Settle wind, settle.

Whistling wind
Whipping through and through.
A high pitched shriek,
Formula 1 breaking.

Standing I can see you wind
I see the lines you make in the sky
Curved and blurred,
Like a time-lapse photo.

O if only I could see you wind
I’m sure we could be friends.
But all I feel is your cold.
You wrap me up
You get in through my sleeves,
The back of my neck
You make my whole back shiver.

And then you are gone
As quickly as it takes my hair to settle.
But even when I am shielded from you my wind,
I hear your voice;
Your shrill moan
Hail will burst, oh hear!

Inspired by the 160mph Gail force winds in Scotland. *last line borrowed from Shelly. 8/12/11

Don’t be a sheep.

I think we are all sheep. Yes some are further up the heard trying to get ahead and some are trailing in the way back and need to get spanked to hurry up. But we’re all following; even at the front you may not be following the ‘crowd’ but your following something whether it be the shepherd or good ol’ collie. By the by I like to think I’m somewhere in the middle not so head strong to think I’m driving this train but not so far back, not so in the middle either (where all you can see is white); but one of the ones that stops every now and then to eat some grass or check out that really cool dirt patten or whatever.

I think sheep need more sheep like that ones that just stop a bit come out of the cloud of wool and take note of the path we’re all going along and just have a moment of clarity. Individuality is all well and good but if you never think about why your doing what your doing what’s the point really?

Because whoever you think the sheep herder may be whether it be God, Society or Lady Philosophy eventually we all get led to the slaughter house.

Passion needs no match.

What do you say to someone whose heart is on fire?
Do you tell them that they are just a liar
not worth the time, not worth the burning tears
Can you really remove all their worthless fears;
Of being left again, of burning forever.

The fire in her heart, in her loins spreading,
spreading through her entirety. The fire is breathing,
breathing without oxygen. How her flames grow
with ev’ry second passing with ev’ry second woe
of being left again, shall I burn forever.

Mother, whom I’d like to fuck.

M is for your mourish hair
I is for I love you
L is for the way you care
F  is for fucking all night long with vous

You can rock my Cazban any night.

Organic life.

A pound a basket
Of any ol’ vegetation
The scent of soil
You’ll find it here
Among the hustle bustle
Fresh as a daisy;
Waxy potatoes,
Juicy tamatoes.

But now the market is quiet
The air is soil
The daisy dead
The wax has melted
The tamatoes dried

A pound a basket
Of any ol’ vegetation
If only life was valued so high.

Still

Can’t you see me?
I am standing tall,
Despite all hope, despite all expectation
The is fallen waste around me
And only I stand tall
Surely you can see me?
I will not be still
I will not yield
The suckled babe is still
The water is still
The flora is still
The light is still
The air is still
I am not still.

I am not still
But if you do not look
If you do not look at my face
I will be as still as life.

 

A (not so) typical Friday night

A perfectly drawn bath
Sensual waters and equally sensual aroma
A sweaty chilled Chardonnay
An endless supply of Silk cut
A mix of Marvin Seal, some Police for luck
A ridiculously stupid glossy magazine
And of  course my two favourite men:
Ben and Jerry

Love doth make my faint heart bleed

Does a heart bleed?
Does it not constantly leak?
A whole muscle dedicated to pushing blood out of itself
How ever much forces through the gates, ousts as quickly
And when my bleeding heart ceases will you come with me?
My certainty tells me that my heart bleed for you,
So does it not seem fitting?
My heart does not pump blood
Rather it rejects it, it hates it, and it is never relieved
But  some would say it was worth it
Some romantic poet, Keats perhaps?
He would most definitely say it was worth it
Worth the pain of my heart in that my soul could meet you
And whence our bleeding hearts end, can it not be for vanity
That I knew you

Night of the living scaredy cat.

The other night I learnt a valuable lesson; to stop raging at stupid teenagers in cheap horror movies.

Me and my friends decided to play hide and seek in a graveyard at night. The first round went fine, everyone laughing, although some of us were already scared. At the beginning I did feel quite nonchalant about the whole thing, even enough to jump out from behind a grave  to scare a friend. Twice. But alas my downfall was imminent, I don’t know if it was the alcohol or the cigarettes that got to me, not to mention the trillions of nettle stings on my arse. When I was found first the realisation that I would have to wonder around alone in the dark on my own was terrifying. When I was hiding it was fine almost relaxing sitting on top of some rotting corpse with dried leaves in places while some poor chap got scared with people popping out at them. I soon learnt my lesson, which is even more embarrassing because I wasn’t even on my own.

a branch will break, leaves will rustle and the headstone at the end of the path will look like a cloaked man staring at you ready to kill you like he did your friends. Paranoia sets in and the fact that no one will come out, and the fear. Oh the fear. Because of course it never occurred to you to leave, because that’s not in the spirit of the game, and will also be admitting defeat. But even when I see shadows run across the path like a black cat, telling yourself that it’s nothing or someone playing, does not help (even if it is in fact true, as I later found out)

I now understand the thinking of these dumb movie girls, not only do they have no sense but something actually terrifying are happening to them, instead of a children’s game.

I go to a lit path and stay there, and then I go back into the forest, the main cliché I will say to these TV idiots is ‘why would you go back!, WHY!?’
But the paranoia of not knowing is worse, the need to know what has happened. But when I entered I heard screaming and that was conformation enough of ‘danger’ but instead of running to see what happened I ran, I ran out due to panic.

I ran only to find the humour once everyone found, laughing and joking the only thing you can do is play along, maybe even tell people it was a troll and even when I tell myself it was funny in retrospective, that I over reacted, or was over tired. That it was all just fun and games, teenagers being teenagers, then why?, why? Do I still see an outline of a cloak in the corner of my eye….

Rammi

Rammi. For those internet trolls and lurkers out there you may have heard of her, she is on about every networking site imaginable. Known as the ‘self-proclaimed taser girl’ on Plurk, with them giving her her own emoticon . Ms. Ramon loves her tasering, metaphorically of course, my Christmas card was even decorated with miniature taser baubles. She usually uses it as explanation of rage “I will taser you!”

All this tweeting and posting and general intweweb exploring have given her numerable contacts, with which she somehow manages to persuade to do the most odd things. Her blog domain was brought for her and she even persuaded a musician from L.A to write and record her a song, and then to rewrite it. Her connection with the music business does not stop there, getting herself invited to ‘extra’ in many a music video, and has made herself quite known in real life as well, being invited and attending things such as protests, political conferences and maybe her most formidable annual ‘no pant’s day’. Formidable because she was pictured in the metro baring all save a tee and red and white spripy knickers, which circulated all the secondary schools  and lead to a very awkward conversation with her Bob Dylan obsessed English teacher.

What I love most about her is her love of everything shiny and sparkly things, in fact it surpasses all importance. One time when her and I were in a store, she literally squeed and ran to this sequined thing causing extreme embarrassment to everyone involved, except her good self  who was just blissful in her sparkly haven. She is also sort of stuck in the 90′s and the 21st century at the same time. The 90′s because of her aforementioned love of all that’s silver, the music (esp. Spice Girls) and Leg Warmers. The 21st century so that she can contact half the world and update them on every second of her life, like her computers 0 rpm. She also has money, and uses it, one to feed her iTard love, with a mac book an iPod and considering an iPad, because it is shiny, but decided to omit the idea for lack of hand space. And I’m sure that is just scratching the surface of that what is Ramon, but in her own words: “I just can’t be arsed to finish.”