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.