Flesh.

This flesh is only flesh.

Oh my darling, my precious one,

Reach through it, stretch a hand through,

Feel my naked soul under this shell,

This awkward enclosure of mud that I call my body,

Know I am true beneath earthly flaw and false artifice.

Because,

This flesh is only flesh.

The Socks That Were Never Worn.

So I was looking at a shop window and I saw a pair of socks that I really liked. They looked comfy and great to wear.

I thought that the shop would soon be open and I would be able to wear them. So over the next few days, I went back to the shop to see if it had opened yet so I could put those socks on my feet. It was, however, seemingly bizarrely closed when ever I went there.

I would have lost hope of ever wearing those socks if they had not been so tantalizing, sitting there in the shop window, such a nice pair of socks, I could almost feel them on my feet. But as days turned to weeks and I saw other feet wearing oddly similar looking socks and other faces staring in through the window of the sock shop just as I was, I realized that the socks would never be on my feet.

I discovered then, in that moment of epiphany, there were indeed other socks to wear and waiting around all the time with no socks on would only result in blisters on my feet due to direct foot to boot chafing. The waiting would be fruitless and it would be better if I didn't visit that shop window anymore. Quite possibly now I could find a better pair of socks. And those socks will be very nice and comfortable.

Mortimer, Clive, Gerald, Giles.

This post was brought to you by the grace of Jesse's computer, as mine has a virus. Thanks Jess, I love you most dearly.

Handsome shapes are handsome,

Pretty shapes are nice,

I knew a man named Landscome,

He got into fights.

Familiar things that cause no shock,

Let's have a good time,

The door is covered with a lock,

And that is never fine.

Delectable, recreational choices,

Thieves of style and grace,

Very loud, silly, tragic noises

And we loose public face.

Silent cries of pity,

Dancers on a rope,

Pat the little kitty,

And then renew your hope.

Thank God we don't have power,

I don't think we'd live,

So would die the flower,

That lets us all forgive.

String.

Get one hundred balls of string and put them in a drawer.

Wait nine months.

Carefully select just one ball.

Unravel it, and tie the ends to each other

Squeeze it all back together,

Run over it with a car,

Rub it in some grass, dirt and paint.

Throw it off some tall things, and retrieve it.

Then put it in the washing machine,

Fling some rubber bands around it to keep its shape,

Then cut a little hole in a wall.

shove it in there,

And plaster over it and paint the plaster the same colour as the rest of the wall.

Wait 17 years,

Then pull it out and place it back in the drawer with the other ninety nine balls of string.

You Can Run.

Whoever you are,

I will see you

Wherever you are,

I will find you.

And whatever you are,

I'll know you.

And I promise, that the last thing you feel or see on this earth,

Will be scuffed yellow sole,

Of my loverly vintage pair of doc martens,

transforming your face, by use of repetitive stomping, into something that resembles watermelon pulp.

You have the best of me now. But soon you'll know the pain you caused me. Don't expect pity or forgiveness. Nope, as I permanently disfigure you, you'll see nothing in my eyes but satisfaction.

Whatever you are. You'll cower from my long black shadow, just as I cowered from you all my life.

Square.

I can't do anything,

but I can do this.

And no one in the world,

can tell me its wrong.

This little place,

Is mine.

I shall do what ever

I desire, in this place.

Such and Such.

So here I am in english, on Mini Corbin's profile writing a blog entry. What fun you may say? But no, for I shall soon be discoverd by my english teacher and be accused once again of doing no work. Huzzuh. What shall I accomplish with my magnificent brain today gentle readers? I am as yet unsure.

I Am Now Being Of Flesh

What you see,

And what he sees,

The truth is somewhere in-between.

And wisdom will uncover this in time.

For now I am content to wait.

Sparkle.

Brilliant lights speckle across my wretched shell

Slouch against my wall, I watch the world dance

I fill my accustomed place, the one I have worn so well.

And as I see the display, I know I have no chance.

I, shallow mockery of wholeness and wholesomeness,

Dare not encroach on the beauty of the action,

I would only nauseate it with lies of most fulsomeness,

I am nonetheless dazzled by the light's refraction.

Grumble.

Perish tiny mortals in the withering wind

All my thoughts like butterflies pinned

distant sounds and cries of pain

Summer sun and winter rain

Delicate betrayals of elegant cruelty

Willful uniqueness and subtle beauty

Loud laughter fills and covers shame

And reasons to forget a name

Long lasting memories of very brief times,

brown paper packing with tripple twist twine.

tall people holding tawny metal saws

and little tiny people pulling rickshaws.

30 May 1431

"I Greatly Fear To Be Damned."

- Geoffrey Therage.

Special seats, Wooden pyre,

Chains locked, start the fire.

Flames spread up, Crucifix held,

Screams begin, flesh and ash meld.

Some look away, some lean in,

To watch this theater of sin.

Be clean, be clean, just as your are told,

And rake up the remains before they are cold.

Burned again, just to be sure,

Gather up the worldly impure.

Cast to the river, float them away,

And try to forget the horrific display.

The Fragility Of Identity.

(The sum of experiences) + (base from parents) = Current self.

Thus we can see true identicalness is impossible to achieve due to total experiences. Even identical twins and clones have marked differences, just from different womb growth.

So identity is defined buy nine months and a couple of cells? It is strange to think that, but it is true. Any other spermatozoa, any other egg, and you would be a different person. Any change in temperature or condition in your mothers womb, and you would be markedly different.

This applies to great world changers too. Albert Einstein, Leonardo Da Vinci, Adolf Hitler, Joan of Arc, Sir Issac Newton, if any of these people had changed just barely, the world would be utterly different.

We really are balanced on a hair.

Everything Connects & The Myth Of Incorruptibility.

"Battle not with monsters,

lest you become a monster

And If you stare into the abyss,

the abyss stares also into you"

- Friedrich Nietzsche

Nothing can be measured and remain unchanged,

None can make an act and remain un-blamed,

No light can pierce darkness without being pierced,

No heart can remain pure, no matter how fierce.

The sun will rise, then later it does set,

A child is born, years pass, death is met,

The moon is full, then it is new,

Times are in plenty, then times of few.

All things are in some way, connected,

No one thing is completely unaffected.

Absolute incorruptibly is nothing but a myth,

And truth can be found with this knowledge, herewith.

Well, does it?

Sleep that makes me more tired, and food that makes me hungry. Does that seem right to you?

Set a Thief to Catch a Thief.

To navigate a distant land you need someone who has been there.

I've been to your land,

I've walked on your soil.

I've found the ways to get blood from a stone,

And learned to drink it to stave off thirst.

I've stood in the relentless sun.

Burnt and in pain.

I've found salve for the burns,

If found shelter in the blistering heat.

I've run from the cold-snap

And built a tiny fire in the blizzard

And cowered around it and prayed and prayed that

It won't go out.

I prayed so hard.

And then, I've run and run and run,

And jumped off a cliff,

Into the ocean cold like knives,

and I've been tossed in that stormy sea,

And in the morning,

I've been lying on the shore,

Alive, alive, alive.

Breathing the free air.

The navigator you need, is right here.

Thimble!

I have all sorts of things in my pockets; useful bits of string, electrical tape, a handy hanky, a permanent marker, a spork, my harmonica, pencils, my swiss army knife, ect, ect.

But I've wanted a thimble in there for a while.

I now have one. There is a reason. This odd little object kept on calling out to me.

"...Joel... ...Joel..." it called quietly to me in its tiny little metal voice, in the night-times.

So now I have this small piece of metal, a cap for the end of my finger, In my pocket. I don't know why truly it is in there, but it is in there now, and I'm sure that very soon it shall be invaluable.

Owls Can Fly.

Geese Can Fly.

Good Fools

Kind hearted souls that linger on in the broken dawn of mankind's folly. I pray for you, with all that I can pray. But I feel you cause is surely hopeless. No guiding light shall pierce the clouds showing the way to a beautiful future, No incorruptible knight in golden armor shall wrest the superpowers of their evil leaders, No answer to all problems will be uncovered, readable to any and all. The earth shall only stumble on, on, on, through the crushing black darkness that is time and to its eventual end.

Desert Rocks

I shall build myself a home in these desert rocks, where the sun shines always and the food comes from grey lizards and green cactus. And I shall live always in this baked world of red heat and silence, in the cracks and crevices and under the sand dunes. The silence of everything

being too tired

to make a sound.

The ocean of red, for me.

Also, as an aside:

I love you.

She's So Heavy.

A feminist Complaint about film "Silence Of the Lambs"

In a 1992 interview, notable feminist and women's rights advocate Betty Friedan stated,

"I thought it was absolutely outrageous that The Silence of the Lambs won four Oscars. [...] I'm not saying that the movie shouldn't have been shown. I'm not denying the movie was an artistic triumph, but it was about the evisceration, the skinning alive of women. That is what I find offensive."

The movie was written about a serial killer! Of course he is going to kill people! The protagonist was a woman, a strong woman at that, that is capable of holding her own against the two male villains! If that doesn't support feminism what does?

I feel that in our society men are victimized just as much as women. Around 40% of domestic violence is committed against men by women. But if he calls the police, the is laughed at, told to "Man up". Feminist groups claim that women deserve equality with men, which they do. Well I'm here to say that I think men deserve equality with women, the right to equal child custody (in which they are badly represented), the right to take roles in society such as nurses or househusbands, without the scorn of peers, the right to feel pain, to cry, without losing face. The "man" in the relationship is a redundant term if genders are equal, is it not?

If you want the genders to be equal, fair enough, let them be equal. But don't complain about the consequences.

Other Lives.

Have I been here before?

Did I wander this lonely corridor,

Stopping to touch the little statuettes,

That litter the hall stands,with my fingertips?

The dark mahogany panneling stirs memories in me.

Have I seen this little box before?

Empty now it is, what is supposed to rest in it?

Little silver box.

What were you for?

What can't I remember?

Scarlett carpeted floors muffle creaks,

The warm darkness is like a friend,

The mystery eluding me still,

I wander through these lost rooms in my mind,

this place of familiar objects,

Black and white photographs.

Tiny moments, preserved like ants in amber,

Unreachable, undecipherable,

Puzzle pieces without a puzzle.

I shall haunt this place.

Irritating.

My ear hurts,

My brain hurts,

My throat hurts,

My fever doesn't hurt, that makes no sense.

And my personal hygiene has really gone down hill, what with all the lying in bed being sweaty.

I'm just a smelly gross Joel who feels sick.

Over all, not a win.

Why Would I Go Anywhere, When The Universe Is On My Laptop?

Plug my earphones into my head, plug my computer into my earphones, plug the internet into my computer. Discover anything.

In 2008 there was 31 billion searches into Google every month.

In 2006 that number was 2.7 billion.

Where did those questions go before Google?

The World's Shortest Horror story.

The last person on Earth sat alone in a room. There was a knock on the door.

Little Wooden Puppet

If I were a real boy,

All the things I'd do,

I wouldn't lie to people,

I'd laugh at funny things,

and feel great most of the time,

And when I got sad,

For some good reason,

When my friends asked me,

What was wrong,

I'd be able to explain it easily.

And I'd soon get over it,

I'd walk down the street,

And I wouldn't hear anything in my head,

Just the sound of distant cars.

I'd use knives just for eating with.

And at night, I'd go to bed,

And go to sleep.

And I wouldn't dream about anything.

Nothing much anyway.

Every-night.

I'd love being me.

I wouldn't feel guilty,

I wouldn't feel bad,

I wouldn't hurt anyone,

I would be such a great person.

If I were a real boy.

I Could Never Craft Such Beauty.

Sometimes I wonder,

If you even exist,

Or whether you are just a concoction,

Of my manic brain,

In some fever fantasy.

But then you come to me,

With soft words,

And a softer touch,

A certain way of doing things,

With such precise delicacy.

All these things make me sure,

That even I,

Who can twist words,

Shape small things,

And build a world of colour,

Could not manufacture,

Could not make,

No, I could never craft,

Such beauty.

Please Return Your Seats to Their Full, Upright and Locked Position.

What Joel wants, he gets "flips up collar" Oh yeah...

Ahem. Well anyway.

In an unrelated event, We're doing a scene from "Macbeth" in drama. Schveet.

I really like this shirt, I wore it to my grandmothers funeral.

That's all.

So Here's The Plan:

So this is what I'll say:

"Yes, I'm a freak sometimes.

You are lovely though.

I don't know if you noticed.

But I think you are loverly.

Lets go have some noodles together,

Do you like noodles?

And maybe see a movie.

Everyone like movies, I'll pay for you.

I totally get it, if you don't want to.

And I think its fine,

I just thought I'd ask,

So what do you say?"

And if it doesn't work, its not the end of the world. Its not even the end of the day. I can go to coles and buy a cola for 75 cents, do some painting and then go home.

Its Alright, You're Fine.

I don't hate you anymore. Its all good. Too many things have happened since then.

Not that you ever read this anyway, and even if you did, you probably wouldn't know who I was talking about. So... *Shrug*

Also, you, yes YOU, reader, you get only a single point if you can guess who I was talking about there, don't tell the whole class though.

Anyway. Back to school tomorrow, and onto greater things. I've had nothing to do in the holidays, and am getting fat and lazy (Metaphorically speaking, as I can't get fat no matter how hard I try, and I've been lazy my whole life).

Fantastic.

Click on the image.

Crabs and Jellyfish

The fried egg jelly fish is a very large jellyfish, up to a meter across, so named because of its resemblance to a fried egg. The large jellyfish eats smaller jellies and by so doing, picks up small parasites that live on its prey. These small parasites that eat the fried egg's flesh, are then eaten by small crabs that live on the jellyfishes external membrane in a symbiotic relationship with the jellyfish. The jellyfish has its parasites removed, and the crab is given a steady food source and a place to live.

Dream.

"We cannot just write off this final scene, take heed of the dream."

- The Final Cut.

I had a strange dream,

Clanking metal men, walking across a dead, solemn landscape, ashes falling through the air like snow, smoke rising into the dusky twilight.

Strange people skulking through city streets, making light where there is only nothing, seemingly, out of an equal amount of nothing.

Rows and rows of jars with brass caps, filled with a white salve. Shelves cover the grey stone walls, jars fill the shelves, and dogs sniff and snarl at the door.

Drowned souls are plucked from an ocean of black water by a giant clawed hand and a glowing woman sings to them as they are pulled into the sky one by one.

Then the feeling of horror,

Fin.

Pillars of the Earth Pinball.

Great buildings, toppling

Cars breaking down

Clocks breaking their springs

And boats all drown.

Airplanes fall out of the sky

Computers crash and fail,

Mobile-Phones all say goodbye

And trains come off the rail.

Oil drills and cargo hulks grind to a halt,

The crop sprinklers break and collapse

Technology finds its ultimate fault

Whoops! Looks like its Apocalypse

All Run Out.

I have no words. It stole them. Pulled them out of me in long strings. Clipped of my wings, all I can do is flail wildly with emotions. A stump armed man, trying desperately to do anything without his hands and fingers. In the dark.

I'm not made of glass. Ha.

Cotton Sky

Strange place.

Sitting in the sand.

Water, filling crevices, pouring into holes in rocks.

Red crabs scuttle.

And the moon rises through the sunlight.

The clouds, wafting and waving in their patterns.

A cool breeze clings to wet limbs.

Blue, blue, blue cotton sky.