I'm baaaack....

Well I haven't posted on here in fucking ages so I think its time to put something new up, and what better way to get back into the swing of things then a poem about AIDS. Enjoy.


Ecce Homo

There is a maligned man on every street
Some sad soul who we all try not to see
He may change his face, gender or name
But I assure you this man is always the same
His time is a torment we’ll never know
But only in the eyes would it ever show

He lives a life alone, this is his sentence
He can’t take it back, there is no repentance
A six second slip and now he suffers
Scorned by his friends, family and lovers
Craving companionship, he finds it fleeting
Only the length of a weekly support meeting

A bitter blessing, his torture shall be short
A lasting lesson, not soon forgot
Not able to live the life he envisioned
Not guilty, but this disease is a prison
His life is now tied to the ticking clock
Pills at precise times is his prisons lock.
Hidden in the acronym we don’t see
The truth behind the letters H, I and V.

Festival Daze (Part 3)

Ok so I got sick of only having poetry on here so here's the first bit of Day 2 of Festival Daze. There ain't much here but then thats because I aint written much lately. Anyway, enjoy.

Day 2

A relative calm briefly settled over the campsite as the sun slowly started to rise. Most of the occupants were asleep or passed out in their tents, grabbing a precious few hours before the festivities once again got into full swing. A few fires still burned and a few souls, either brave or just high, still wandered and partied but for a short time they were the minority.
As the sun climbed in the sky the temperature began to rise and a trickle, which slowly turned into a flood, of people began exiting the tents, the oppressive heat caused by the sun beating down on the canvas making them too uncomfortable to sleep.
In his tent James rolled over, trying to steal a valuable few moments more sleep as the rising heat and noise level made it more and more difficult. He rolled over again trying to find a comfortable position on the tough floor; however his way was blocked as he rolled into something. Regretfully opening his eyes he identified his blockage as Phil and groaned as he again rolled away in the opposite direction.
Finally giving up on his quest for sleep James sat up and immediately wished he hadn’t. The combination of lack of sleep and the ridiculous amount of alcohol he’d consumed the night before was making a powerfully unpleasant headache. He stayed as still as possible for a few minutes trying to come to grips with the pain before finally deciding he could move again.
Ever so slowly he turned his head to look at Phil; his friend was laying facing away from him snoring gently. His headache making him feel vindictive James reached out and poked Phil hard in the side. If James was trying to wake Phil up he failed, Phil merely grunted and rolled slightly and continued snoring away.
Marking his dissatisfaction with the outcome of his poke by sighing, loudly, James began the laborious process of escaping from the ever increasing heat of the tent.
Finally remembering the mechanical function of a zip James yanked open the tent and poked his head outside. Initially blinded by the light of the sun James held up a hand to shield his eyes. Squinting he observed the scene before him, most of his friends were sat around the remains of the trash pile come campfire eating various forms of breakfast.
He crawled out of the tent and moved to join them. Sitting down next to Brian he made a groaning noise to signify his dissatisfaction with the world.
“Not a morning person.” Brian observed, unfairly sounding like he was without hangover.
James merely grunted in reply.
“You should eat something.” Brian suggested.
James grunted again then looked round at Brian. “How the hell are you not hung-over? He demanded to know.
“Easy, I’m drunk again.” Brian replied simply.
James just looked at him for a moment trying to process this information. Abruptly looking he reached for a beer. “That’ll work.”
As he began drinking again, what must have been less then five hours since he stopped the previous evening, he looked around at his friends who had made up it up already. Rich and Luke were cooking on a camping stove, or rather attempting to but neither of them seemed to know how to work it. Neither of the girls or the new guys appeared to be up yet and Phil was still comatose in James’s tent.
While taking this in James noticed someone making their way out of the tent Brian shared with Luke and Rich, he double checked who he was sitting with and then asked the obvious question.
“Who’s in your tent?”
Luke answered. “That’s Mitch, or is it Mick? I can’t remember. Either way, it’s the one who’s not sleeping with Mel in their tent.”
“Oh.” Was James’s only response to this news.
“Yeah, crazy what happened with those two last night.” Brian commented.
“Not that surprising though.” James replied bitterly.
“No. Suppose not.” Brian caught onto James’s tone.
Unused to being in a situation where he was the one responsible for distracting James from his romantic woes Brian began to panic. He couldn’t think of anything to say that was at all appropriate, the only things going through his mind were crude comments about Mel’s sexual expertise. Assuming it would be wise not to voice any of those thoughts he did the only thing he could think of.
“Oww! Bastard! What the fuck was that for?” James shouted in anger after Brian punched him in the arm as hard as he could.
Brian shrugged back at him
“Fucker.” James was not pleased; however his mind was distracted from Mel. Seeing his tactic was working Brian decided a second dose was needed just to make sure.
“Fuck! Leave me alone!” James screamed this time.
Brian just grinned at him this time.
James sat in a minor sulk for the next few minutes, extremely unhappy he’d just been punched twice for no apparent reason. Deciding it might be wise to move away from Brian before he got hit again he stood up and announced he was going to get some breakfast.
Brian, though, foiled this plan by announcing he’d join him. Getting up he followed James away from the tents and onto the path. Walking towards the tent village Brian decided to ask James a question.
“Dude, is it alright if I ask you a question?” He started, rather sombrely for Brian.
James replied. “Sure.”
“Um, how did you know you first really liked Mel? I mean more then any normal crush on a girl.” He asked.
James looked sideways at Brian and was silent a moment before answering. “I don’t know really. It’s just something you know. You think about them all the time and it feels good to be with them. And it really sucks when they’re with someone else.”
Brian nodded his head to this.
“Why do you ask?” James asked Brian.
“I guess I might like someone.” Brian replied hesitantly.
This excited James somewhat, he was always one to love gossip and although Brian’s antics were always good subjects for it there was hardly ever anything anyone heard to do with his love life.
“Who is it?” He asked, trying to mask his excitement.
“You have to promise to not mention it to anyone.” Brian told him
“Doesn’t this feel a little too High School for you?” James mocked him a little.
“Shut up, I’m serious.” Brian’s tone was probably the sternest James had ever heard it.
“Ok, I promise.” He agreed.
Brian sighed. “I probably shouldn’t tell you of all people to be honest.”
James processed this for a moment and then let out a loud laugh.
“Shit, its Anna, isn’t it?” He deduced.
“Yeah.” Brian nodded.
“Shit. Didn’t see that one coming.” James was still a little in disbelief.
“Yeah, me either.”
“When did this start?” James asked.
Brian shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know, it kind of just crept up on me.”
“Shit.” James said again.
“Yeah. It’s just feels so weird, I mean its Anna. I shouldn’t be feeling like this about her. I’ve known her forever.”
“It is weird. So is this like a really serious thing?”
“I don’t know, serious enough to have this conversation but not like I’m madly in love or anything.”
“Yeah. You going to do anything about it?”
“You mean apart from pray that this feeling goes away as soon as possible?”
“Yeah.”
“Nope.”
“Ok then.”
“Yeah.”
As the conversation lapsed they arrived at the first few stores at the edge of the tent village. They casually perused them as they wandered through looking for something decent to eat.
In one store a section of camping chairs caught James’s eye and they decided to buy a bunch to take back to the tents. After leaving the store they went to a food wagon and picked up two Breakfast baguettes, a truly awful concoction of foods that never should be mixed together in bread.
Taking a bite James grimaced at the unfortunate taste. Going back to the wagon he picked up the ketchup bottle and proceeded to drown his sandwich in it. Walking back to Brian he took another large bite.
“This is good shit.” He announced.
Brian chuckled. “Good shit.” He agreed.

More fucking poetry.

It's been a while since I published something on here but all I seem to write these days is bad, really shitty bad, poetry. I need to kick the habit, I don't even like poetry that much. Need to get back to some stories. Anyway, here's one which isn't as terrible as the rest.

Midnight Traffic (V 2.0)

I’m dreaming of driving those midnight city lights,
always comforting, always freeing, always real.
Down, lost or alone, that’s how I spend my nights.

There are things in life with which I find hard to deal.
So I run, I flea, lose myself in the majesty
of night city lights that never lose their appeal.

It is hard to describe just what it is I see
in the midnight traffic that is to most mundane.
There’s just something about it that sets my soul free.

Sometimes all night I drive my solitary lane,
lost in the beauty created by man at his best.
It’s moments like these that keep me alive and sane.

When I’m apathetic and exhausted from life’s great test
I drive the midnight traffic and realise I am blessed.

More Poetry

Another week of poetry from my writing class, this time I decided against writing about urine and wrote about my beard instead. Enjoy.

The Story of My Beard

Tell me what I should do about my beard.
Should it be shaved or allowed to stay?
This decision is harder then I had feared.

It’s itched and annoyed since it appeared,
Though it doesn’t look too bad in its own way.
Tell me what I should do about my beard.

Think what I’d look like when it’s disappeared,
well then my second chin enters the fray
This decision is harder then I had feared.

I say to friends I may shave and I’m jeered,
but my family thinks a very different way.
Tell me what I should do about my beard?

Modelled by so many idols that I have revered,
Dylan, Darwin, Norris, Connery and Che
This decision is harder then I had feared.

As the time of my decision is neared
all I can think of is to delay.
Please tell me what I should do about my beard,
because this decision is harder then I had feared.

Terza Rima

For my last writing lesson I had to write a poem in a certain style called Terza Rima and we had to write it about an old photograph we have. I picked a pretty much legendary photo and I'd have to dedicate this poem to Murf.


Golden Shower

He stands in profile with pride, bare chest,
holding an upturned bottle in his hand.
An amber shower only seen at Leeds fest.

His face shows a mixture of disgust and
amusement as he fights the urge to revile.
Why he’s doing this he doesn’t understand.

Gazing at the muddy ground all the while
the golden shower glistens in the sun.
Cascading over him as he chokes on bile.

He wonders how he got here, what had he done?
As he remembers he laughs out loud,
this punishment far outweighs his small fun.

His sentence at end he looks up un-cowed.
Drenched in urine he shouldn’t look that proud.

Eyes Wide Open

At the moment I'm suffering from the flu and it sucks, missed out on a night out tonight which I'm not too happy about. Instead I stayed in and watched a movie, a pretty damn good movie as a mtter of fact and then after I wrote this.


Eyes Wide Open

Opening your eyes to the world around you is a remarkably difficult task. It’s not so much the physical action of looking; in fact it’s not that at all. It’s the opening of the mind so you can comprehend what’s behind what you see. Being able to understand the meaning and the reasons why. It’s a difficult thing to explain

I’ll try using an example. There across the street, sat on her porch, as always, is Mrs Malarkey. She sits there every day looking down the road to the right, seeming to wait for something that never comes. Until I had my eyes opened I didn’t see the fear or the worry there. You see her vigil is not about waiting for something to come, it’s about praying it doesn’t. Her son is in the army, serving in Afghanistan and she’s sat there in perpetual fear that she’ll see that unremarkable car show up at her door, bearing two unremarkable army officers carrying one truly remarkable piece of paper.

It’s only today that I see that. Up until now I thought she was a woman who just really liked her porch. But now I can see it all, just from looking at her face, seeing her eyes and the agonising fear in them. When you’re able to understand you discover that the eyes can tell you so much more then words ever could.

I wasn’t always like this, able to look around me and just see what nobody else could. It’s something that came upon me suddenly, without warning, like a bullet to the back of your head. Bang! And suddenly I’m surrounded by a world of deeper meaning and sorrow.

I remember the day it happened, vividly in fact. I can still feel the sun on the back of my neck as I walked along the shore. The lake was such a beautiful metallic blue, it reminded me of my cousins Porsche the day he brought it home from the dealership. I remember thinking as I saw it for the first time sat in our driveway that it was the colour of oceans.

It was the first hot day of spring and I remember wondering, as I wandered by the lake, why no one else was taking advantage of such a sublime day. Then I came to the wood, the path led me through there, for the moment taking me away from the lake, I didn’t want to leave the water but I knew I’d be back beside it again soon.

It’s strange, most days of my life I can barely remember anything of yet this day every detail is still so clear in my mind, when I think about it it’s like it’s happening again right inside my head, every detail exactly as it was, not one thing out of place.

I was still in the woods when it happened. I was wandering, staring up at the leafy canopy above, kind of lost in the beauty of nature. I have days like that sometimes, most of my life I wander through without remarking on my surroundings whatsoever but every once in a while I look around and truly marvel at the scenery around me. I guess this was one of those days.

I know it was the scream that first drew my attention, sharp and shrill, ringing out in terror and so out of place in the otherwise peaceful wood. That scream first made me notice but now that I think there were other signs that I either ignored or just couldn’t comprehend until now. The unnerving stillness of the wood should have alerted me, I can’t remember hearing any animal at all when I was walking that day, and that place is usually teeming with life. It’s probably not worth remarking on, even if I had noticed it wouldn’t have helped.

When I heard the scream I stopped still, it seemed so out of place, so not right I remember wondering at the time if I’d just imagined it. Then I heard another noise and knew I hadn’t. I call it a noise because while it was like a scream it wasn’t one, this was too low and guttural to be a scream, too full of agonising pain and sadness. I didn’t know the human voice could express such emotion with just a sound.

It was the noise that got me moving again, I made my way towards it, moving quickly at first but I started going slower the closer I got, I think I feared what I was about to see.

I knew I was almost there by the noises I was hearing, there was a woman’s voice, I can remember just hearing the words "No, no, no, no, no, no, no." repeated over and over again, they were being said with such despair and with each step closer she would say it again, even when I tried to walk slower it was liked they matched the rhythm of my feet. When I got closer still I began to hear noises from a man, there weren’t any words being said by him, just grunts of pleasure and triumph.

I came upon a bush and stopped, I remember knowing that if I looked beyond this bush I’d see what I already knew was happening. I also knew that if I looked past this bush there would be no going back, I would remember what I saw on the other side for the rest of my days. I don’t remember making the conscious decision to raise my hand and move the branches out of the way to see. I think that’s the only thing I don’t remember from that day. My hand just seemed to appear in front of my face parting the bushes, almost against my will.

And there it was, and there it still is in my mind. An image so clear it could be called beautiful if it wasn’t of such a despicable thing.

In front of me stood a man and a woman. I say a man and woman, what I should say is a predator and its prey. They were stood facing the same way, the man behind the woman and he had a gun to her head. I don’t know much about or particularly like guns but I can still see most every detail of this one, it was quite small, slight even, and it was silver. One of those old style guns, a revolver I think they’re called. The handle was different in colour, a cream I think. I’m not too good with the names of the different shades, but I’m pretty sure that one was called cream.

They were stood by a tree; in fact the woman was leaning forward onto it, her head in her arms that were resting on the tree. Her once blue skirt was in tatters at her feet, mud and blood stains made it a more violent colour then it was before. The man didn’t have his trousers on either, they were blue jeans, they weren’t fully taken off though, they were just around his ankles.

He was holding the gun to the back of her neck while he did his despicable deed. Her body was so still, so unmoving, the only thing that moved was her mouth to keep forming the words "No, no, no, no, no." They were ringing through my brain like church bells, they were said so quietly yet to me they were deafening.

All of this I took in a matter of a few seconds, but those seconds stretched, my God did they stretch. They became centuries those seconds. Millennia even.

As I watched I found myself frozen, I wanted to move, to do something to help but I couldn’t. I was screaming inside my head to get one limb to move, any limb at all. Even my mouth to open would have been enough but I couldn’t do it. I was too much of a coward.

Then it came, the thing that changed my life forever, the woman turned her head to the side and she saw me. When she did she showed almost no reaction. She just kept her face turned to the side to look at me; her eyes were boring into mine. Her mouth was still saying ‘No, no, no, no, no." But I saw at that moment that it was her body an autopilot saying those words. All that she was, is and would be was locked in those eyes, trying to save itself from the unspeakable thing that was being done to her.

Those eyes trapped me, I couldn’t look away from them, they were so clear and focused, they didn’t seem at all like the eyes of a girl in the middle of being raped. Yet these were they eyes I was looking at.

We seemed to have a conversation just staring at each other. As I took in all those oak brown eyes had to say I knew she understood why I wasn’t helping her. She understood and she didn’t blame me, in fact she even pitied me for how helpless I felt. Those eyes were so forgiving and selfless I almost wept. I tried to tell her I was sorry, that it would be over soon and everything would be ok. Her eyes told me I was a fool, for her this would never be over, and nothing would ever be the same again for either of us.

We stayed under the spell of our stare until the man finished and left. It was only broken when her body finally gave up and she fell to the floor.

The rest of that day goes by as a blur, I remember helping her out of the woods and getting her to the hospital. The police had lots of questions, most of which I couldn’t seem to answer. Even though I remembered so much so clearly the man’s face still eludes me. In my memory he’s represented just by a dark force, a malevolent, evil shadow, here to destroy all the innocence in the world.

I remember leaving the hospital and wandering home in a daze. I remember getting home and going to my room and lying my bed. I remember just staring at my ceiling, not seeing it but instead still seeing those eyes that had so captivated me. I remember we never actually said a word to each other.

And since that day I’ve been able to see more then other people. I’ve been able to see what really goes on behind the masks people wear. It’s a curse more then a blessing; I think its my punishment for not doing anything to save that girl.

What is it that I see that makes it a curse? It’s the sadness everyone seems to feel, a heartbreaking ache that nobody seems free of. Everyone seems to have lost someone or never had something. They try to hide it with smiling faces and laughs but the eyes always tell the truth, they always show the fear that someone will figure them out and find out its all a deception. Everyone has something they’re not telling.

Take Sara McShane, just walking her dog over by the park. To most she looks like a happy sixteen year old girl, playing with her dog and enjoying a beautiful day. That’s not what I see, to me she’s a girl who was born with HIV who’s too afraid to date boys and probably won’t live much past twenty.

Or there’s Kevin, who just walked by me in the street, he’s a fairly successful businessmen, got a beautiful wife and child and to everyone else he looks thrilled with his life. When I saw his eyes I saw something different, I saw him as a six year old being molested by his father, I saw his soul destroying fear that he won’t be able to stop himself from doing something like that to his own child.

There are a million other stories like Sara, Kevin and Mrs Malarkey, each more heart-rending then the other. This world is an overwhelmingly sad place; I find it hard to walk down the street without bursting into tears.

As I said at the beginning, it’s a remarkably difficult task to open your eyes to the world around you, and now that mine have been opened I understand why most people choose to keep theirs closed.

Albert and the cat that did nothing.

I recently signed up for a writing class, it's rather interesting but I'm not sure how helpful it'll be, although the teacher at least is fun to watch as she's rather an odd sort. Anyway the first homework we had was to write a page about a person who either feels love, hate or indifference about an animal. I was given indifference and a moggy cat, great fun. Anyway what follows is what I managed to come up with.


Albert and the cat that did nothing.

Albert meandered slowly along the path, his gaze resting on the calm waters of the pond. The park was quiet, it was early evening and the pond was a pale orange, reflecting the autumn twilight sky.
As he wandered he came upon a bench and took a seat, he stared contently out at the park around him lost in his own thoughts. After a while his loneliness was disturbed as a lone moggy cat slunk into view. His attention caught by the cat, Albert looked round. He saw the cat was a pale grey and black in colour and completely unremarkable from any other cat you might see.
The cat made its own way along the pond’s edge, showing complete disinterest in Albert and as he watched Albert considered it.
What is my opinion of this cat? He asked himself.
I don’t think I have one. Came the answer
Albert was a philosophical sort.
He continued to watch and as he did he thought, for me to really have an opinion of this cat something would have to happen involving the cat that affects me. If it’s an event that has a positive effect on me then I will like the cat, if it has a negative effect on me then I will dislike it.
Unaware of Albert’s thoughts the cat continued to ignore him, continuing to move along the edge of the pond until he came upon the bench. Stopping to look at it the cat tilted its head to the left and considered it. As it did this Albert continued his consideration of the cat.
I want this cat to do something. He thought to himself. I wish to have an opinion of it.
The cat, it seemed, ignored him, continuing to consider the bench. After a moment it made a decision and lay down, still staring at the bench.
Looking at the cat Albert thought. Do something! I wish to form on opinion of you!
The cat continued to do nothing.
So there they sat, mute and staring at each other with Albert waiting to form an opinion while the cat, for its part, did nothing.