I write here. My words and thoughts, some profound some shallow. Some from Id, some from thought and reflection. If you want to join say hi, and why.
Pennies for your thoughts farthings for your dreams these are the songs the shopkeepers sing pennies after debt and farthings credit kept all of your assets the bankers will keep certainities and horse races never truth found somewhere between nothing and oblivion always found penny for your thought a farthing for a dream these are the only rhymes the shop keepers sing.
here.
Not only lambs lie here lions to of naked claw and sharpest teeth in these pavilions of words where thoughts expressed in poems speak there are both golden angels pure and darkest demons lustful raw for every sky of blue true cheer obsidian darkness impenetrable can appear the ways of men and moods manic tripped menacing forays windmill turning fey combats all is truth and all lies seen through so many different eyes as in religion good of man may shine also bigotry and ignorance can be enshrined these words in this place writ are of peace and love and care torn from a heart laid bare seeing world of war and hate and bitterness expect not here always breeze for the wind can turn a gale raised with ease.
Week gone Friday evening ahead Half as much sleep As a contented person should have Wondering who will be there Who remains in a company Slowly being hollowed out by indifference For there is a sense of apathy Of drift in endeavour As you the spark plugs of An engine depart To other engines other places We left behind Note cold wind from management Who only care what they hold Not what we could add Apparent we were an idea A back of napkin fad And now the gloss has gone Shine scuffed off and need for work They turn away and consider The toys they know and always had Because learning new rules New ways of commerce are Confronting challenging Undermine your vulnerabilities Leave senior management exposed Better to just ignore Knowing the unwatered plant will die No Sun or water or food No encouragement or interaction What money lost not their decision The end shall inevitably draw nigh As left alone and friendless The drain of knowledgeable respected people Becomes a rushing flood And organisation circles the drain hole…
Sleep should rest. Dreams carry one off. A dream should not be a hired killer placing a family of four in a container, and when the little girl begins singing the killer throwing the small child across the container, striking the wall at waist height with sickening thud, the child’s body folding like a pocket knife, one arm hanging completely limp and no more sound. Not a whimper, not a breath, from the child.
That is not the dream one should wake from into the day.
The train does not gently rock, it bucks and rolls, chasing and clunking into the rails, rolling almost free before own weight and gravity hold the train to the tracks. The many passengers, most sitting, some standing riding the rocking swells and movement like surfers out past the break. So many robes of skin, tones of expression, tones of fashion, in shoes and clothes and bags and mobiles. We are menagerie of people brought together for the purpose of travel - not exotic tonight I wake beneath the stars in a foreign land surrounded by foreign travel - of the mundane off to work inner city commute. We know where we will disembark. We know who and what awaits. This is our rut, our work day groove. We are arrows in the quiver of the train to be launched into hopefully meaningful GDP creating productivity. Ain’t life grand.
A gloomy Melbourne morning - why is there a massive Palm tree in my temperate climate zone?
You plan a day at work, having become a strong adopter of Work From Home (WFH).
WFH meaning access to your coffee, snacks, and distracting domestic chores. Working from work meaning buying a coffee, minimal snacks, and distracting colleagues conversation.
But the day you plan is already late. The showers predicted became rainstorms and you slept tightly wrapped under the doona as the temperature plummeted and the rain fell, and fell, and…..
I am awake, two spaniels fed breakfast, and I must move forward. Even get dressed. Unlike WFH nakedness is not an acceptable dress code in the office.
You hear the Past A history of privilege and wealth When Kings and Lords Ruled and took the wealth And the poor or the enslaved Simply totally suffered An often short dirty precarious life Thank goodness our world is not as then We are better clever fairer We have equality fraternity and liberty The French revolutionaries mantra is ours So why so many billionaires Why does it seem so many democracies Are Tweedledum or Tweedledee Two sides of a coin growing sharper More keen to slice into the less well off To gather more treasures to them On the sweating broken backs of the less privileged Who must struggle with Les and less reward As false prophets offer redemption Only to cheat and give greater rewards To those already living Gatsbyian rich.
So.....been several years since I was here, and yet I am, perhaps be good if I did write again. The procrastination from work into writing was not always joyous, sometimes a pin prick to ease the pus of depression....but, why not.
So....hopefully this is a rejuvenation of this journal, not a dead-cat bounce!
Using an app, not a browser, for LJ seems unnatural.
The dream sought is unknown, perhaps broken. But optimism prevails and hope broadcasts on all channels- if not today perhaps tomorrow; a dream I cannot see I shall receive.
Oh, and Happy New Year, to all who may read, or on this platform hear.
Drive me to the corners of your mind those recesses which escape the daily grind find my image waiting there for you let me be the dream you would want to view everyday has such a lackadaisical pace in me find something greater to make your heart race recall that smile or long sweet deep kiss when we cuddled in sublime un-timed bliss for when I edge close to the abyss when I search for something I miss then I stay into the corners of my mind and there always your image strong I find.
A Trump has a bump A frisson of hair on head A creature recognisably Tolkien-ish Which promises things will be de-lish Hates the Media’s all seeing Eye Says the Mouth of the Eye does lie Cannot see it is Gollum and Smeagol In both parts lying divided and unequal
A Trump has a bump A frisson of hair on head Orange as a toxic insecticide Will never pick any other side Other than its very private own All others must be loyal to it alone And to live alongside must be totally obsequious Or else the Trump with tweets beat us Cannot see it is Gollum and Smeagol In both parts lying divided and unequal
A Trump has a bump A frisson of hair on head Hands neat and small as fern fronds Practices a thousand smiles a million cons A Tolkien-ish creature of nightmare time Seeing in every foreign different face a fresh crime A venomous tongue lashing bitter poison leaking Always weakness and divisions seeking Driving all in the lands of Men to war unending For of atomic desolation has no comprehending Cannot see it is mad Gollum and ignorant Smeagol In all parts lying divided and unequal.
The NRA, and its supporters, came straight out after Las Vegas, saying it wasn't about gun laws.
So...I am in an imperfect Australia, and we see the gun violence of America and wonder why - and wonder why no laws or regulations are brought in to control the extremes the US gun laws allow.
And as it seem no logical or empathetic argument will move those who support the level of the current gun laws I give you a simple table I put together showing deaths caused by guns (so suicide, homicide, accidents, and so on) in the state of Victoria, Australia, against some US states with a similar populations, over the years 2014 and 2015.
Excuses sought.
(cdc - is US Centre for Disease Control which also collects gun death statistics, Australian figures from ABS - Australian Bureau of Statistics.) (Green indicates population less than Victoria, Red indicates population greater than Victoria)
I can't fault the stories I read which inside such disquiet breeds I conjure thoughts of future for the children young I nurture and am stricken by a morbid remembrance of all the terrifying Cold War nonsense rattling sabers atomic and bellicose yells never asking for whom the nuclear bell tolls no wisdom or statesmanship is here in sight from the hill of leadership there is no light one elected freely by those wanting change another bred within a family paranoid and strange is it little wonder we cannot tell them apart these red faced ignorants who war could start they seem to not to care what others think even if any victory will carry a carrion stink the Tomorrow we dream of they see through fear so close to a better future and doom ever so near.
A single clock ticking. So loud, strokes of a knife. The room is small, crowded with fat stuffed soft furniture, on one wall a bookcase of paperbacks read and placed upon the shelves to gather Time’s dust.
There is the sound of a car door closing, loudly outside, and voices, scattered as autumn leaves in the wind, growing steadily louder as they grow closer. A fumbling of keys, and the sound of a lock, and a house door opening and closing.
Footsteps now, down the corridor, lifting echoes from the wooden floor, and a door opens, and they enter the room, and the clock keeps ticking, and the dust remains on the books, and furniture waits to be used.
“Tomorrow? Again?”
“Yes. Tomorrow. The things we gathered today will not last us long, and the dust on the streets is probably poisonous, and the trees and the grass, and the fields, all are shrouded in that same dust. We must return to the city, to the stores, and loot food, and search for water.”
“We have done the same for three months….”
“And we may have to for three months more, and three months beyond that, until the dust dissipates, and the radioactivity level drops, or we are dead. There are no more choices, only these.”
“My hair is falling out. My fingernails are growing loose. I don’t want to die.”
Someone line up the reasons and the facts and have them all deputised seems we will need to form a posse and have it ready Twenty-Four Seven to pursue the untruths as they rise twittered endless from that once bastion of democracy the White House forever tainted by the President elect before even properly acquainted you wonder what those closest think when they see him drive people to the brink pushing boundaries so in the chaos play wielding the power with a bullying display singling out individuals with his new power a tantrum child with a magnifying glass pointing down at an ant hill on a summer's day so line up the reasons and line up the facts give them the fastest freshest horses and tell them the best tracks to take for the ignorant bile false will rise what we think of as right be despised so deputise them all and try and head him off at the pass.
You are all intelligent people. Partakers of popular culture, and viewers of the best news media Australian billionaires can bring to your television sets, phones and mobile devices....
We have seen the movies, read the books.....and we ALL know how the world will end.....
....it will be a strange sound, a pinging or buzzing perhaps....in some isolated wilderness where people rarely go....
.....the wildlife will know and avoid the area...their instincts tell them something else is there, something not human, not within their knowledge or experience....perhaps many of the wildlife have already been slaughtered in experimentation, or just due to the malevolence of the presence...
....the authorities will contact everyone they can think of, and everyone will deny it is them....
....and then the authorities will send out an expedition to investigate....
I see you blown so large upon the screen a full stop to so much of the nonsense there has been your putrid hate bubbles forth in every word you are so dangerous and yet so foolish and absurd a man of flaws from which all empathy been ripped seems from you the love for fellow homo-sapiens stripped anyone not with you in every single atomic-sized thought is a foe to be defiled slandered and in crudeness fought the truths of your own behaviour you cannot reconcile so must be not you who do these things and your image defile must be they who are the liars racists gropers and nasty women these people who oppose you and who your self-image of self so offend you think they would pull you down for you do not already see you are past hatreds given carnal form and are already history.
I don't get to vote in the US election, and will only suffer what ever consequences result, however Trump is in my head, for so much he has done, said, or left unsaid.....so my thoughts turn to him....and these thoughts arose....
Trump, the cuckoo in the nest.
With the US election, I keep reading how the Republicans will, or should, vote for Trump as he is their party's candidate. The problem is Trump is by his actions not a Republican in views, in philosophy, policies(of which he has few), religious values, family values, or economic perspective. Trump is a cuckoo in the nest.
Previous Republican presidents abhor his behaviour, and it is obvious neither Mike Pence, nor well placed Republican advisers will have any ability to influence, guide, or direct him, in his performance as President.
Trump election as Republican candidate, is as much a protest vote against what the Republican party is meant to be, as it is against the so called "washington insiders". Voting for Trump is voting for a volatile, untutored, uneducated, unwilling to reform, unemphatic, unwilling to listen, fantasist.
By the cruel cold stark moonlight I saw the snarling madman come for us all jaws full of fangs and a lashing slobbering tongue a monster of our own troubled guilty conscience a monster from deep in our consciousness this was the beast of our primal Id set free snarling and barking and howling at the Moon as if by pure rage could tear the Moon apart not for this creature the ideal of the leap to be greater and to rise above to the Moon itself this creature of slaughterhouse walls and alleys dark spoke only of other horrors which only a creature could defeat and this creature was offering leadership and guidance in how to learn to truly hate and how to be afraid in how to know who was not worthy and the slurs to wield of who we must murder and of those rights to deprive there would be no glint of light in the creature's realm by a place of darkest dreams of slaughtered bloody hope a land snubbing friends and becoming friendless isolated ignorants become a greater island of fools behind craven walls and behind oceans seething ruled by a creature holding no regard for law holding nothing sacred and only precious its self teaching all within to value only their own skin and against the Moon's steel edged light saw as the lights of civilization flickered out and heard crushed whispers of unity nevermore the creature's unnatural quiff of hair raised tall.
awake
