What's your star sign?

My horoscope always says I was born under the sign of Mars, the God of Battle. Accordingly, I am a courageous individual, more interested in finding out things personally rather than reading about them in books. Apparently I am always ready for the outdoors, adventure and challenge.

I think that now I don't have school, I'm going to get a night job so I never have to go outside during the day ever again. Also, my library is getting there in terms of respectability, though I have neglected it recently, as it is much cheaper to download books and read them on my laptop. I've developed a new fear: Being struck by lightning. After the last thunderstorm that scared the bejesus out of me, it has officially made the list of things I hate/fear. Which, for your entertainment is now thus:

1. Horses.
2. Myself.
3. Chimps.
4. Lobsters.
5. Being struck by lightning.
6. Misc grievous bodily harm.*
7. Misc horrible imaginary monsters.*
8. Hospitals.
9. Guns, and the potential of strangers to have them.
10. Many, many, MANY more. So many.

*The miscellaneous ones refer to, usually, the dreams I have lately been having. Thus they fluctuate. 


God I hate horoscope bullshit. Almost as much as I hate horses. GOD I hate horses.

My Place.

I am not your father,
I am not your brother,
I am not your son,
I am not your friend,
I am not your lover,
I am not your keeper.

I am not the man at the door,
I am not the woman in the tower,
I am nothing,
And my place in a story,
Is nowhere.

And soon, you will forget me.

Like a baby forgets as it grows, being born.

A quote from the Man in The Corner.

"People are mean,
But they can be okay,

they call me a hard bastard, 

Because at the end of working, 

All I want is a drink."

- The Man in the Corner. 

Astronaut

What do you want, 

And how do you want it?
What do you need?
And how can I give it?

Take what you want from me, 

I'm bleeding all my care, 

Suck all the love from me, 

It doesn't matter if it's fair.

But I see you in colours bold and bright,

I see your face, every day, and every night, 

I know your flesh, mirrored in my mind, 

I seek, and within, I always do find. 

What is a life devoid of all mistake and error?

What need would a perfect face have for a mirror? 

I don't mind if you hurt me, don't you understand?

I have been hurt before,

It's all this damn waiting that I just can't stand. 

It only makes me sore. 

BLAH BLAH BLAH ASTRONAUT. 

An Ocean of Care That Flows Away.

I know your agony whenever I see you,
You fear to speak for you will be mocked.
You fear to defend yourself, lest you be branded.
You fear, and you suffer, and you bleed.
And none care.

None see you, you, too well trained to cry.
You sweat and strain and try to be strong.
Your body aches for working so long.
You live with this silently,
You live with your pain.

And all the care in the world, it flows away from you like a great ocean.
But I give you, from all the world of care denied, this drop that is mine.

Paper Man

The real people,
Who have a real use,
The genuine folk,
And the creatures of substance.

They salt the earth,
And build whole lives,
And whose own flesh,
Lives and breaths and bakes and dries,

Soft reds and rich browns,
with the clay of their bodies,
They hold each other,
And they know each other

They walk around me,
their full true smiles
Burn me, scorn me
A man made of hollow tin cans,

Paper I am, like a sheet
thin as chalk on road
My skill is in lies,
My love is in the unreal,

A riddle not worth solving,
And a life not worth feeding
A man not worth hearing,
A boy not worth his clothes

Not an animal, for even they,
know to hunt, hide or run.
Even they seek, and fear,
Even they feel hunger and hate pain.

I am but a page,
torn from a lost book,
that no one read,
tossed in the breeze.

What woman loves such a thing?
What friend loves such a thing?
What sun gifts life to such a thing?
And how could such a thing ever love itself?

You command me to live,
You command me to die,
You command me to work, rest.
But I reject that possibility.

For it is not one.

Haunted By a Zeitgeist

I am plagued by a time, feeling and place,
I respond to it with an expressionless face.
Because I know not what any of them are,
whether they were sweet, sad, near or far. 

I am haunted by a Zeitgeist,
By the spirit of an age,
And I know by holy christ,
I am on the wrong page.

I stalk prey like a hunter, through blonde grass fields,
knowing not what my quarry is, or what it could yield,
I seek it like a mad man seeks to steal the moon,
You ask him "Why?" what point is that for a loon?

"The Moon! The Moon! I must have have it!" he cries,
His mind, too lost to answer the "For what's? and whys?"

But we all know.
But we all know.
Buried deep inside.
Well do that we know,
The friends behind your eyes.
For who else will remember, young man.