plays in the coming weeks.
Should be fun. I said I would go to Bell Shakespeare's one in June but I didn't end up going then- I had work.
But this one is just after class, so I don't really have a reason to miss it.
The class is so big now, too. An additional 15 students just threw our little pseudo-Community "study group" apart. Well, we were being a little elitist. For jokes though.
Tomorrow we are going to be in shit. Half of us from last semester, like 6/24 now that we have the new intake, still haven't gone and printed our magazine designs. Printed on actual magazine paper with the shiny finish. I forgot what it's called. PR will be fun though!
Looking forward to the weekend, going to Zak's housewarming on Friday. Going to get fucked up! Not sure if I will go clubbing on sat night though, although I told my mate I would go to Karma. Just went last week with the boys. Speaking of last week, it was excellent.
Also, wrote another poem in the morning. It's certainly not as good as yesterday's but I think it should suffice.
It's another, yet again, tribute to Lovecraft. And this time it features good old Innsmouth from A Shadow Over Innsmouth. I really need to cut down on this mental/fear/horror/Lovecraftian stuff :/

Anything to be an amnesiac,
an elixir for my mind.
I travelled far to outposts
and ill was what I'd find.

I saw the horrors in that village;
the hazy seaport's heritage.

Secluded behind the mountains,
it defied all the world's creation.

I left and spoke of monstrosities
to Arkham's scholars few.
I was hid away for heresy;
occult and madness, too.

Doctors far and wide
all saw in me a font of evil blight.
Every day was filled with a bitter woe,
for my mind was such a dreadful foe.

Ten years I waited for them to come for me,
beckoning was my waning health.
For damned are those who went and found,
the distant town of cursed Innsmouth.

You can see what I was aiming for with the rhymes but the structure is terrible.
And I cannot be bothered anymore. So there it is, in all it's imperfection.

Tribute to Lovecraft #2.

Note: Wrote this in two hours on the way to class. There are parts I feel that don't sound right. Too bad we don't have any poetry subjects :(
With the first verse, I used one of Lovecraft's 'Nemesis'' structure as a basis. The tome is a tribute to one of Lovecraft's short stories, although not A Shadow Out of Time.
EDIT: It's Fungi From Yuggoth, I'm sure.

I have been to the flawless clearing,
Where the round pebbles lay without number.
They lay forever harmonic,
silent, still and in slumber.

I have spoken to some pebbles,
their stories farfetched and queer.
They spoke of the ages and in paradoxes, always asking me to stay here.

I stirred their wrath when I declined;
their only visitor leaving.
The secret clearing woke and began to shudder:
all the pebbles were seething.

I lost my footing,
when the ground churned and tripped me.
The pebbles in their anger
held me prisoner and I wanted nought but to flee.

I feared for my life,
when the ground swallowed me whole.
I found myself in a large cavern,
Dim, moist and on the walls grew mold.

The pebbles above were silent, no longer ravenous nor flustered.
I searched the secret caverns,
crawling with all my strength mustered.

It was an age when I finally found it, the pedestal of broken bone.
Upon it was a grimoire, whose forbidden knowledge had me enthralled.

I sat for years reading, without sustenance, sleep or rest.
The tome told of dismal things, of the gods and hidden places.
Time had no meaning, as I scrawled upon empty pages.

I awoke some damnable curses,
When I read from that horrific book.
It trapped me forever reading, on pages without end.
It kept me alive for a time,
taunting every look.

I woke the demons, too, when I tried to close the book.
The devils sat beside me, reciting passages I read before.
Certain to descend into madness, I couldn't help but to keep on reading more.

I read about hidden oceans, mystic peaks and secluded havens first.
Then I found the answer,
To finally rid my dreadful curse.

I had been reading for millennia,
when the answer came to me.
I cried and I screamed when I finished the eldritch recipe.

It required blood, bone, mold and pebbles, all in vicinity.
I wept and I cursed the gods who did this, by being so low.
I didn't think to bring any pebbles down, when I was abducted aeons ago.

So I sat with my sorrows unheard,
memorizing this blasted tome.
My ancient body faded,
my mind finally free to roam.

The Silver Sun

Dreary as the silver sun wanes.
The tides mourn with fury,
their oceanic tendrils flaying.
The fauna and flora wither and wilt,
to the hopeless and devoid.
The clouds roar and rumble,
sorrowfully rolling across the sky.
The world weeps for the fading star.
Dreary, as the silver sun wanes.

Lighthouse

(Darkness)
In the distance a beacon flickers.
Brief illumination.
A towering sentinel on the cliffside.
Then darkness.

Checklistt

Things I need/want:

1. Car - I am so over public. And I can also drive grampa around.
2. New job - If it's in the city, then moving to foots will be easier. I want to work in a bookstore.
3. Cat - Have been delaying this for so long. Been looking at a few at the shelters. I'll keep her name though.
4. H.P. Lovecraft collection - Lovecraft, my hero.
5. Save up for Vietnam - The first time I leave Australia will be with my mates.
6. Write more - It's turned to writing on occasion. Need moreeeeeeeeeeeee!
7. Skyrim, MW3, B3, AC4, D3 - I am waiting for you, November.

Dead End

but I love it.

Fade to Black

So I finished In The Sanctuary of Outcasts last week. Very good.
Worked last night and applied for a new bookstore opening at FG in a few months.
Might even leave Village if the QBD is good.
Saw Dark of The Moon. Was quite long but good. Some good surprises... like Ken Jeong.
Get well too, gramps.

Digging myself a big hole.... again.

New book, new bag today.
Karaoke.
Just got home. Fun.

Party rockk

RANT DELETED.

Mad party last night. Got smashed. kicked out cause
we put a hole in the wall, apparently.

THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A "LITERACY BLOG" ZZZ

rarr

Skipped through Shadow Over Innsmouth. Didn't like this one, but has a good twist at the end.
Finished assignments.
Recieved my jeans from ebay.
LOLOLLL.

Untitled

So I read 'The Dunwich Horror' , 'The Other Gods', 'The Whisperer in the Darkness.'
All pretty awesome. Currently reading 'The Shadow Over Innsmouth.' I think I played
a game based on that: Call of Cthulhu. HP Lovecraft is awesome.
Oh yeah, finished 'The Boy In The Striped Pyjamas' last week.
Had a good day with the mates. Walked around, korean hotpot and laughs.
I love fish!
Going to watch the last episode to Game of Thrones for this season, hope its awesome!
Still waiting on my jeanss tooo, damn.

Cutest half-cast looking girl with short and side-cut hair today. I think I dig that style.

Anything to be an amnesiac; an elixir to rid my mind

Good night last night, went clubbing with a few mates.
Didn't get too smashed, but good enough though.
Hottest fucking girl there, I could spend all day watching her do her bottle rounds LOL.
Drank shit loads of jelly shots for Monica (her bday)..
Mocked the shit out of drunks hitting on the girls,
and acting like skitzo's at Maccas.
Qualityyyy.

Caught up with a mate on the phone earlier.
Bought 3 Fallout bottle cap key rings.
Almost bought like $60 (around 20~) worth of button pins lolol.

Just realised, no fucking eczema in almost a month. LOL.

zzzz

It's your friends you gotta beware off

Second time around.

Fever subsided, recovering now.
Planning to do assignment soon, and maybe finish one before I
make a decision to go somewhere tonight.
Haven't been out properly in a while that I think I've forgotten
what it was like. I have forgotten a lot of things, actually.

In the shower earlier my leg started to sting. Turns out I have some scars there.
Turns out I remembered what happened. Hilariously funny. Got blazed and ran down
a steep muddy hill and slipped many times and fell over.
Rofl.

Disintegrate - Young Steff 

Daybreak

Couldn't sleep properly last night. Kept waking up and dreaming and rolling in the cold.
Must've been the fever. Took panadols and had better sleep after. Woke up, fever semi-subsided.
It's gonna come back though..
Driving lesson was alright. Work later tonight but don't think I can go in, being feverish and sick. Hope it cures by Saturday!
Got 2 damn assessments that I have been hard procrastinating on too. Fuuu~
Received two jackets from eBay. One fits good, the other one is a little too big but should be okay.
Waiting for the hoodie & jeans now!
Liking the new hair =]

EDIT: So I felt so shit late afternoon and slept for like 4 hours. Gave my shift away. Did some assignment. Will continue with it tomorrow, hopefully I will be better. Gotta love drugs lol. I've taken 6 panadols and 1 sudafed today, and still thinking of taking more :/

Sickk

Getting a cold / fever .
Got a haircut.
Walked around city.
Zara was pretty boring.
Hot Channel Ten reporter.

Haven't drank in two months. Feels good and free.
Class was okay. Good day. Fine girls in the city.
Beer goggles probably.

LOL I AM SO BITTER

Walls

I'm rebuilding a wall again, and thought's like these, are counter productive.
I refuse and I will not take the chance again.
Some one to share happiness with, someone who wants to try,
who won't give up. Who stays at my side. I really want to ask, and say something,
but I also don't want to do it either. I'd do it if there were a checkpoint,
so I'd save right before it. Save the humility.
No time for this. No time at all.

Semper fidelis, lectors.

On a favourable note, I received my Cert III in Retail. Proud. LOL.
A friend from primary school texted me just earlier. She had a similar name with the ex, just stunned me a little. Now I'm at odds with this reaction.
I start a conversation, then I feel giddy as soon as I press enter. Then I turn into a moth following some light. == Acht!

Stuck in my mind

Who cares if you are sorry,
we're still screwed!
Be sorry about this stuff before you do it,
then don't do it!
It's called growing up!

 - Jeff to Annie

Super 8

Super 8.. Always on edge of the seat when you're trying to figure out what the creature is (and wanting to see it too), but as soon as it is revealed, a lot of the movie becomes average. Kids are cool. Surprised the girl is Dakota Fanning's younger sis too.

And then there were two

Slept early last night. Woke up early today. Layed in bed for like 3 hours.
Dreamt of a $10,000 small shot bottle of peanut based alcoholic spirit. Weird.
Mucked around with Instagram, and received my Zelda hoodie. Chyeaa!
Spoke on the phone for a few hours.
Getting ready for driving lesson in an hour.
Going to a staff screening to Super 8 tonight.
Probably bring the regular guys and Monica, since its her birthday.
Wanting to get a haircut too: side shaved 1 or 2 with possibility of lines + other side short instead of usual medium.
Going to be capped soon. Under 500MB until next week. Fuck.

EDIT: So just came back from driving. Did better than last week apparently.
Did some mistakes lol, where I was doubting the turn and all. But good progression.
Don't think Super 8 is a go for tonight, I really want to find out what the creature is.
Driving tomorrow as well, again.

Community. Breaking Bad. Game of Thrones. How I Met Your Mother.

Modern Family. Big Bang Theory. Vampire Diaries.

What else, what else?

And for a second, he thought his eyes had glinted green in the candle light.

[EDITED AWAY], my lips are zipped today,
what I saw, kept everything at bay :P

.. Anyway, half the class wagged today. I didn't though.
Didn't go through the cold and wet for nothing.
After uni went MC and hung out with Henry for an hour, catching up and stuff.
Looked at a few jeans, but too expensive.
Almost decided to buy July something but realised again that we are nothing now. She probably would've not liked it lol.
So spent the extra cash on another hoodie online later.
Went home straight after that and F5 and tumblr'd my way to 11pm.
Hood that I bought was a 'Cool story bro' sweater.
Haven't played COD in a week and already my reflexes are diminished too a 1:1 ratio :/ bad.
Been watching I aM mE Crew and especially the talented Olivia 'Cha Chi' Gonzales.
She's fucking talented as.
Good thing E3 is happening around this time too. Pretty sick trailers and stuff.
Battlefield 3 'Thunder Run' mission looks awesome,
Skyrim is around the corner, AC4, Lara Croft and other ones. Niice.
No good UFO news for a while, that is interesting.
Ummm, saw some episodes of Community and this weeks Game of Thrones.
I'm starting to like Daenerys alot. She's hot, getting fierce, and her tribe is getting more interesting.
Want to see more of Alya, or whatever the little one is called, and her sword fighting. Hope her teacher didn't die :/
Driving tomorrow late noon. Sleepy. Catching a cold.
Goodnight and always, caveat lector.

Somethings can't be said

It have extremely small handwriting - on the whiteboard. It looked fine when I was up close. Everyone had a hard time reading it. Funny.
Had a good burger for lunch. Now, time to start on assignment review. Damn.

Eye of the Storm

Calmest I've been in the past weeks. This is good. Completed Witcher II. Good game with good graphics too. Interesting plot and story. Just hated the combat at the start, bad tutorial and stupid running around. Bad ending though. Trying to begin on a review assignment, either on a production, CD or a movie.
Can not think of one! Damn it. I'll do it tomorrow during uni.
Also, where the fuck is my Cert III in Retail?! I want my certificateeeeeeee.
This week,
I should be expecting my arrival of a Zelda Triforce hoodie, and two jacket/hood's from eBay.
Need to find out shoe size.
Possible driving lesson.
Work.
Assignment's due.
Shopping with the ex.
Possible catch up with Shaz / Zak.
TV episodes.
Hope it's a good week.

A good memory

Grey skies, a storm brewing in the distance.
Leaves, drifting softly on the lake’s banks.
Cold, miserable.
Me, sister, uncle.
I think: fishing sucks.
A family, nearby, feeding ducks.
Fishing rod, I cast.
Finally, I caught something, at last.
I look. I sigh.
I watch the ducks fly.
I look at my catch, a bird on the line latched.
My uncle, in the water wrestling.
Against the sky, my duck flailing.

From the depths, we rose, from slumber.

The art of love is largely the art of persistence.
            -Albert Ellis

Interesting. I will post more tonight when I get back.

EDIT: So I am back lol. Uneventful, easy night out.

The Road Less Travelled

I think I'm going to stop and think about how things are going, taking a step back from all that has been happening.Going to prioritise on assignments and quality of life before anything else.
No point wallowing in despair about something, I've been throwing myself forward and ignoring the fact that people all have flaws. I've come into terms with that and I guess I'm in the current mood right now to say so.
I'm not looking for another shot now or soon. I'm not the perfect guy for her,
and she's not the perfect one for me either. We have differences as well as things about
each other that we mayn't like, and I've accepted that too. You know how the saying goes:

You don't know what you have till it's gone

As I said, we may not be perfect but she's the right one for me. I've made a lost and I have to come to terms to it. In the future, we'll see what it holds. This time I'll take the other road less travelled:

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
                - The Road Not Taken

Too accepting perhaps?

Early night sleeps lately. Woke up early for the driving lesson. Instructor is awesome to get along with, which is good. Better lessons and stuff than what I've had. Worth it. A button on my bomber jacket fell out and I bought a Zelda jacket on eBay. Was thinking of getting a worthier, 'useful' gift for the ex-missus, to remedy and end things in a good note. Called up Swin-IT to unlock my account, too which was good.
Sunny and a good day too. Whole street is littered with autumn leaves, orange and crisp. Beautiful. Warm and exuberant. I feel like that too, with a twinge of winter. But I have a plan for her. She won't like it, but it is something I want to do. Least to say, I'd love to do my assignments just sitting on her bed, instead of here alone. Blah.

EDIT: Finished my first assignment. Going have to do my RRR radio station interview one soon, as well as Australian Tourism / Migrant one. Will email the station later.

A Remorseless Winter

A frostbitten morning heralds a winter coming.
The grass is blanketed by the grave’s chill,
where ice and snow meet,
answering a conquest of endless white.
A damp mist from a late dawn battle lingers over the fields,
unyielding and slowly swirling.
The land is covered with a silent blight,
a miasma raining down from within a frozen core.
Silent and unheeding, like an army marching from death’s door.
Lingering and terrible, the shivering tundra quietly marches on.

And thus it begins

So is this the beginning of the end? I do sure hope not.
Saw Pirates of the Caribbean 4 just earlier. Was quite alright. Got bored a few times, but a lot of laughs. Johnny Depp is as awesome as ever and I liked Penelope Cruz more than I thought I would. Barbossa at the end, when he is finally in pirate uniform again, was awesome. Same as the Tortuga reference. Sexy siren too.
Got the new 6950! Unlocked the shaders and upped the maximum clocks.  Now I can start my late driving lessons and improve!

Tragedy of Life

Such tragedy of life lies in that, which was once sweet and free,

Fated to be burdened by rigor and hardened by life,

Alas to end cursed until old age accepts;

Withered and wilted,

Until all that remains is a tragic husk of

What was once naught but fruitful and true.

Our Sepulchral Breed

Into the arms of desire, I bequeath thee from
A final frontier that no longer subjugates me.
Go now, kindred, across from the sea.
Twenty leagues in, obfuscated the cattle feast flee.
Harness the primordial calling, of our sepulchral breed.
Thus, ye blood thirst be sated, and thy desires freed.

(What do you think it means?)

Into the arms of desire, I bequeath thee. & Vigil.

Feeling down the last two days. Work is a drag. Hard to try and be fine. Yadadada the usual emo rant about being inadequate, apathetic and in need of recognition, comfort and reassurance. Embarrassing. As I told someone,

"One does delight in eccentricity. Nonetheless, I haven't been feeling fine of late. I don't know what it is and I fear it cannot be helped. Thus, I suppose something is wrong. Can't exactly point my finger on it but I surmise that it is a bother."

Convoluted, but I quiet like the sound of that. 

Anyway, I think I'm starting to feel too clingy for how things are going right now. Sucks. I know I hate reading other people's emo rants but I gotta put this down. Sorry.

VIGIL

Turned the other way, this head.

Fleeting irritation always droning around.

Some things are better left unsaid.

Each and every day, left dumbfounded.

Held within, with silent vigilance,

Burden withstood, only relieved when time first tells.

Nothing to do, yet to try and cope,

With all these dreamer’s doubts and hopes,

The only comfort lies in an arms berth;

To be lifted on free wings, when they’re destined to unearth.

Sounds good to me, Outlander.

God, I love TES.

The Old Quarter

Dirty streets and torn buildings sit among rubble from an older age. Tiles fallen from roofs long ago, litter the ground. Vermin scurry out of sight.

A withered crowd slowly walks down the street, mixed with the homeless and the beggars. Silent and busy, they keep their minds to their own, quiet as the old cemetery around the corner.

Bars unkempt, signs dishevelled, windows cracked. Wares sit in shops collecting dust. Shopkeepers walk mindlessly about their stores, sweeping dust away and whispering to themselves.

Sly peddlers creep among the alleys, whispering to uncaring passer bys, while behind them, drunks lie in their own stench.
Beggars stumble across the road, stomach growling. A baby wails in an upstairs apartment, her cries clearly audible over the silent town.

Then something catches everyone’s eyes. In the first time in years, everyone was noticing the same thing. They stare and peer at a man that certainly did not belong. Colourful clothes, gold chains hanging from his large pockets, he walked with his head held high. A smirk smeared across his face, the man pushed his way through the muted crowd.
Eyes from above and below, around buildings and peeking through shattered windows above, they stalked the man’s every step, watching him like a hawk.

As the man shoved his way proudly pass the people, he bumped into a young orphan in tattered clothes. The man raised his brow and stopped to look at the boy.
The child looked up, his mouth wide on his dirty face. He screamed, “Tax collector!”

And before the orphan could finish his sentence, the crowd enveloped the man. Within a fraction of a second later, the crowd continued walking silently down the town street. All that remained of where the man once stood, was his torn and battered body lying on the ground, wheezing his last breath away. Tossed aside like an owl’s pellet, he looked helplessly around him at a street full of blank faces. He would stay there until the last of the blood in his body drips itself out hours later.

The people would go about their daily lives, ignoring another corpse of an unfortunate fellow who either drunk himself dead, or lost himself in the streets of the Old Quarter.
They would go about peacefully, without whispers in the shadows of the cold deed, for who but the orphans, the poor, the wretched, would dare set foot into this side of town, where the exiled called home and fugitives hid? No one.
It is because of that knowledge, the residents of the Old Quarter can go about without fear of retribution or justice. Although there are beggars in the other quarters in the city that would hovel at your feet, the men and women of the Old Quarter are survivors, who do not kneel or grovel. This is a town, where people choose to live, where thieves and murderers walk by day. And only a fool would walk so proudly into such a tainted community. The Old Quarter, last bastion where dark deeds linger, has taken another soul.

EDIT: Well we were doing observational writing in class and how web could use that to help us give ideas and inspiration of stories. We went for a walk down the main road and I noticed how everyone walks down the street minding their own business. People only pay attention to the same thing when someone acts out of the ordinary. That, or when the police show up, and they did as some one was parking in a no-standing zone. Anyway I came up with this an hour later. Feedback: Last paragraph dragged on after the story ended. I knew that already, I just kept going because of the inspiration. Another was how the narrator knew the boy was an orphan. Must weave that in somehow. Also, need to describe and show individuality of the crowd; ie. reaction of the crowd/individuals when the tax man shoved his way through.

Tempest

Despite the ferocity of her fearsome tempest,
Peace finds himself in the eye of the storm.
Deep in the maelstrom’s centre;
Hidden by violent winds and a harsh season,
Beauty is found in the eye of the beholder.

Bedlam Asylum

Foreboding whispers from a darkened corridor.

Ceaseless laughter heard from a distance.
Voices eerily taunt outside the cobblestone walls.

Constant dripping from rusted pipes unseen.

Flickering shadows cast upon the chamber floor.

Wedged within a crevasse, a man weeps softly evermore.

A slow descent into madness, he further falls.

Insomnia, Her Name Is

I sit by the bed supperless, the room consumed by candle light shadow. No rest for the weary, no sleep for the troubled. I won’t see the light of day tomorrow, the dusk will swallow me in her bitter maw. Grounded by terror, I fear I’ll be churned out at dawn, torn and frail. Tormented by the lack of sleep, I am driven woeful by an entity hidden in the smothering shadows. Darkness closes in as I hold my breath and wait. I sense something growing faintly against the blackness.

It must be the Night Mother. Slumber’s bane. The Lucid Haunt. She gnaws at the minds of men, mauling and maiming, til dawn breaks her hold. There she is shunned into the cracks and hidden corners of the world, biding again.

The form fades. My eyes dart frantically over the room, and sweat begins to make its way down my brow. Goosebumps. I feel her presence again and around me, it grows infinitely darker. I begin to tremble. A cold miasma envelops me. I sweat. I hear the floorboards creak. I yelp. A festering odour emanates from the dark. I gag from the nausea, and try to remain as silent as possible.

A portion of shadow begins to form, perfectly silhouetted against the void.

I open my mouth to scream but my nothing escapes, my voice stolen. I see her clearly. She is here. I shut my eyes, helpless. The Nightmare Hag. She cackles.

When we were Young

Such is the pride of those once great.

When all that has withered and all that is, remains:

The yearning of a fragmented past and the clinging to days long gone.

When now is the age of the new and grey are those of old,

Which one hopes to relive and hold dear till all is forgotten.

Somewhere in the desert, 1922, Egypt.

We wonder the desert sands. Tempered by harsh winds and the furious heat, it blasts at us, a dire roar for us to turn back. We walk day and night through the endless sea of yellow, our feet sinking and dredging through the sorrow-less sand.

Nonetheless, we withstand the harrowing earth and force each other onwards.

We had brought provisions, although not enough for the entire journey, and nothing else of great value. All the treasures of this world meant naught to us, unless we reached our destination.

We push through the desert storm and through the eternal sands. We wished every minute, that our goal would appear over the horizon, and we hoped that no mirage would plague our waning vision.

In the past week, we lost a few companions to the beckoning of these waylay phenomenon.
Chasing them is to chase a bitter wind, taunting our poor brothers with every stumble they made. It was almost another week of endless walking, of parched throats and squinting. We lost another to the shifting sands.

In the end, at the final leg of our expedition, we began to feel a sea-borne breeze.

It lifted the burden of the desert heat, drained by the glorious sight of our journey’s end. It replenished our strength and gave us renewed hope.

We stop at the base of the summit and watched, mesmerized, by the sight before us.

Surrounded by dunes the size of stadiums, we walk further in into the Valley of the Kings, wherein lies the resting place of Tutankhamen, ancient Pharaoh of Egypt past.

We charge in, setting up camp and unloading equipment with a renewed fervour.

Today begins the excavation of this royal tomb.

Glory unto us. The unearthing begins.

Little did we know, what curses lay in the damp and labyrinthine deep.

Anger

Cussing and raging, holding it in.

Silent and weary, hidden from kin.

Hardship and stress, building these burdens,

Alone it's carried, solo it’s hauled,
Heavy and crushing, these shoulders are bending.

Day in and day out, more is consumed,

fuelling an inner fire, unleashed like a monsoon.

A furious rage, I’m unable to contain,

I thrash out at random; my mind I can’t maintain.

Bound In Meadow

Under a cloudy moonlit haze, faded into the light,

Don’t catch their little solemn gaze,

They don’t jump and laugh tonight.

Eternally chained to this glade,

Forever dancing, never resting,

The accursed little ones play.

In silent mourning, a face of
Sightless tears; they’re always yearning.

The closer you come, the farther they roam,

Fade when you've caught up, behind you they show up.

Vengeful spirits bound to stone, around and around

They eerily drone.
Chant to curse, a devilish verse,

For curiosity you baited and your freedom they hated.

Now caught in a rift, between shade and corporeal,

Eternally you'll dance, while everything seems un-real.

Their plighted curse lifted, they shimmer into the night:

Unchecked, unveiled and unquestionably unsealed.

Dorian Gray

Here it is where your body lingers.

Done the deed, in which you’ll pay.

Melting ink and burning cinders.

Set on fire, through smoky rays.

A perfect image, a clone endearingly rendered.

Paint a portrait, like Dorian Gray.

Night Sprites

Under moon-shunned light, we slowly roam

Always moving, we haven't got a home.

Our bane is day, and we’re slaves to night;

Creep past ferns, some fairy lights,

A will o' wisp and swamp-murk blight.

Through mists and caves, both alike,
Pass the still-cold lake in sight,
Come, friend, let’s explore this path tonight.

The Four Horsemen

Riders of ruin upon deathly steeds,

Godspeed direct to their destination.

Exuding evil and an iron will,

Never to be sundered.

Filled with unquestionable loyalty
And possessing a silent determination.

Disfigured they ride, slaughtering mercilessly in his name.

Pied Piper of Hamlin

Through a ghost town skipping,

A mighty tune I'm making,

Dusty corners in this ruined city, around the block I'm singing,

Empty streets, an empty song, like shattered glass,

I dance in time, as a pack of rats, come surging pass,

The place’s alive with rodent kind, the streets are filled

With masses of mice and a little man.
A mighty feat- he sings a tune,

A tune of woe, and with that-

The rats finally go.

A week or two, the City's alive,

In bustling hype, the peoples back, and rats are gone!

Cause the man named Jack, and his little pipe, sings a

Song, and with that; the rats have gone home.

Mirror World

Behind the ethereal veil lies uncharted, a world killed.

Littered and strewn across the streets, is a time where life runs depleted.

Crows and vermin crawl where once you horded your treasures all.

Beyond the veil lies a world mirrored,

One like ours, filled with greed, hate and everything is to be feared. 

London, 1888

Where in dark London night,

Do women walk in fright?

Where fearful of an aristocrats' plight of murdering in delight?

Down the wet alleys alone, she walks.

Through Ben's ticking she stumbles on.

Behind the maiden he steps forth, a hook in hand

And her bloody nape he doth wrought.

Alas! Jack the Ripper wanders on, seeking women,
again in thought. 

Tribute to Lovecraft

Breeding an anguish leagues below,

Churning waves of primal fury,

Fathoms deep where its’ hate stills grows,

Uncharted seas bore its tidal furore. 

In the abyss the Old One bides,

Below the depths is concealed the horror,

In spectral seas the dark one hides,

A dark malevolence seeps from an ancient power.

The Flame and the Mirror

An ember’s silent dance.

Its’ jumping shadow audience.

In a gulf of light, unveils a

Mournful eerie haze; and seen

fleeting, is the man in the mirror

Four Seasons

All the weather’s hidden measures:

Autumn’s sorrow in her final leaf,

Winter’s remorseless snowstorm,

Spring’s faith in his initial sprout,

Summer’s soothing first ray of light;

Grandeur, in the passing of seasons.

An Unimaginative Mind

Dusty corridors of thoughts, where on a table,

My mind’s poured empty, liquid words from an overused vase.

It’s a house abandoned, a yard unkempt.
Worn gears disabled.

Rusted and ancient, they grind in thought, crank and rumble.

Letters form on musty tomes, unopened in years forgotten.

Ink forms on worn pages, words fall and crumble onto the dusty floor.

A mind untouched, like a boarded wood; damp and rotten.

In a world filled with technology, the wooden manor lies in ruin.

No gardener, no tender, no scribe to tend her deserted halls.
Halls roamed nightly by vermin and crawlers, pests and mice.

Only their eerie skittering and slithering, are heard in a place forsaken.

Writer’s Sanctum

In an oval room I sit, with only a desk and a lamp before a wall of windows.

Behind, and outside, a swollen cloud slumbers, amongst a sky of grey and over damp grass.

In this dark room I sit, the lamplight casting shadows to and fro.

In the flame’s light, I sit, pen in hand and a story unfolds.

The door creaks.
"Who intrudes my inner sanctum?" I demand. A mew responds.

Merely a cat it seems, but alas!

Behind me a shadow creeps and tonight, my story remains untold.

Tartarus

In this morbid affair,

A sky torn red asunder sows beneath it

A season of despair.

Flashes of light amidst the thunder; acidic rain

Drizzling lightly on charred earth.

Where agonising and slow, the wounded crawl among

A new pandemic's birth.

Rabid hounds howl and maul the dead, eyes seething menace

and full of dread.

Sinister dogs sate a thirst of its inner beast; while above ashen sky,

Vultures hover- a frenzy building at sight of such carrion feast.

SIMPLICITY

I’m flying this red rocket

In this life uncharted,
With only some change and a picture in my pocket.

I follow white clouds, small rivers and dodge green hills;

But in my heart I know I need to stop chasing cheap thrills.

A Game in the Dark

A merry sun prances across a deep blue sky,

Boys and girls hide from the light inside.

Soon the dead of night casts’ an endless shadow,

Whilst boys and girls dance into a meadow.

In the spring of my awakening

Hi. Blogging to put thoughts and days down. So lets get started.
Bloody tired. Had work today from morning til just before dinner. Exhausted.
Finding out components for my new computer upgrade. New HDD, DVD Drive, some
thermal paste, and maybe a heat sink. Not sure if I need it though. Stupid CPU heating up to 90
Celsius on start up.
Excited about the new MW3 trailer and plot details that was just released. I know, I hate Activision and
Treyarch and what they had done with the COD series, but mw3 should wrap up the great storyline that IW did. Should bring closure to us all. Feet getting cold.
Should really sleep soon, got TAFE tomorrow. Shall continue then.