What is your purpose, humanoid?

15-16/2/12
Music: La Dispute - Wildlife
Streetlight Manifesto - Somewhere in the Between

If and when we're found by
Another race
From distant space
Will we confuse them?

Have they observed us already?
The fickle struggle for life
For true love
And to defy death

What do they think of our mindless repetition
Is history doomed to repeat?
Will one look at war damn our race in their eyes?
Or will star-crossed lovers entice them?

Will they laugh at our ill-placed faiths?
And the conflicts they stir
And our dwindling resources
And love of that we were

For we must wonder
Is this race
From distant space
Just like us?

Are they doomed to repeat their history,
And ruled by their emotions,
Conflicts of desire and morality
Defining them as they do us?

Do they seek peace in idolatry?
And refuse to change their ways?
And if all this is true,
Are they here to seek salvation?

Entangled lovers must unite
The past must be left to rust
Else the desperate spacefarers
Will most likely be us.
____________________________________________________________
Well, I haven't posted on here for a while. I've had an interesting past few days, and now my head hurts. I'm confused and overwhelmed. And the fact that I head off to Uni soon doesn't help.

I know someone's reading this. Whether I'm your friend, or colleague, or schoolmate, or something more, I thank you for your patience. I thank you for putting up with me, I thank you for support, I thank you for anything you've ever done for me. And a certain person in particular, I thank you for your understanding. I don't want to let you down.
______________________________________________________________
In less depressing and hormonal news, I'm going to see La Dispute on Sunday. I'm so excited I could break something. I've got a good weekend lined up, so, hopefully, I can relax and enjoy myself.

My awesome parents got me a guitar. So I've started trying to teach myself, and I can play a few chords now. I'm starting out trying to learn a few Neutral Milk Hotel songs, thanks to their simplicity. Hipster credibility +10.

I have to go to work in an hour... I love the fact that I'm making money and being productive, but that place makes me think. Sometimes it's a good place to reflect. Sometimes it turns my mind into a wretched hive of scum and villainy.

Improvised Victory

8/2/11
Music: Benny Goodman's Carnegie Hall Jazz Concert, Catch 22's Keasbey Nights

The human dependence on others is understating,
dissipating,
syncopating,
The value of our actual relationships

There is no perfect romance, nor friendship, nor comradery
But we can take steps towards an improvised victory
And while those we love may be the hardest to reconcile
It is they who're most worthy of the effort

The shunned friend, hurt by unkindness;
In his eyes, at least;
But she who he sees as unkind feels equally shunned
Scared of the inner beast.

But she's made a decision she needs to stick by,
And so do I,
And so does he,
And so do you

A big band of many instruments can clash
Or synchronise with alacrity
Insanity
Or Clarity
But it takes the combined efforts of all to combine as one
But, simultaneously, give each their own place
Their own grace

Walking away and talking away are incompatible
But it's what humanity is best at
So why don't we do both?
Not forget our past, but look into our futures

The best part of a big band is the soloists
But they'd surely be boring if it weren't for the backup of the band
So we must be soloists,
And go our own way, with support of course,
But blowing our own horn
Beating our own drum
And having a lot of fun
__________________________________________________________
Jazz metaphors, people! Oh yeah, I made the right choice.

I start uni in less than two weeks now. Damn. I'm still coming to grips with it. But I'm incredibly excited. What is not exciting me is the amount of garbage I've got to go through for Centrelink and to get my concession card. Social services, you suck. Sincerely: me.

I'm in a strangely good mood today. Like, bounce off the ceilings, spend 20 minutes sitting in front of my stereo not doing anything but listening to Miles Davis, good mood. A new Streetlight album being confirmed and talk of Psychonauts 2 definitely both help this mood.

What do you want from me?

6/2/12
Music: Crusades, Mindless Self Indulgence, Throbbing gristle, and of all things LMFAO

Your picture sits by my window
It is staring me down
Yet I see you in town
I smile, and chat, I don't feel low

But my dreams talk of you differently
You bring me to pains
My perception is stained
Makes me wonder if we are free

Through our intangibility
Like a couple, they say
Forced to question our ways
Actually a couple, are we?

We seek each other for support
Romance, an accident
Is this fear commitment?
Or did we build to much rapport?
_____________________________________________
I think too much about things. The smallest situation becomes the largest in your head. So when a situation's already large, it can seem like the very nature of reality has fallen into question. I'm about to make a decision which may end very badly for me. It may end very well.  In 5 years time, I'll probably find it totally ridiculous that I thought of it as a big deal at all.

I've been away for the last few days, up on the Murray. I went paintballing, drank too much, the usual. Good weekend with good friends.

Companions

1/2/12 (Hehe, cool date)

I found you at a party, at a show, on the street
The last type of person I was expecting to meet
Intrigued by you, inquisitively joined you to eat
Talked all night by the fire, in the pit, on our feet

A bond exists between certain people,
Not romantic nor chemical, but one
Though causing frustration and confusion
Will withstand stresses, forces old and young

I see you in the city, at your house, at our work
Sometimes I'll apologise, for I have been a jerk
And we'll embrace our inadequacies and our quirks
And acknowledge that they are far outweighed by our perks
_________________________________________________________________
It's amazing how one little exchange, one conversation, can make you feel wonderful about yourself. It can elevate a terrible mood to something not at all bad, and a good mood to a force to be reckoned with. As much as I frustrate them and they frustrate me, I have some amazing friends and I wish I could acknowledge that more often.

Alone

Birds of prey fly alone, solitary
You said you were another bird of prey
But you found a flock, left your quarantine -
Self imposed you declare, for you found love

Yet you remain quarantined in my mind
Knocking the thin walls of my consciousness
And force me to question my own nature
Am I a bird of prey, as you once said?

If you can settle down, seek out a nest
If I cannot forget the past's vulture
Perhaps I am much like you, in a way
Sick of my love's limit to subculture
____________________________________________________________

I'm writing so much of this stuff. And it's mostly inspired by one situation (As well as mildly by another). Odd, how one situation inspires crappy free verse, another might inspire short stories, another highly structured poems, all sorts of shit. This piece specifically was inpired by discussion with one person about a couple of others and our own thoughts on the matter. Cue reflection on the past year or so, and cue me writing terrible metaphorical shit inspired by my own username.

I've been working far too much lately. And it's far too hot. And I'm incredibly jealous of everyone that went to Big Day Out today. But this weekend I'm going to Moama and going paintballing. That should be cool. Just need to get through the boring week first.

Urban Camoflage

This piece is the sequel to Trench Warfare 101. Please read that before for best effect. I'll probably continue this eventually.
____________________________________________________________________________
A thin boy, dark hair, grey eyes, was left staring blankly into space. His vision, moments before filled by the miseries of war, was now filled instead by his miserable life. The room was shabby and dark, an old desk covered in old gadgets and obsolete media, bed unmade, mattress thin.

 The only remarkable thing about this room was the computer at the boy's feet. Slim, black, a thin strip of blinking lights breaking the darkness. A single power cable trailed to the wall. There was no obvious input nor output devices, nothing of any sort. Only when the boy stood, and approached his own reflection in his cracked mirror, could he see the marvel of technology he'd been experiencing. A large plastic and steel device, perhaps 6 centimetres in diameter, was affixed firmly to the back of his neck by a pair of thin black ties, forming a collar around his neck. This was the device science had searched for for years, a true neural interface, and now it was in the home of every kid geeky enough to set it up and wealthy enough to afford it.

 The boy looked at the computer, concerned, for his connection loss was unheard of. The blinking lights revealed his dilemma, that, somehow, his internet connection had gone down. This was unusual to say the least; such a thing as a downed internet connection was a relic of the century's first decade, at least to his mind. A restart of the system did nothing. Nor did any of the myriad troubleshooting possibilities offered by the operating system.

The boy threw off the collar in frustration. Looking in the mirror again, he saw red marks where the straps had dug into the skin. He'd been online for a while, hours at least. The collar stayed on to eat, to check the mail, to defecate; all time which could be wasted instead used productively, doing schoolwork, keeping up with the news, socialising. Most of the friends he socialised with the boy hadn't seen in weeks; but no matter,  he saw them online all the time.

 The boy opened a curtain, and a flood of yellow light entered. the room was uglier in sunlight than in darkness; only now could one see the stains on the walls and the damaged plasterwork, the door hanging lopsided in the unpainted door frame. The boy dragged on a pair of shoes, nondescript walks trendy amongst his generation for reasons not known by anyone.

 The boy walked out into the street, as of yet not seeing a single other person. A lone post truck drove by, carrying food, clothes, anything people needed to live. Wandering aimlessly, the boy followed in the same direction, away from his home and the dozens of others identical to it and into the edge of the metropolis. He still hadn't seen a single person.

 Suddenly, as the boy rounded a corner - music. The strumming of a few simple chords, and a man's voice, somewhere in the distance. Walking in the direction of the sound, the boy listened with a critical ear. The lyrics the man sung were nonsensical, meanderings about 'pianos filled with flames' and 'semen-stained mountaintops'. And yet - there was a beauty here, unlike the electronic tunes and produced pop idols favored by those he knew. The boy walked, and walked, but the music was always in the distance, it seemed. 

 A man, maybe 60, sat on the kerb at the side of the road. Another person had finally emerged.
"You there, boy, do you now where that music's coming from? It's getting on my nerves." The boy looked intensely at the man, for he looked strangely familiar. He had a bristling mustache.
"No, no, I'm looking for it too." The boy wrinkled  his brow. The man looked like an older version of the commander from his war game before.

 Walking awkwardly away, the boy continued. The music was closer now. The man he'd seen before lurked on his mind. It was definitely the commander from his game, but he was more... broken? He seemed old and tired rather than young and full of life. Was this what the web did to people?

 The boy caught his reflection in the glass of a shopfront. The red marks on his neck were still prominent, with it looking like he'd fallen the victim of strange bedroom antics. His shirt fitted terribly, his chubby arms sitting limp in sleeves clearly designed for a more athletic man. He clearly was as broken as the commander, not the muscular heart-throb he was online but simply another slob who needed real exercise.

 The music was closer still. The boy looked around, trying to pinpoint it, but he didn't even know where he was. It looked familiar, almost as if he'd passed through before... And suddenly, the pin dropped. This was the same corner he'd seen the old man near. This was the same corner he'd been passing for awhile, now. Very odd. He kept walking.

Next time he came to the corner, there was a man, with an acoustic guitar. His features were unusual, facial hair bringing to mind a particular British revolutionary.
 "Welcome back to reality"
The buildings warped, sky fading to black.

A thin boy, dark hair, grey eyes, was left staring blankly into space. Before his return to reality, he had seen a single flash of text.
 "Escape your electronic prison"
No matter what he did, every time he closed his eyes the text was back.

The internet seemed to be working fine.
_________________________________________________________________
It's Anonymous! In the future! And seriously, if /mu/ were involved at all you can guarantee In The Aeroplane Over The Sea would be involved.

I feel sick. Damn pizza, making me thirsty. Damn water, making me feel bloated. But the Pokemans and the teasing Laura was good.

I have so much work for the next few days. Money's good, but I'm gonna hate Foodworks at the end of it...

Generation gap

27/1/12
Music: American Football EP and Abbey Road. Both on vinyl. (I love having my turntable set up upstairs.)

Move on with your life, say the people in the streets
"When I was your age, I had a job
working 12 hours a day
6 days a week
You kids don't know how easy you've got it"

So I shrug and smile at their blatant exaggeration
And deny their implication
That the causation
Of my frustration
Could be simply remedied

For I cannot get a job, without a degree,
I cannot get a degree without money,
And I cannot get money without a job

So I work casual hours, slaving away,
At the insistence of the older generation
And face
Not grace
But pitied laughter

But I ignore their petty calls
That I should move out
Since they're the reason the houses
Are overpriced
And not nice

I refuse their calls to get a car
Since their restrictive laws
Mean it'll be next to useless anyway

I refuse their calls to get into politics
Since the politicians are old codgers
Catering to other old codgers

But all around me,
My companions in age
Face the same calls
And concede

And move into the same boring life as their parents
And their parents' parents
And their parents' parents' parents

Only a few will make it through
Ignore the calls
And live a real life
And I hope to god I'm one of those people.
_____________________________________________
Woo, 3 days in a row. And I'm gonna write something else tonight, try to get out of this free-poetry phase and write a story. Very happy with myself