Jessica, A Really Nice Girlie.

going to Sydney tomorrow, but I'll be back soon to post you all sweet, sweet bloggotry!

Now for a poem about jess.

Ahem.

I owned once pet called Jess,

The least retarded of my two lovely rats.

she ran around, on the bathroom mats.

She would always relieve my stress,

But Jess is a girlie I know pretty well,

She thought I was cute in year six,

Oh you crazy trinity chicks,

Back then I could hardly spell.

Jess is really quite nice to see,

Dyed her hair VERY light blonde.

Of this shade, she's really quite fond.

But it was that colour originally.

(how odd)

She once went out, with a guy with my name,

Dave guessed it right on his first go,

When he got his name right, Jess said "Whoa"

Strangely, the Joels are hardly the same.

But my friend Jessica really quite excellent,

She's a funny, kind, clever girl,

(Also quite pretty as well)

The time with her, I'm happy I spent.

(I'm not a sociopath people, see, I have friends)

Electric Fence.

Oh God. I sure as hell have made a lot of posts lately. It's this thing I have going with Jason... a poem-a-night. Got a bit carried away. Anyway thats not important. The thing is, I've got a lot on my mind, and I feel like if I could only write it down, that it would leave me.

Actually, thats a lie. I don't have a lot on my mind. I have Just. One. Thing. On. My. Mind.

Ever looked at an electric fence for so long you just know what it would feel like? You just know? It would be like a Zap of electricity all up your arm.

And then. you just have to, you just have to touch it. No choice. It has to be done. Just to find out what it feels like for sure.

you slowly reach out your hand...

BANG!

Ouch! Ow ow ow ow ow!!!

Thats totally not what you expected! Yikes, that stung.

Yep. That hurt a lot.

No way are you doing that again. Thats what you think. That was just too stupid for words.

Only a complete moron would do it again.

Only a complete idiot.

You have to do it again. You have to.

You reach out again...

STOP.

This is the point where I don't continue, because we all know what it ends with.

But that was just a metaphor. I've never actually touched an electric fence. But I know some people who have.

This is not what is happening to me. However it is remarkably close. Is it because I'm bored? Because I'm self destructive? Because I don't know what my "electric fence" feels like, that I'm curious?

Not even close.

If I Could Go.

If I could go live in the northernest North,

Where the Inuits and Polar bears play,

I'd bring you along,

And write you a song,

And we'd dance the year's night away.

If I could go, to the heart of the sun,

Where the light of our world comes from.

I'd off our pairs of shoe,

Just me and you,

And to the warmth our frozen toes would succumb.

If I could go, on a trek to the jungle,

Where the tigers and snakes sneak around.

I'd climb up a tree,

with you with me,

And we would hang far above the leaved ground.

If I could go, to the bottom of the sea,

Where the angler fish, and giant-squid lurk.

I'd take you with me,

and we soon would see,

All the mermaids coming home from work.

If I could go, to the lounge in our room,

Where DVDs and remotes lie on the floor,

I'd make us some yum popcorn,

with it each others hair we'd adorn,

So I'd have to go to the kitchen to make us some more.

Act One: Where We Meet The Freshie And His Prey.

Noble Joel and his friend Kind Josh enter, to discover a Freshie already there.

Freshie: Oi, gay faggot.

Kind Josh: (mock surprise) Who, Me?

Freshie: Why you got red pants? you gay C**t?

Kind Josh: Oh, is it gay when you wear red pants? I thought it was gay when you had your d**k in another man's arse. But that might just be me.

Freshie: (Now concentrating on Noble Joel) Oi Joel, suck ma d**k.

Noble Joel: Not right now, Buy me a drink first.

Freshie: Nah, suck ma d**k. (Laughs stupidly)

Noble Joel and Kind Josh leave the human cockroach to discuss his heroin and child pornography with his equally stupid friends as they exit.

Scene Fin.

Place Your Bids. Spin.

Drink from a wine skin,

It sloshes over face,

Little one reach up in thirst,

Kicked away.

Fight a man for his immortal soul,

Tell a dying woman what shes never been told.

Steal a girl's doll, her favorite toy,

And to cap it all off, kick a little boy.

Run round in circles, clear sunny day,

Try to remember it a different way,

Desperate search round and round,

Looking so hard, but its never found.

The man got his soul back but lost his hope,

The woman survived where they said she wouldn't cope,

The girl got her doll back, and then got some more,

The little boy stopped crying on the cold wooden floor.

Grow Grow Grow in the summer sun,

Win your joy and steal your fun,

Don't just wait for the days to roll past,

Grab them quick and grab them fast.

Roulette wheel now it spins,

The good and the bad both to win.

Now they walk out, they got their lot,

They each got half of the loot in the pot.

The Sound Like Thunder

As for you.

I gave you a present.

I wish I hadn't.

You'll never read this.

You forgot I was here.

Waiting in the dark.

For the sound like thunder.

But I'm still here.

Like a jack-in-the-box.

The box is red. With gold trim.

collecting dust.

The grey light of dawn.

never arriving.

Waiting in the dark.

For the sound like thunder

I can see it beating.

when I breath in.

So I know its not stone.

But I wouldn't have known.

Guessing, not thought of.

Waiting in the dark.

For the sound like thunder.

Troubled, sore, tired, cold,

Bitten, bashed, scratched, bruised.

Very angry.

Very patient.

Unsmiling in my box, red, trimmed in gold.

It makes all the difference in the world.

The sound,

Like thunder

Like thunder

Like thunder.

Here it goes.

Just in time.

Spine.

Stand on the surface,

Feel the breeze in your hair

Watch me articulate

A fine sentence

Made for sunny days.

I cried, kneeling, at your grave

then,

I clenched my fist.

and

Unclenched it.

and stood up.

brushed the mud off my knees.

and got on with my life.

I've eaten a lot of toast.

Had a lot of showers.

Drank a lot of cola.

Laughed at a lot of jokes.

Read a lot of books.

Been to a lot of church.

Without thinking about you.

But I still wear black.

And I still count backwards from ten, when angry,

Just like you taught me.

How Do you Feel About Robots?

Here is what my friends said when I asked them that very question:

So long as it isnt killng innocent people etc. i'm pretty cool with them

i hate them, it's the fact that a robot doesn't have the evolutionary trait of morals and who knows what kind of personality the robot is going to have?

they can be useful but we have to be careful that they don't get a mind of their own and rise up against humans

i feel theyre metal.

I love them more than unicorns (which must be a fair ammount)

they're scrumpadoutious, but realistically quite boring cept when YOU SMASH THEM, GINKOOOO

I Love them. Wish I was one

how do you feel about cucumbers?

i like them, unless they're hurting me and they've caught a virus.

depends how shiny and how far i have to go with them... *shifty eyes*

they're very useful but not essential

good and bad. I don't like the idea of theme doing everything for Humans but the general comcept is pretty awesome

So I have some pretty unusual friends. And I don't recommend "going anywhere" with a robot. Especially not to children.

I Just Read Some Of Your Blog Posts And I'm Concerned

I'm not often happy no. But how would I write sad soulful poetry for my beloved readers if I was?

I'm not happy, but I am content. And I'm not always sad.

But here is the important thing:

The ability to cope with something ends when the resources for coping with it are spent.

The sadness I feel is pretty bad yeah. But I have a lot of emotional resources. So maybe its okay for me to swim in a lake of sadness. I'm unlikely to drown.

I am well equipped to deal with my circumstances, so don't you guys worry about me or anything.

Thank you for your concern. But I really am fine.

Bitten By A Serpent, I Walk Nine Steps.

I have aged and grown,

And all the things I've known,

Do not come close or compare

To the beauty of your copper hair.

I've watched a grass hopper leap,

And I saw a black cat creep,

I've seen a baby cry,

And an old man die.

My voice is weak,

Its hard to speak,

My time has come,

my day is done.

The world behind the mirror,

becoming ever clearer.

The shadow land does beckon,

Drawing closer every second.

So now I ask, will I die an old man?

The way no young one dreams he can,

Or will I perish in my prime,

Gone before my time?

Bite me snake, sink your fangs into my skin.

Its Fun To Play With Knives

No, gentle readers, I'm not an emo. But knives are cool. Specifically my knife. It is a Brown Oak handled bowie knife with a brass base. The blade is 9 inches, made of Spanish stainless steel and has a clip point characteristic of the bowie knife.

Why am I telling you all this? I don't really know. But its a hell of a lot more fun than writing this essay that I should be doing. I don't stab people with my knife. The most I do with it is a bit of carving, or cutting string if I've lost my scissors. But it is fun to play with when you should be working. I've killed so many imaginary zombies with it.

And for the last time, I am not a sociopath!

The Jumbled Rhyme of Sadness and Badness.

And now the things I've always loathed,

I find myself draped in and clothed,

But please, look at me, look within,

I'm the same boy I've always been.

Or maybe it is, that I was cruel all along,

That time and change have uncovered my wrong.

The part of me that once was caged,

Is now free on the world's stage.

Can you not see? I'm not a good person.

My failings and evils they gradually worsen.

I'll hurt you, I'll cut you, I'll scratch at your eyes,

I'll fill you with pity and feed you my lies.

" ...'Cause I don't care where you've been,

and I don't care what you've seen,

we're the one's that still believe,

and we're looking for a page,

in that lifeless book of hope,

where a dream might help you cope..."

One side of me laughs,

One side it does weep.

Is it bad and good halves,

Or into madness, I leap?

I know how to live, I know how to breath,

I know how to hate, I know how to seethe.

I know whats what, and I know the whole the deal.

I come with the Axe-man, with your last meal.

Soul Collection Extraordinary

I believe in neither love nor coincidence.

They call me dust boy.

Hold watch before my eyes, make a trance.

I'm very tired.

The cold in me flows out in liters.

Fine dry dust, flowing through your fingers.

I can't lift you any higher.

Look away, look away, look away.

So very very tired.

Not that kind of tired.

Yes please, thank you, drip drip, flow flow, stay alive for a few more hours.

Ghost Again.

I saw the Ghost again. I realized that I couldn't take my treasure from her because she didn't have it. I shook her hand, and told her I was sorry. I'd lost my key and the lock was changed. It wasn't her fault. She's only a Ghost. A Ghost can't hold anything. How could it steal?

I'll Give This Post A Name Now.

God made me clever, but I wish he'd made me happy instead. But even then, I'd rather be depressed than without my lucidity.

Is this what I have to be God? To serve your plan I have to be mad and sad and clever? I shall try to understand it.

But what burns most of all, is that I'm just not clever enough. Not in the right ways.

Lord of All Trash Deposits.

The King sits on a throne made of car doors and old bike wheels. All around him, melted kitchen appliances curve into the shape of Greek gods and goddesses. The floor shimmers with used aluminium foil, the walls adorned with black lifeless computer screens.

On his shoulders rests a cape made of pieces of cut up running shoes, and on his head, a Tupperware crown holds his golden hair in place. Broken Watch-faces set as jewels on his crown catch the sunlight as he stands, his kingly robe of white garbage bags, his royal belt of extension cord. He holds aloft his plunger of justice and prepares to greet the new day.