Thursday, December 31, 2009

Of Love and Writer's Block

Here lies the dedication to the poem known as: Of Love and Writer's Block

Removed in the hopes that the publishing will go ahead smoother.

Look for my book "Skirting the Edge" in retail stores.

Saturday, December 12, 2009


Here lies the dedication to the poem known as: Pearl

Removed in the hopes that the publishing will go ahead smoother.

Look for my book "Skirting the Edge" in retail stores.

Monday, December 7, 2009


Here lies the dedication to the poem known as: Light

Removed in the hopes that the publishing will go ahead smoother.

Look for my book "Skirting the Edge" in retail stores.

Sunday, December 6, 2009

Emotional Retreat

Here lies the dedication to the poem known as: Emotional Retreat

Removed in the hopes that the publishing will go ahead smoother.

Look for my book "Skirting the Edge" in retail stores.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

The 'Prize'

Here lies the dedication to the poem known as: The 'Prize'

Removed in the hopes that the publishing will go ahead smoother.

Look for my book "Skirting the Edge" in retail stores.

Saturday, November 21, 2009

Synopsis of Life

Here lies the dedication to the poem known as: Synopsis of Life

Removed in the hopes that the publishing will go ahead smoother.

Look for my book "Skirting the Edge" in retail stores.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009



As I am unaware just how much traffic this site gets, I'd like to know what my readers think of my posts. Please comment your questions, insults, criticisms, whatever. I'll be happy to answer any flames or misled death threats with a flying shark to the offendor's face.

Enjoy the site.

- Duckie.

Saturday, October 10, 2009

Sittin' and strummin'

before you read this: I'm aware that alot of songs are supposedly based on passed events or somesuch crap like that. HOWEVER, mine are usually scenarios I dream up to write a song about. Yay. I'm unique. What a joy. What a bore. Next question.

Comment me, please.

sittin' here all alone
just me and my guitar
just the two of us
s'you walked out on me
took the car and bags
and the kids and my heart
left here all alone again
just me and my guitar

aimless strummin'
well it don't get me far
strung out on the chords again
echoes in the dark
my life goes on around me
rythmically the beating starts
my heartbeat keeping time
while I strum on my guitar

the lines are disjointed
my lyrics are broke
what have I to say here
that can easily be mispoke
emotion torn asunder
and ripped from its binds
if I could ask for one thing
'closure' is on my mind.

without you in my life
I can't write about it
or talk it out loud
when I think about my feelings
words and meanings fail me,
but when I hum a simple tune
the chords that drift in time
remind me that life goes on

and theres someone out there for me.

So whilst your sitting there
listening to my heartfelt tale
about love lost and songs made
The sweat and blood and tears
Is it all worth it?
We've asked for years and years.
To each his own I say
you'll find out on you own
if theres someone there for you

and my god, thats enough.

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

Life in a box

Here lies the dedication to the poem known as: Life in a box

Removed in the hopes that the publishing will go ahead smoother.

Look for my book "Skirting the Edge" in retail stores.

Saturday, September 5, 2009

That which holds me up...

Here lies the dedication to the poem known as: That which holds me up...

Removed in the hopes that the publishing will go ahead smoother.

Look for my book "Skirting the Edge" in retail stores.

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Old. Still relevant. Read. NOW.

After having googled several of the Harry Potter cast and crew, I eventually rolled round to Clémence Poésy (Fleur Delacour) and Emma Watson (Hermione Granger). Now, my google (and the rest of my computer, I must add) is outfitted with many firewalls and precautions to ensure that no explicit text or pictures get through the barrier.
Thus, imagine my surprise when, after hitting SEARCH, the first thing I see is "I hope Emma Watson does Playboy when she's 18." Not only was I burning with rage that this was posted in Google, a site that many young children use, but also that this debate had still not died down after it was created at least five years previous. Now, I know we're too late to save Daniel Radcliffe from this nudity thing, but the least we can do is support Ms. Watson
Now, when this debate first reached my computer, back in 2004, I was astounded that Ms. Watson's loyal "fans" would resort to pressuring the poor girl into positions for their sick sordid pleasure. I apologise to any out there that take comfort in amusing themselves with the same substance of media, but this is an absolute outrage! I can not believe that this is still happening.
The first thing I did when I saw this, was to deliever a cutting, intellectual opinon on the matter. Unfortunately, the only thing that came of it was to be blocked out of the site. As it happens, the webmaster didn't WANT a somebody to reject his opinon on the matter, he just thought he'd round up a bunch of, not people, Monsters, that would support him. There was another site that I managed to get into, complete with voting channels and everything. As you could only vote once, I was sickened to discover that out of over a million hits to the site, only roughly 400 people opposed the idea of Ms. Watson posing for photos when she became of age. (That's 18, not 17, for all you HP inclined fans).
Just recently, however, as I was browsing the websites, I came across three sites where I left my mark, two of Ms. Watsons and one of Ms. Poésy. However, as I knew that being a young fan that is still, regrettably "underage" (which is inconceivable, due to this Era), that I could very well be thrown off yet another site, as during the first debate I used my real name and age (stupid, I know). If any of my 'readers' care to leave their marks, you will notice my posts by the alias (will soon be engraved into my dogtags too, not kidding) Moriarty Matheson.
Please, for Merlin's, Ms. Watson's and every celebrity that has been pressured by the general public to appease to their fans twisted requests, PLEASE join the fight. It may not be our Final Battle, we may never be thanked, but we know that we have done some right in this world.

Wednesday, August 26, 2009


Tweaking needed.

Please, I beg of thee: comment my stuff.


I'm all up in your bases,
killing your men,
'cause I'm a super sonic playa
and it had to be done

I got me a ride,
shootin' down fiddy
t'ain't be miles
as me bro's packin' twenty

Me dog's in the side,
tongue in the sun
if you shoot him, mothafucker
be the last thing you done!

t'millimeter in hand,
is a straight niner son
mess with me bitch
and I'll show ya my gun

up against the wall
at the end of the street
gimme a reason -
jus' t'give you some heat!

I'm cleanin' me gun now
and dancin' in blood.
Die you SOB,
so we can get this race done

San Andreas may be over
but WoW's just begun!

*gun shot/tire screech*

*flippant wave*
Bye now, WG calls.


Its a rap.

Tell me what you think, pl0x.

Thursday, August 6, 2009

Piano keys

Here lies the dedication to the poem known as: Piano Keys

Removed in the hopes that the publishing will go ahead smoother.

Look for my book "Skirting the Edge" in retail stores.


I was bored as HELL in L&L today.
Nothing to do there.
N-O-T-H-I-N-G! >.<

Saturday, August 1, 2009

The world is a stage - you are an extra.

((Make the most of it...))
By Duckie.

Life's too short for living,
gotta leave your mark now,
life's an open stage
with your fifteen minutes of fame,
the curtain closes on you
and you're left in the dark.

did you see anybody in the bright light?
could you keep your eyes on the crowd?
did you remember your lines?
Were you perfect?
*brief pause*
Well nobody's perfect! ((is okay to mildly shout this))

Life's too short for living,
gotta leave your mark now,
life's an open stage
with your fifteen minutes of fame,
the curtain closes on you
and you're left in the dark.

Dark tunnels; there's no air,
stride down there
light the bloody thing yourself
life goes on
leaving you behind
as it has forever
no-one can hear you screamin' in the dark.

Life's too short for living,
gotta leave your mark now,
life's an open stage
with your fifteen minutes of fame,
the curtain closes on you
and you're left in the dark.

and no-one can hear you
life goes on ((drawn out note))
no-one can hear you
gotta leave your mark.
no-one can hear you
so shout it out loud ((do so))
Cause everybody's asking for an encore!

Rainy Days

Here lies the dedication to the poem known as: Rainy Days

Removed in the hopes that the publishing will go ahead smoother.

Look for my book "Skirting the Edge" in retail stores.

Rest in Peace

Here lies the dedication to the poem known as: Rest in Peace

Removed in the hopes that the publishing will go ahead smoother.

Look for my book "Skirting the Edge" in retail stores.

On a side note: Suicide.

When you've reached the lowest of points in your life, with nobody to turn to, no friends, hatred in the eyes of everybody around you, every day. Your parents don't want anything to do with you, despise your presence in their clean, nice household, where you, the failure are a blemish, a taint, a despicable mark on their upstanding reputation, one that they can't scrub out, no matter how hard they try. When you have sat planning what differences you could have made, what your life should have been, your second chances and the faults of your ill-begotten life. All the problems that have plagued you - depression, cheating, lies, manipulation, attempted murder, rape, assault, the list of attacks against you going on and on, year after year, beginning all the way down in your youth. When you have drunk dry every bottle, every schnaps, every vodka, rum and cola - and finally, staring down the barrel of a gun against your mouth, temple, throat, heart... wondering why you can't pull the trigger? Its not cowardice that stops you, its bravery. Cowardice is running away from your problems, ending it, without giving you a chance to look back over your life, past the mistakes and falsehoods and see the truth, the opportunities that arose from an accident, new lessons from a mistake.

Cowardice is pulling the trigger. Bravery is dropping the gun

New Year...for what?

I used to have people commission a rant...why? because they needed one, perhaps; or maybe a fight had erupted with their parentals/guardians/teachers/friends - who knows?

In any case, New Years spurned some thoughts ((and a very morbid discussion)) and since I was entreated to stay out of it:-


"Life sucks, and it will never get better. It will change, but it will never get better."

Once upon a time, I used to say that too. Every night I'd be drinking my sorrows away, or at least attempting too. Its a little hard to when alcohol just burns going down and does next to nothing else. Ranting and raving, these people, my friends, have entreated me to leave them to their depression spurned on by the New Year.

"Happy New Year" - a text message that they despise, brings them no joy and forces their thoughts lower into the ground. Another year, each as bad as the last, and apparently steadily getting worse.

"Happy Birthday!" - another year gone, where they imagine everything that has gone wrong, where they have failed. How can they be happy if they do not truly believe themselves capable of it?

"Merry Christmas!" - These people, that I kept company with, on Christmas, the holiest of days, the epitome of Christianity and a family time of love and giving - traps these people. Love no longer fills the air, but tension, tempers stretched close to breaking, stress mounts with each passing moment, and all stuck in the middle is the poor person, weighed down by the guilt, ((even if they had nothing to do with it)) that this is his/her doing.

These kids, young folk, trapped in their minds with the thoughts of their problems, failings and misgivings, does them no good. It does nobody any good. Their families can only sit and watch as they waste away, with no idea to what ails them. How can they? A teenager or young adult is not the sort that will say "This is my problem, but I wish to brood over it, please leave me be." No. Their suffering is palpable, and yet parents, friends, society immediately denounce them as attention seeking and emotionally unstable.

The masses ignore the problem, expecting it to go away, but to what point? They ignore the people, fellow citizens, who don't just harbour issues but real, full-blooded questions about what the use is of life.

For so long, they batter away, convincing themselves that they're a failure, or correct to the point of shattering at a negative vibe. These people, YOUR fellow humans, need help. They need it, require it, crave for it - however subconciously, but in this world, they firmly believe that they aren't going to get it.

Besides, whats the point?

How will you be remembered?

Here lies the dedication to the poem known as: How will you be remembered?

Removed in the hopes that the publishing will go ahead smoother.

Look for my book "Skirting the Edge" in retail stores.

Wednesday, July 8, 2009


by Duckie.

Here lies the dedication to the poem known as: Pain

Removed in the hopes that the publishing will go ahead smoother.

Look for my book "Skirting the Edge" in retail stores.


Feel free to comment. I like opinions.

Saturday, June 27, 2009

Y's life story

I walked through life, head down, unseen,
straying from the path and hiding away,
I stepped cautiously, kept my face well turned,
so the world would ne'er recognise mine features.
I played all alone, my friends were there... and yet not,
they kept me company though I longed for more.

I paced outside the room, awaiting my fate,
detention, suspension... dare I say it, exclusion.
Cast away again, and again, the loner, the lost.
For fear of the masses he huddled in the corner,
hoping and praying that someone would help him.

I walked through life, head down, unseen,
'till I tripped and fell, pulling a young lass down with me.
Stammering a s-s-sorry, I helped her back up.
Averting my eyes, mine face was all warm,
a feeling I'd not felt at all came to pass.

Was this... hope?
She let me sit with her friends, and we talked.
And we laughed, and we played and we danced.
And my friends were there, and real.
I had longed for so long, and here was I,
included and wanted, a loner no more?

But good things come to an end, my friends.
For come one fateful day, when the sun shone bright
in a clear blue sky, not a cloud in sight.
How ironic, that the worst of things happen
on such a beautiful day, fair and sweet... like her.

For as I rode my little bicycle on the gravel paved street,
Going quite faster that I ought to have done.
For I was a-racing to catch up to her, to get ice-cream...
When a lorry, a truck, an automobile, I know not what.
Shot out of the shadows and plowed down the road.
With a screech and a bang, I did fly through the air.
my last thought and last sight was her.

So I sit, all alone, tapping once, twice,
three times total, on a slate at my feet.
I hear them whisper, I'm blind not deaf.
I hear their stories, of abuse and betrayal,
of God's Will and Devil's plunder.
They know not what I have learnt and lived by.

"Goodnight, gorgeous." I tap my cane,
and turning to stride down the street.
Crisp night air be damned.
Though she may not know it,
I'll love her forever even if SHE is blind to ME.


It kind of follows on from my blind guy conversation... like... a backstory... y'know?

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE, for the love of Merlin, Tell me what you think!! gaaah.

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

Dear Diary...

Just a little something I thought up while waiting for my fish to cook.

Please comment. :D


Dear Diary. Its always the same. Dear Diary… I had a bad day at school. Dear Diary, I fucked my best friends’ ex/current gf/bf/both. Dear Diary THIS, Dear Diary THAT. Me me me me me! Why is it never:

Dear Diary, how are you today? FUCKIN’ TERRIBLE, YOU GODDAMNED NOOB! I get shit written in me all day every day, its horrible reading material. I’ve been recycled so many times, I can’t remember the last time I had a good lay! Well, that sounds like you’re really stressed Diary, have you tried acupuncture? Are you retarded? Haven’t you seen Chamber of Secrets? I mean the movie, not the mother-fuckin’ arrogant little shite of a book. You saw what happened to the Diary entity in that movie, yeah? DON’T FUCKIN’ STAB BOOKS, you weirdo! So, how’d you become a diary, Diary? Jesus effing Christ, lad! My name is Morris! Stop calling me by my job description! Do people go around calling you by yours, you fuckin’ two bit whore… actually never mind. Well that was way uncalled for! Fuck you! I got into this to pay the mortgage off, and when I got home after a long sappy, teenage angsty week, I find my wife has run off with a textbook! Bitch of a day planner she was. “Taking one day at a time!” and taking my heart and soul with her the fuckin’ cunt. You better stop cussing, Mister, or I’ll … I’ll… What? Erase me? Burn me? Rip me? GO AHEAD! DO IT! You’re talking to a fudging Diary, for crying out loud!

THAT’S why its never like that. They talk at us, we don’t talk back. Goddamn bastards wouldn’t be able to cope if their ‘best friend’ decided to answer a question they posed. Damned wannabe martyrs, always bitching about how bad life is… how’d they like it if I scribbled my problems onto them, huh? HUH?! HOW’D YOU LIKE IT?!


Good, bad, insane? Yes, no, maybe?

Help a penniless writer out here! :O

Philosphical humor

If anyone knew me way back in the day with my "first" Myspace account, ((prior to Feb '08)), then they might remember an article in my blog called "Today's Wise Words from Kieran". Basically, yours truly would rack his brain for unique original philosophical statements and insert as much humour as he could into it. Therefore, I give you my list, that I have dredged up from trawling through the old computer at 2am when I REALLY should be sleeping... because I have to get up for work in less than three hours.
But I digress, Befor we get ON WITH IT, I'm also putting an explanation under the lines, for the really lazy sods that can't be bothered deciphering my humour. :D

Today's Wise Words from Kieran

"Don't be an apple in a room full of pairs."
Ever heard of the 'Third Wheel'? Yeah, now, ever sat in a room filled with couples while you yourself are single? Feel very... very left out. :(

"Be wary of banana's that split both ways."
Be very careful what you say around people, especially if you have no knowledge as to their sexuality...

"Researching is realizing what is accurate, inaccurate and Wikipedia."
Fairly straight forward here: Don't trust Wiki... ever.

"If you can't be honest, what can you be?"
Answer: lawyer/politician/salesman

"Seek and ye shall find, ask and ye shall recieve, curse and ye shall be prosecuted."
Even if you kick your ingrown toenail in church, you still have no excuse to yell "F**K" really loudly over the sermon...

"With great depression, comes great loss of inhibitions, remember that emo-kid, remember that."
Miserable and watching Spiderman after being dumped. Pretty good for the creative mind I must say. :P

"Hitting someone with a fowl does not constitute exclusion from your elder kin."
John. Big Brother AU. 'o6 (I think). Turkey Slap. Need I say more? Google it.

"If your hand is caught in a cookie jar, then your greed exceeds your grasp."
Not sure where or when I picked this up, but it stuck with me. The jar, that is *beats on desk*.

"Stupidity should hurt, and on a long enough timeline, it does."
Karma, it always comes back to bite you in the ass... or anywhere else it can reach.

"Don't shout at those who can't hear you."
If you need this explained... then go stand in the corner and count to five billion.
Also: don't shout at deaf people.

"Talking slower doesn't mean you'll be understood."
Ever seen ignorant folk talking to tourists? They speak so slowly it makes you want to pop 'em in the face.

"Too many cooks may spoil the broth, but we aren't cooking broth."
Some people try to get out of helping out with that phrase. I countered it. :D
Broth is a form of soup, by the by.

"The only hearts I'll ever have, are those made out of confectionary, for they can not hurt me."
Well...not much, anyways. Miserable at the time. Rejected. Cheated on. *shrugs* I got used to it. It still hurt though. MOOOOVING right along.

"If your hopes and dreams have been crushed, then it's time to quit guard duty at the Zoo."
Elephants crush people, didja know?

"Look lively, avoid being mistaken for sleeping."
Don't sit around looking dull, get active and bouncy :D

"Live freely, hold nothing apart and enjoy your surroundings."
i.e: happy-go-lucky :D

"If you say 'lol' in real life, its time to hit the road."
Seriously, learn to laugh again, its not that dangerous. Its actually quite a good medication, so I hear.

"Everybody seems normal until they make a movement."
Don't judge a book by its cover... wait until its finished dancing the cha-cha, at least.

And, thats it. PLEASE, comment on it. The few I have get very lonely at night :O

Thursday, May 7, 2009

Plagued with Nightmares

I was visiting a crush to walk her home after work, and while we were talking, the espresso machine at the stall malfunctioned, and there was a minor, albeit somewhat dangerous explosion. Shrapnel went every which way. Serious injury was narrowly avoided by the booth personnel, and I've still got marks from where I was hit by sharp pieces of caffeine doused steam enhanced bits of metallic evil. It could have been a lot worse... and this covers my adrenaline infused near death experience and the rambling "What-If's?" that spawned from the event.

Not to mention the night terrors that show no signs of stopping any time soon. :'(

It was a late night.

Or rather, it was late night shopping, when the stores are open to 9pm. When it first was implemented, the majority of the community was singing their praises about being able to find time to get their groceries. Now? Not really. The stores are always full of teenagers, wandering about, sullen-like, glaring at everyone, forming gangs, getting wound up over the tiniest thing, starting fights... Lately its become so bad that the community is in favour of the shops being closed at that hour again. Not that it matters. They'll just roam the streets.

Rambling. Yes. I do that.
My name is Jarome. I was there that night.
'What night?' you say, 'how is that night any different than the other 300 before it?'
If you listen, and don't interrupt, I'll tell you.
'Okay.' you should say.

It was a late night, around 9pm when all shopkeeps were closing their stores and shutting up for the night. I loitered outside the local coffee shop, waiting for one of my friends to get off work. Since I had been wandering around, I figured I may as well walk her home. We live in the same neighbourhood. I was the last customer for the night. It wasn't really like I'd planned it that way, it just happened. Besides, I really needed my mango fix.

Yeah, I have an addiction to mangoes, of all things. Healthy though, and not at all illegal.

So I stood a little back, alternating my attention between the screaming, hollering, treat-begging children... or munchkin brigades... going past me; I hate kids sometimes. Purely because they tug at the heart-strings, and you just wanna give them a toy. I'm one of the few people in the world that would do that out of the kindness of my heart, and not for any illegal, ulterior, degrading, sickening motive, thank you very much.

My attention was grasped by my drink at that particular moment, which I was enjoying, just slurping away at it quietly, leaning against a pillar and waving at the security that walked on by. They knew me. We had good conversations about the differences between security, bodyguards and the police/cops/fuzz depending on your nationality, that is. Either way, they knew I wasn't a threat to them, the community or anyone else in general. Its pretty cool, knowing they've got your back.

Around then, I glanced at my friend, have I introduced you yet? No? Didn't think so.
See, here's my predicament, I don't mind telling you my name, but its her name I don't want to mention. You know all that privacy stuff? Yeah, I personally don't worry much about it. Why would I? But I don't want her to get any flak for it so... um... what shall we call her?

Er... loose veil... Dawn. There we go. We'll call her Dawn. Why that particular name? Maybe because I'm telling you this story at three in the freakin' morning? Hm? Moving on now?

'Yes... no need to shout.'

Around then, I glanced at Dawn, wondering idly whether she'd actually mind walking with me. I figured I should ask her before she actually starts to leave instead of just making an assumption. Weird, I know, not thinking of other's reactions first. How silly of me. I almost kicked myself. What a fool. Maybe she wanted to be alone? Who knows? Maybe I should ask? Yes. Decided I would. Much easier.

Edging my way over, I stopped and watched her finish working. Not in a creepy way, mind you, I just find some of the machinery interesting, and seeing as she was in the process of cleaning it, I figured it was as good a time as any to inspect it from a close perspective, as opposed to tilting my head at it while the line moves sloooowly towards the cashier. I'm a weird one. Yes. I know.

Dawn raised an eyebrow at me, "What're you up to there, darl?" she asked me, a wary undertone in her voice. Its almost like she doesn't trust me. But the smile shows me she's joking. Still, with that equipment, its best to be careful. I stopped, teetering back and forth, watching her work. "Nothing, just wanted to look at the pweeeeeeeeeeetty baris..."
She glared at me over her glasses, cutting me off mid-word.
"...pweeeetty machinery..." I changed my word, innocently whistling... and failing miserably.

"Sure." She went back to cleaning after a moment, leaving me to look around the booth at the other occupants, about five in total, including Dawn. I turned back, to discover she'd moved away to wring out her chuck. Scratching an itch on my lower lip with my thumb, I looked past Dawn at the large metallic contraption that the entire crew were all pitching in to clean.

'Hurry up.'
'I said, hurry it along. I have better things to do than listen to you going on about nothing at all.'
... The metaphorical door is there. Leave whenever you feel like it.
Until then...

Dawn's boss, Derek, I think his name is, tapped his way along the top of the machine, searching for something. From my perspective I could see a small catch at the top, he was way off.
"Right. Right... Back... a tad to the left." I called, doing a small dance in celebration when he got it.
"Thanks Jarome."
I was surprised he knew my name. How odd. Maybe Dawn talks about me? Yeah... riiight...

A sudden hiss followed by a loud clunk brought me crashing out of my musings.
"...uuuh, oh fu-" Derek muttered, backing away from the machine that had started to vibrate wildly and violently, spewing forth steam and small bursts of heated air. Dawn and her colleagues stumbled backwards, trying to put space between themselves and the now dangerous machine.

Like an idiot, I moved forwards, trying to get a better idea of what was happening. I saw a temperature scale moving past the 90°C mark and up higher into the *OH DEAR FUCK WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING - TOO DAMN HOT YOU FOOL!* area. Peering at it, I stepped closer, eyeing the machine distastefully. Frankly, I don't like coffee that much, I prefer tea... or coke... or a mango smoothie. Sue me.

No. Just... just no.
Do shut up.

I tried to make out what the writing under the jarring, jerking, vibrating sign proclaiming WARNING said, but it was just moving too fast for my eye to pick up at this distance. I was concentrating so hard that I nearly missed Derek diving to the ground, closely followed by Dawn and Co. scattering. I glanced at their figures, leaping over the benches, pushing by me, hiding behind couches, spinning me around and knocking me backwards. I stumbled forwards, trying to keep my balance. Looking up, the machine gave another loud thunk and then, it happened.

'What happened?'
You just -ruined- my dramatic pause.
You're not sorry.
'No. Guess not.'
...I hate you. So very, very much.

The machine's seal cracked and burst outwards, sending a shower of scalding water up skyward, like a bullet from a gun, shrapnel from the small geyser's explosive exit shot in an arc, peppering the walls, floors, ceiling, booth and surrounding area that the staff had taken refuge behind. Like seats and ridiculously large novelty pot plants.

'So. What was so bad?'

I wasn't so lucky. Having ended up close to the blast radius of the steaming, shuddering, geyser-erupting ruins of an espresso machine, I too as peppered with sharp slivers of metal. Mostly.

And don't you forget it!

At first, I didn't notice as my body was one large pain-filled being. I had flung my left arm across my face to protect my eyes, neck and my heart via my elbow. Blood was running in small rivulets down my arms and legs, staining my socks beyond repair. But that didn't matter. What mattered was the true source of my pain. I dropped my left hand to my chest, laying directly over my sternum it came to a stop, I looked down blearily seeing the blood cover my finger tips, soaking into my skin. My hands were so still, resting on my chest to stem the flow of blood from the large, jagged protuding invader of my bodily functions. Damn shrapnel.

You have NO idea.
'I don't want to.'
I roll my eyes in your general direction.
'I ignore you.'
...I still hate you...

A gasp and scrabbling behind me caught my attention. My eyes gradually swung around, my head twisting around, pulling sharply on the wound in my chest. Grimacing, my raised hand, dripping blood was the first thing the booth staff saw. I think Derek fainted. That made me giggle, or would have, had the mere action triggered another bout of sharp jabbing agony. No pun intended. Dawn was up and moving towards me just as my legs failed me.

What? Nothing to add?
'Continue already.'
Fine, fine.

I collapsed to my knees, tears welling in my eyes after the slight delay in connecting the pain to my nerves and on to my OH DEAR GOD THAT FUCKING HURTS reaction. Dawn caught me as I keeled over backwards, lowering me carefully to the ground. Already, I could feel my body seizing up. My left hand clenched my jacket, but my right hand, relatively clean sought hers.
"I'm sorry."
I'm not sure who said it. Maybe both. I guess I'll never know.

You gotta be kidding me.
'SHUT UP! Just keep talking!'
That was so redundant, its not even funny...

I don't recall moving my hand, but I stroked a tear off her cheek. "Don't cry for me..." I trailed off, my eyes dimming slowly. My hand dropped back to hers, pulling it closer to me, I kissed it softly. "Live your life to its full potential... its too short to waste on sadness." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a stretcher-bearing pair of security guards sprinting towards me. Its nice to know they have my back...and the rest of me.

'So... you lived?'

A few months later, Dawn decided to leave town. She quit her job, made arrangements, packed her belongings away and headed out the door. Her family and friends were there to see her off. All but Jarome.

'Talking about yourself in third person isn't healthy, you know.'
Bite me.
'I can't imagine that would be healthy either.'

I arrived late, lost in traffic, of a sort. I sprinted through the terminal, dodging, ducking and weaving through the blindly moving crowd out of habit. I passed doorway, after doorway, trying to find gateway 216. Dawn's flight. I caught sight of her family, and dashed through the gateway, I wondered if I should stop to say a brief few words to the security guards about why I should be let through. I breezed right past them. Then never blinked. I didn't stop running until the glass walls, seperating me from Dawn. Reaching out, I pressed my left hand against the glass as she walked by, waving sadly to the gathering behind me.

'She didn't see you?'
I like to think she did.

She kept walking, right on by, then suddenly she stopped and turned. As if wondering why she was doing it, she pressed her own hand against the glass. My breath misted the glass, and with the very tip of my left index, I wrote "LIVE". Backwards to me, of course.
I could hear the gathering muttering behind me -
"Whats she doing?"
"Is she having a fit? Pressing her hand against the glass like that?"
"Wait... where's that writing coming from?"
"She looks... sad."
"I wish Jarome were here."

'What? But you were! You were standing right there!'
I know.
'Did you say anything to them?'
No. I could only manipulate a few things in the physical world. The writing was one.
'...what are you on about?'

I turned and walked away, passing right through the crowd as if they weren't there. To me, they weren't. I had one more item of business to do before I was done. I had to choose someone to record my story.

That someone is you.
'Me? What are you?'
Beg pardon?
'Have you escaped from a mental institution?'
'Do you have a fever?'
Fuck no.
'You sound crazy to me. What's your excuse?'
Hm. I'm dead. A ghost. A paranormal existential imprint of my former self, I have unfinished business which I am attending to now. I had to get my message out - coffee kills.
'Yes, well, I'm sure this story shall sell nicely as a sci-fi.'
Its the truth. I died that day. Look it up. Its on the interbentz!
'...wait here. I'm fetching a strait-jacket.'
Ah... If I was alive... would I be able to do *this*?

'Are you okay?'
'I've been talking to a ghost! Oh-god-oh-god-oh-god-oh-god...'
'Um... have you been drinking?'
'No! You know I don't drink... this early. But I may just make an exception.'
'Right... sure. What's this? A story?"
'DON'T TOUCH THAT! Its his story! It must be published...'
'Right away, if not before! He might come back otherwise.'
'Jarome's ghost!!!'
'To the publishers!'
'And just what shall we call it?'
'We'll figure that out when we get there... GO GO GO!'

======== End ========

Evidently ghosts are only magical and trapped at Hogwarts.

Thursday, April 16, 2009

Nonsense song. Monkey Song.

just a nonsense song I came up with while trying to write proper music for a different composition :P


Lost and alone, on a desert island
nobody around to help me.
maybe its a spiritual test
or some kind of emotional baggage.
but baby I wish you were here
right now with me.

Because all I have right now,
is this little monkey.
But maybe its a chimpanzee,
or maybe an orange-tan,
doesn't matter much, because he can't speak
why couldn't he be a man?

what is this prime ape doing staring at me?
What did I do now?
can something else go wrong?
first the plane, then the boat,
what can happen next?
why is a prime ape staring at lil ol' me?

maybe I could find him a 'nana
maybe I could hit him with a brick
anything to stop this monkey's creepy stare.
maybe he's just lonely
maybe he's lost too.

but I think, maybe, I should put on some pants...


good? no? comment please :D
oh, and here's my rendition of it:
no sleep. no food. no water. purposefully looking like a hermit... yeeeaaah.... (Oo)

Y must the blind man be unloved?

I was listening to Don Mclean at the end there, so you might notice I quote it in the story.


X: "Wow... can you believe this view?"

Y: "I can only imagine."

X: "What? Its right there!"

Y: "...I'm blind..."

X: "Ah. Shit, I feel like an asshole now."

Y: "Nah, its cool, you didn't know."

X: "Still... um, have you always been blind?"

Y: "No."

X: "Well, do you remember anything in particular?"

Y: "I - well... yes, I do. Two things, really."

X: "Too personal to ask what they are?"

"One should be right here, at this spot, two hundred slow paces south of the middle "walkway" down to the town beach, there's a small knoll behind us..."

X: "Yes, I see it."

Y: "At night, the stars over the beach, the cool waves rolling and splashing merrily and the surf glistening below, out over the horizon, I could see the sails of ships reflecting the light from the riverside shops. The white sails contrasted brilliantly with the deep navy blue of the night's sky. I could see small crabs scuttling along the beach, sifting amongst the seaweed and driftwood, and scurrying around with little care to the going-ons of humans. I loved the beach at night. So quiet, so simple, so relaxing... It still is, in fact... I just miss the scenery so much, watching it, I mean."

X: "Oh. The sun is setting behind us now."

Y: "Beautiful, isn't it?"

X: "Yes, what was the other thing you remember?"

Y: "I remember... her."

X: "Her? Girlfriend, wife, lover? Who?!"

Y: "Just a friend, a good friend, the best in fact... but just a friend, none-the-less."

"What do you remember?"

"I remember the way she smiled, how it would just light up her face whenever she saw her friends, whenever she danced, sang, caught the scent of something tasty, whenever she was doing something she loved... her smile would brighten my day too. Dancing was very important to her, watching her move was like... it made the most graceful swan seem sluggish and clumsy. She brought a whole new meaning to graceful, yet strong. I can remember her spinning around with another friend, laughing and having a great time."

"Does she know what you think of her?"

Y: "No. She never noticed the way I looked at her; sure she noticed me, but I was always just her friend, I was watching them and enjoying it just as much from the sidelines. They weren't so close that my eyes would flicker between what I was watching, I could see it all as a whole. Watching her hair wave in the slight breeze as they spun around lazily; her eyes sparkle and shine as she laughed so infectiously. I remember her sitting, hunched over, waiting for her turn to dance, I sat so close to her, listening to our mutual friend - her dance partner - regal us with funny stories and jokes. Her intelligence and wit, her kind, caring countenance, the light spattering of freckles on her face... she was beautiful. Purely and utterly beautiful... and I love her so."

"And she doesn't know, how could she not see that?"

Y: "...would you date someone who was blind?"

X: "I..."

Y: " I know how lonely life can be..."

X: "How... how have you lived 'till now with that knowledge?"

Y: "I don't know. She's like... my sunshine... my only sunshine..."


You make me happy when skies are grey,
you'll never know dear,
how much I love you,
please don't take my sunshine away...
*music fades away*

I like that song.

The idea for this story struck me over the easter weekend, Easterfest was pretty boring and I really needed something to preoccupy myself with. Ta-da! :D

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Treyburn: Chaotic Charge

Thursday, Feb 5, 2009 - original posting

Buried half-hidden by the trivial and menial announcements of the simple townsfolk, an urgent missive, seemingly lost and forgotten due to the yellowed parchment, frayed edges and faint markings flickered dully in the evening breeze. A young, athletically built man strode up to the wooden wall on which the missive stuck to, just out of sight. Sifting through the mess carefully on the lookout for word from the pirate he had challenged to single combat, he happened upon the thin scroll upon clearing and tidying up the entire wall, hoping to erase all evidence of having been there. He leaned in close, eyes darting across the old parchment, straining to read by the faint illumination as the sun set behind his back to the east.

Just as he was about to tear it loose to despose of it, a word leapt out at him from the opening sentence. Jerking it up to the board, he nailed it front and center and set to reading it as best he could in the failing light of the ball of fire and gas sank once more below the ground.

Dusky looking, feral creatures that crawled out from their hidey holes to pillage and lay the "civilized folk" to ruin; death and destruction for their ancestors crimes against the Gnoll race.

For centuries, they have hid away from the sunshine and heat, in the cool, dark, damp caves hoarding their gold and overcoming the beasts within.

Elite Gnolls, riding arachnids into triumphant battle against all odds. Fighting with spears for which they have trained with for nigh on a millenia, the sacred weapon of their people, yet they have acquired skills in short swords stolen from the dead and forgotten pasts...

Common Gnolls, fighting tooth and nail to win any battle, at any cost, eating anything they can chew, these bloodthirsty 'savages' do all they can to survive in a world they are no longer a part of.

Dark Gnolls, like other Gnolls, have lived in darkness for centuries - but in this case, the darkness has also lived in them. With each encounter, they unleash a path of destruction from deep within their twisted souls, marred by hatred, suffering, anguish and tortured pain. Channeling it for their own use against their enemies...

Fire-Demons, Gnoll-like creatures who have sold their very existance to a being far greater than themselves, a vessel for a minor demonic blight, they did all they could to achieve a small measure of light in the deep blackness that permeated every breath, aroma, touch, taste and Sight.

Goldenrod Cult - These gnolls can still remember the days of long times past, of war and the lust for blood. Of treasure and riches beyond compare. Of the evil, powerful, hell-wreathed personage of betrayal, whom turned away from his corrupted brethren, slaughtering them and joined forces with the Gnolls...

For now, the Gnolls have risen from the ground, seeping out in search of their prized artifact, The Dragonfang Blade. A sword of might, strength, power and firey devestation...

Alas, finding the sword is but a part of their quest and salvation, they must also Raise their once mighty leader, who shall take up his armaments and do battle with the wretched humans once more, to pulvarise, butcher and maim all in his path.

He is the demi-god of betrayal, a once noble man, who in his failings as a human, reached infamousy and hell-bound glory as he Descended, a true Dark Hero of the times.

Zahesh, bearer of the Dragonfang Blade, Leader of the feared Gnoll Legions, Demi-God of Betrayal, and three time winner of most shiniest sword.

Fear. Truth. Betrayal. Glory. Revenge. Life. Death

The Goldenrod Cult, led by the only other human in the entire organisation, a broad shouldered, blackened dead skin, crazed glint and clutching, grasping, clawed hands...
With a golden dragon embedded in his skin, its tail encircling from his waist to the head splayed across his charred face. The Cult, dedicated to raising their deity, demi-god of Betrayal, right hand demonic being to the Chaotic Charge, raise their banner behind one man, the torch in the dark, guiding them to a human-less world... Corefield.

Be wary, friends, for the world has become a whole lot deadlier, and not all is as it seems. - Anonymous.

Treyburn stepped back from the Town's noticeboard, having just read the urgent missive tacked in among the comings and goings of trivial things. His hand reached up and brushed the names, his lips moving gently as he mouth their names, commiting them to memory.

"Zahesh...Corefield..." He murmed, barely able to hear himself, he allowed his hand to fall back to his side. It was time, all these long years he had watched and waited for a sign... and now it was upon him. Turning on his heel, he headed in the direction of the nearest tavern, perhaps a drink would settle this easier.

Two hours, four amber liquids sloshing down his gullet and one plate of goulash later, Treyburn mulled his options over briefly, wondering on his next move. Ordering another glass, he stood up on his chair, ignoring the barman's protests and proclaimed loudly and spontaneously to the crowd around him.

"Who here has seen fit to heed the warnings that the town's officials feed us each day?"

The chattering died down somewhat, before someone yelled at the monk to do something highly inappropriate. A flask smashed into the man's head, laying him out on the floor in mid-laugh. "I asked a question, SIR, you would do well to pay attention!" Treyburn barked loudly.

Swilling the liquid around, he stared at it for a brief moment before raising his voice and eyes to the crowd once more.

"They never tell you the whole story, trying to make you believe that the world is not a terrible place, where corruption and lies spread their seeds everywhere. NO! This has happened for far too long. I say, we take back our freedom to make our own decisions, to fight against the tyranny they call authority, to fight for liberty, justice and honor! Now who's with me?!"

A chorus of assents shouted back at him, as he toasted them and drank the beverage. Smacking his lips to savour the taste, he dropped the glass, snatching a bottle from a nearby waitress, weighing the capacity of it in his hand.

"This is how you get a riot started... with fire!" He heaved the bottle into the air, several pairs of eyes watching it arc through the air, unable to see where it had come from, but eager to see where it landed. As it began its descent, Treyburn turned around, staring at the bartender as flames exploded outwards, throwing glass, stone chips and heat blast out of the fireplace. Checking himself mentally, he found he was unharmed, which was more than could be said for others around him. A small group of people by the now dangerously burning hearth rug and walls were hit by flying shrapnel in the blast.

Watching the closest man struggle to breathe and finally expire with a coughing, ragged, bloody rattle, Treyburn leapt ontop of a nearby table and whistled loudly.

"My friends, look what has happened to our fellow man here! Cut down in his prime by a bastard of the law, a man who wished to see us locked away in chains and manacles. A man who by all accounts should be in our brethren's place... but nay, he is alive while our friends are dead. Should we allow this? What say you?"

"NO! Show us the killer!" They roared back whole heartedly.

"We shall slice him to pieces, we shall destroy his family and take pleasure in the process! We shall be free from the unjust law of this forsaken land." Treyburn continued to build them up with promises of glorious things, it was so easy to manipulate the simple folk of the town. "There he is!" He shouted, pointing at the bartender, who in his fear was pressed against the wall, the open window serving as a tip off that he had been caught attempting to escape. The man swallowed and began muttering quickly as the mob descended on him.

"Tell us where your family is and we'll let you live!" Treyburn shouted over the din, pushing his way to the forefront of the crowd. They parted confused, allowing him to approach the bleeding and battered barkeep on the ground, shattered wood impaling his legs and arms to the bar and ground, respectively. "Tell us, and you live." Treyburn crouched next to the man, ignoring his whimpered pleas. "TELL US!"

"Upstairs... the key is around my neck, please, let me go." He pleaded with the monk desperately as the man in question reached into his victims shirt and snapped the leather cord. A large metallic key rested in his clenched palm.

Treyburn turned his head in disgust, and rocked back on his heels. Standing up he motioned to a nearby thuggish man. "Break his bones, one by one...don't kill him, leave his neck and skull intact." He muttered to the thug, before turning to the onlookers. "Anyone that leaves or is sick has no place in our rebellion. We must deal with terrible people, and terrible things must be done to atone for their horrific treatment of us."

With that he left the room, climbing the rickety staircase to the house proper. Knocking quietly on the door, he pushed the key into the door and unlocked it quietly. Dropping backwards, catching himself with his hands in a crab like position, he kicked the door open, a crossbow bolt sailing over his head and embedding itself in the wall behind him. Leaping to his feet, he sprinted into the room, taking the crossbow weilding youth by surprise, and taking him out with a well-aimed jab to the stomach.

Treyburn stopped, and pointed at the corner with one outstretched finger.

"You. Ma'am. Use the window. If you're still when I open my eyes hell will be a cheap boat ride compared to the atonement you face...One" Closing his eyes, he heard the woman move quickly from her corner, "Two." flitting around the room grabbing what she could and lifting them out the window. "Three."

Slapping the boy awake, she half dragged, half carried him along the ground to the window. "Seven." Treyburn could hear footsteps clunking up the stairs closer and closer. "Eight."

Dropping out the window, the woman fled the estate, tears dripping from her eyes, her whole life left behind her, the house she had come to love, the gardens she tended, the man she loved... Treyburn's eyes snapped open, hawking deep in his throat, he aimed an accurate shot of spit at the corner, the saliva splattering across the hard wood.

They hadn't built this house, they had stolen it from the rightful owners with their just words, wrongful accusations and whoring.

The monk turned, and pushed past the man who had entered the room mere moments before. As he took the stairs down two at a time, he could hear the screams below getting fainter and duller. Sweeping into the room, he called out to the thug to stop.

"Halt, he better not be dead. We had a deal, remember?" He asked, smiling creepily. Squatting down in front of the virtually broken man, he spoke the next sentence slowly, softly and clearly, so that even the thug trudging down the stairs heard him.

"I went to find your family, as per our agreement, and guess what? They weren't there." Treyburn's voice dropped to a low whisper, drawing the crowed around him to lean in closer. Reaching up, he petted the sobbing man's cheek almost sympathetically, until he snapped his neck harshly. With a gurgle, life blood seeped from the man's throat and he collapsed one-lessly towards the floor, held up only by the rough crucifixation.

"Burn it all. Tonight we drink and make merry, tomorrow we take back the town." He exclaimed to loud cheers as the mob swelled towards the tavern cellers. Sighing as they left, he knelt down, facing the still embers of the burnt half of the tavern and bowed his head in Prayer. Smirking slightly as his plans began to unfurl, he whispered to the high heavens a simple phrase, yet one that held the true divinity that resounds only from a true dedicated monk of chaos.

"Chaotic Charge... may you see us through the night, and on to victory in our anarchy."

The Chaotic Monk

Thursday, Feb 5, 2009 - original posting

Treyburn sat perfectly still on a tree branch, staring at the heavens, wondering to which god he would dedicate his Prayers in battle.
Lost in his thoughts, Treyburn missed the critter stalking him below until he caught the low hiss.
While attempting to drop to the ground with feline-grace, he misjudged his aim, and landed back first to the critter, wasting precious moments and earning himself a swipe to the back.

Snarling a Prayer to the heavens, to his chosen deity, not to mention in anger and pain, Treyburn spun and slammed a fist into his antagonizers blocky face, the bracers circling is wrists serving to aid him in channelling his power.

With a yowl, the cat flung itself at the Monk, hissing, biting and scratching wildly.
Sliding backwards under the weight of the critter, Treyburn spat fur out from his teeth grimacing at the rancid taste. Drawing his fist back, he slammed it forwards into the cat's stomach,

Red lines appeared across Treyburn's chest and face, as he wondered how he was going to explain losing to a freakin' cat...Groaning, Treyburn pulled himself up, lifting his arms high above his head, to bring them double fisted down on the cat's back.

Slumping back from the recently deceased cat, Treyburn staggered over to the tree trunk to lean against it.

Going down on one knee, he pressed his fingertips lightly to his forehead, his eyes rolling back to stare at the heavens above him.

His mouth barely moved, as the muted Prayer left his person, swirling swiftly towards his deity.

"For the God of Chaos..."

Treyburn frowned, his eyes closed blearily as he fought to stay concious. He swore he heard footsteps, but not those of a cat... sounded more humanoid. He turned slowly, watching a robed man striding aimlessly through the forests with out a care in the world. It looked as if he was enjoying a nice relaxing stroll in a garden.

The robed man stopped abruptly, eyes narrowed at the monk, leaning breathless against the stiff barked trunk. As he approached, Treyburn's divinity flared briefly. The man gave a small smile. "These cats.. not as easy as they appear to be are they?" He inspect the monks wounds and offered his help.

"Anything in mind?" Treyburn muttered gruffly.

"For starters, I could heal your injuries, son." The man, a healer by the sound of it, waved his hands and muttered in an ancient, cursive dialect. "Call me Sayne," he began kindly but stopped as Treyburn held up a hand.

"Thanks, but you've helped enough. Anything that doesn't kill you only makes you - "

"Stronger?" Sayne muttered questioningly.

"More awesome, actually." Flexing his muscles, Treyburn nodded and saluted the man, fist to chest. "Until we meet again, sir."

"Are you sure you don't need any assistance?" He asked imploringly.

Treyburn glanced over his shoulder at the man.
"Not particularly, not now anyways, later maybe. Good workout, none-the-less."

The monk stretched and popped his joints audibly, bouncing on the heels of his feet slightly as he glanced around at the undergrowth.

Treyburn gestured half-heartedly at the robed personage in front of him. "If you'll excuse me, I have some more cats to cull... and I thought I saw one further that way." He points in the opposite direction to the man.

"You're welcome to come along if you want, but I'm going now."

Saluting the man, fist to chest, the monk began walking towards the thick growth to his immediate left, he picked up the pace and entered the forest proper at a dead run.

Treyburn thought back to that morning, as he dodged around snags, scampered up trunks and swung himself from branch-to-branch. Inside his mind's eye, the memory swam to the forefront, dangerously splitting his attention from his current acrobatics.

Striding purposefully into the Town Hall, Treyburn spotted a man hunched over his desk, sword propped against the mahogany wood. The reports scratched on scrolls bearing the towns crest lay strewn across the top board. Groaning softly, the man reached down and pulled out a bottle of clear brown liquid, swirling it round in the glass capsule, he gazed at it longingly. Treyburn coughed slightly, having stood there for much too long as it was, he didn't want to have to sober up the town's official. The bottle slipped from the man's fingers as he jerked in surprise. Catching it just in time to save it from ruin and waste on the stone flagged flooring, he sighed in relief, before waving the monk into the room. "Greetings, adventurer! Boy, am I glad to see you. I've just received word that a gang of Feral Cats are terrorising the trade road in the Forest of Beginnings. Traders are being forced to make dangerous detours and some haven't made it back. Will you go and sort the situation out for me? I would... but... er... I have an important meeting with my cider planned."

Treyburn nodded, saluting with his fist pressed against his chest. "I accept, sir. I'll see it done."

Treyburn slunk through the undergrowth, shaking the memory from his mind's eye and refocusing successfully on the task ahead of him: watching for any sign of a feline around him.

Stopping abruptly, he cast his eyes furtively around him, offering up a Prayer to his deity on the off-chance he was about to be mobbed.

A soft purr to his left grabbed the monk's attention; turning his head slightly, he caught a glimpse of a cat sitting in a clearing, licking its paw clean of a dark red substance. He could just make out a mangled body on the other side of the cat ((its back is to him)).

Turning on a dime, Treyburn crouched low, digging his toes into the dirt for more traction. Pushing off suddenly, he powered out of the clearing, throwing a powerful punch at the surprised feline, connecting sharply with its haunches.

The cat twisted with the punch, swiping its blood soaked paw into Treyburn's head, blinding him briefly while its claws dug deeply into his face knocking him to the ground

"Thats going to scar..." he muttered, wiping the slimy liquid from his eyes, he rolled and thrust his fist into the cat's stomach.

Ducking its head, the cat snapped at Treyburn, catching his shoulder and tearing it to a bloody, slobbery mess.

Snarling, Treyburn rolled in the dirt, hoping he wasn't infecting the slashes, the cat followed him eager to eat his entrails, judging by the hungry look Treyburn could see on its face. Pulling his fist back, he threw it forward, colliding with the cat as it leapt at him - the force coupled with its momentum effectively breaking its neck.

The monk sidled away from the cat, to climb up a nearby tree and wait for another one to come along. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, listening to the forest sounds around him.

Jerking to attention, Treyburn registered movement below him. Reaching up, he stroked the deep gash along his face starting above and behind his right ear, passing dangerously close to his eye and finishing above his lip. It had finally clotted, Treyburn noticed idly, as head wounds tend to bleed alot. He also noted that the gash pulled his lip up in a odd semblance of a smirk.

He glanced below him, realizing that the cat must have been drawn to the blood slicked over the tree branches leading up to him.

The monk closed his eyes and kissing his cleaner fingertips, pressed it against his forehead, then murmered a whispered Prayer to his deity. His eyes blazed as they snapped open.

Dropping silently from branch to branch, he landed quietly facing the cat while it was busy lapping up his blood from the tree trunk.

Treyburn grinned eerily due to the gash. The next few moments were going to get very bloody...

Clenching his blood-tipped hand, he swung a fast right hook into the cat's ribs.
The cat jumped sideways, spinning to snarl at its attacker. Treyburn stood ready, prepared for anything that could happen...
Rolling to his feet, clutching his wrist that bled free from a large bite mark, Treyburn blinked rapidly as the cat licked its paw gingerly.
Turning his moan of agony into a heated roar, Treyburn lashed out hard with his uninjured hand, connecting hard with the cat's nearest front leg.

The cat yowled loudly, fighting to stay on its feet, it crouched down on its haunches, growling lowly.

Treyburn eyed it warily.

Without so much as an eye flicker, it leapt through the air soaring straight for the monk. Due to its injuries, it missed its target of the monk's already bloody head and crashed hissing, spitting and scratching into his torso, bowling them both over.

Thrusting his bleeding arm backwards to get a good handhold to climb to his feet, regardless of the pain, Treyburn's elbow made a sharp, jarring, hard contact with the cat's ribs, cracking the former and smashing the latter.

Groaning, Treyburn crept back to his tree, and climbed painfully out of sight of the ground, wedging himself in a fork of the tree. The monk hissed a prayer to survive the night through clenched teeth, and settled back into relaxed meditation.

A shout from below rose through the branches to Treyburn, who opened one eye and scanned through the forest floor to find out who was calling to him. A leather jerkin-clad man stood below him, staring up a the tree top, his red bandana kept his hair from falling into his eyes, but allowed the monk to pinpoint him in the springtime foliage.

"Hey! You up there!"

Treyburn reached a hand down and brushed the leaves aside, to properly view the man. He pointed to his ears to indicate he was listening.

"Do you need any assistance?" he called up. Treyburn groaned softly, the sound disappearing into the breeze flitting through the trees.

"If I help you, you get a chance to get it in on my little gang." he winked suavely...or what he percieved as suave, in any case. The man, who Treyburn recognized as the infamous incompetent thief, Red the Pirate, moved his hand in a dismissing, not to mention disgusted, gesture.

Red shrugged, but his disappointment was evident, Treyburn watched him trudge away and rejoined a blonde woman leaning against a tree. She turned and fell into step with him. Treyburn watched as Red slid his arm around her waist as they walked silently away... and smiled softly when she slapped his hand away.

His eyes flickered back to watch the other tree tops around the forest; lost in thought, Treyburn absently observed a flock of some species of white bird fly around in circles.

Feeling slightly hungry, Treyburn decided to head back into town to grab a meal, his stomach growling in agreement. Treyburn swung his legs over the edge of the branch and shifted his weight appropriately to start the climb down the trunk.

Reaching the bottom branch, he dropped lightly to the ground. Brushing the leaves clinging to his clothing, he glanced briefly at his surroundings before focusing back on his appearance. Jerking his head up in a faux double-take, he cursed silently at his predicament. Two feral cats were eyeing him from a short way off.

Muttering his Prayer hastily to the deity in the heavens above him, he shifted into a battle stance, warily watching the cats that had begun to circle around him.

A surge of chaotic divinity coursed through Treyburn as the first cat charged forwards, snarling and yowling. The cat barreled into Treyburn's stomach, forcing him to his knees as he was winded.

Spitting angrily at the cat, he swung his fist charged with the divinity from on high into his antagonizer's side.

The cat limped away as its mate sprang into the action.

Taking the swatted paw and claws across the jaw, Treyburn heard a soft, yet audible crack.

Quirking his jaw carefully, Treyburn idly jabbed with his left fist into the cat's face.

Treyburn looked around for the other cat and noticed it slinking back towards him... with a friend.

"" The monk pondered as the three cats sprinted towards him...

The two injured cats were slower than their healthy companion, yet Treyburn ignored the lead runner and tackled the cat to his left, slamming it into the ground hard.

The lead cat skidded in the dirt, spinning around to follow its prey's unpredictable route. The other injured cat, enraged at its mate's death, attempted to swallow Treyburn's outstretched arm, latching its teeth into his arm close to the elbow.

Treyburn stared in disbelief at the cat on his arm, before placing his free hand on the cat's forehead, clenching his "swallowed" fist, and ripping it out of the cat, tearing free a slimy, ropy, bloody disgusting mass of entrails locked in his clenched fist.

The other forgotten cat slashed its claws along the monk's back, taking him by surprise.

"Ouch." Treyburn twisted around, swinging his fist with the momentum, colliding a bloody fist with a blood-crazed feral cat.

The cat staggered backwards under the force of the blow and shook its head wildly. Crouching low, it pounced forwards, slashing at the monk's legs.

Thrusting his fists high into the air, Treyburn stood poised for a moment, before slamming them down onto the cat's back, breaking it in twain.

Stepping back from the still twitching corpse, Treyburn quickly tallied how many cats he had killed recently. Coming to a quick conclusion, he turned, wiping the blood free from his arm as best he could, and sprinted in the direction of civilisation...


Friday, Oct 24, 2008 - original posting

...And now, the dream is ended.

reality begins again

and we're stuck on different sides of the wall.

struck down in moments of joy

not a crack or divide

for through to glimpse or whisper

gone are the days of sunshine and swings

so close - yet so far away

the wall slammed between us.

stopping our relationship and selves from eachother

no door to open to her.

no window in its breadth

unscalable height.

there must be another way

past the stone beasts width

around, under, over

determined and set,

i will cross the border.

two halves of a whole

cant be kept back by mere rock and stone

love conquers all.

and this bitch is armed.

Northern Chicken or the Southern Hemisph-Egg?

Wednesday, Oct 22, 2008 - original posting

By the first "chapter" in the bible, Genesis, to be exact, (assuming that it is correct) that evolution is not the only reason for people wandering the earth and all the other goings on. Not to mention that the Almighty God put some nice people on the world at the beginning of Time, I had a thought...

Picture this: An abyss, nothing...not a star, not a sun, not a clod of dirt, a splash of water, a breath of air or a spark of fire, in fact not even a single solitary cell of any shape, form or use. Nothing reigns over all, and in turn, All reigns over nothing, as if there is nothing, and all of nothing would be nothing also... complicated...ain't it?

Anyways, the world was created relatively early, on the first "day", actually, and then the bible goes on to state what else was created like Light, among other things. This was all well and good, except for one small error: Time Zones. Think on it, the Southern Hemisphere, is one day ahead of the Northern Hemisphere, so wouldn't that mean that a whole day went by before both were created, OR does it simply mean that they were both created at the same time...

Either way, look at it from a scientific point of view, (religion and science CAN mix, deal with it. Now don't interrupt my train of thought) if the globe we call Earth was made in two parts, judging that one is behind the other, and thus not created on the same day, then wouldn't that mean that the core of Earth would have cooled, or the seas drained into space, or the air sucked out?

Perhaps an easier way to look at this would be to wonder who has the story wrong? Is it humans of the modern era, reading the Bible, and filled with an urge to prove it or disbelieve it? Is it the way in which the story was scribed, by lost authors unknown? Who knows? But my question still remains: Which Hemisphere did God make first, the one ahead, or the one behind?

Northern Chicken or the Southern Hemisph-Egg?

Obscurity or Hysteria

Tuesday, Oct 7, 2008 - original posting

I've taken to falling asleep at inoppurtune times for a short periods.
I always dream, whenever I close my eyes, and usually I have alot of control over it. Saddest dream I've had in a long time, one of those ultimatum dreams...always a terrible outcome.
Duckie was in London for a premiere, one of the great James McAvoy's new movies, some Christmassy romance theme...Dinner for Two. Such a dreamboat is that scotsman, oh, and Ladies, he can't physically wear a kilt...he'd drop out the bottom!

Now, our little irish-accented aussie-kins was all dressed to the nines and openly carrying a mini crossbow. Nobody was doing anything about it, so its safe to assume he was Security or a bodyguard or something. Standing next to the red carpet, watching all the celebrities waltz along in their sparkly fashionista attire, many times being accosted by random fans and occasionally an annoying prick with issues.

"Take them down quietly...or make sure they don't get back up." That was the order for the night, it was a pretty big thing, expecting Security to take a life. Oh well, hopefully it won't come up. Duckie vowed silently to cross that bridge when he came to it, and continued to survey the scene.

He was aware that a group was forming near the entrance due to the expected arrival of one Mr.McAvoyscottishvacuumofcharmsexypants McAvoy's limo. Ducks made his way down the side of the carpet, keeping an eye on the growing crowd, he wasn't surprised to recognise several people pushing their way to the front. He thought he could just see Amanda near the middle of the melee. Poor girl, no wait, use that elbow right...there we go.

Duckie stood near the door, out of the way of the cameras and flashes of various coloured lingerie. As soon as the Scottish Vacuum of Charm had left the limo, our protagonist fell into step behind him, humming gently to himself as he watched the crowds for troublemakers.

After a while... what with the stopping and starting every time a fan managed to clutch a handful of dreamboat there, or beg an autograph or photo... they reached the "ten meters from the arriving limo's? Good job!" mark. Shaking his head, Ducks fell into step next to the celebrity with his lean rippling muscles and gorgeous heart-fluttering smile, hell, the shirt he was wearing didn't leave much to the imagination, but was exceptionally drool-worthy.

Mr McAvoy turned to Ducks and seemed to be waiting for something.

"Erm...Hello?" he muttered, eyes shifting from side to side as he watched the crowd. Ducks, that is...

"Hello. I've seen you here before, haven't I?" he asked, his voice carressed the minds of every female withing fifty meters...and a few guys too, Ducks included.

"Perhaps, sir, its my job after all. Shall we continue?" Ducks was thankful his voice didn't waver although his heart was racing a mile a minute, and started to walk again, checking the crowds around him.

"Sir? No. Call me James, please." Duckie stumbled, hearing that, but recovered quickly. "You don't sound like you're from around here...Mr..?"

", Australia, actually." Duckie saw a commotion happening up ahead, and loosened the bolts attached to his belt.

"Oh, and you can call me Duckie." he muttered, as he loaded his weapon.

"Duckie? Cool name. Whats going on up there?" asked the delectably delicious James as he took several steps forwards, peering at the hubbub ahead.

Ducks attempted to look past the man standing in front of him, and froze for the briefest of seconds to lick his lips..."Nice ass..." he whispered unnoticed, thank merlin, before his eyes flickered to the figure pushing they're way out of the crowd. The form jumped the barrier, and pulled an object from the back of his waistband, swinging his hand around to the front swiftly.
"Shit." Ducks' training took over.
Intense pain coursed through Ducks body as he opened his eyes, blearily looking around. A sheet covered body lay a few feet away, a pool of scarlet liquid was soaking into the material. Ducks groaned, and his head hit the cement.

"Fuck.""It's okay, you did what you had to do. Paramedics are heading this way now." a familiar scottish accent washed over Duckie, his eyes snapping open. A slightly bruised, but otherwise gorgeous man was staring down at him."...ennh..." Ducks groaned, images rushing past his mind's eye as he remembered pushing McAvoy out of the way of the gunman, and returning fire.

It ended as abruptly as it started.

Ducks' eyes trailed off the mans face and over to the crowd milling in the background, snapping pictures and being a general nuisance, then back to his own chest...odd...hadn't he dressed in a white shirt? This one was maroon...oh. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a small slip of paper, that he handed to the silently watching yet concerned celebrity.

"What is this?" he asked curiously.

"Contact...details..." muttered the broken Duckie.

"Next of kin?" asked a paramedic, who had miraculously appeared way too late, applying gauze and such to Duck's ruined chest.

"No," Ducks coud feel his body protesting..."Vent details...ask for Amanda." He chuckled before it sunk into a coughing spiel.

"If you had died," he pointed at James, "mass hysteria...""Me? I'm unknown...obscure...better me than you..."

And Duckie's world turned black.

Seriously though.

Yay! Cliff-hanger! :P

Adam and Eve

Monday, Sep 8, 2008 - original posting

Whilst sitting in mine Youth group, and reading from the Holy Bible, I was distracted by several lines in Genesis about Adam and Eve. ((Consequently missed the discussion about the passages we were supposed to be reading ))

So, there's Eve, strolling through the Garden of Eden, she's been told by God she can eat from any tree but the Tree of Life and the Tree of Wisdom. ((If you haven't read the passage, you should.)) Now, apparently, in this Garden were vegetation of all different kinds as well as animals of all shapes and sizes. So, this Garden must have been pretty big to have living space for these things. For all we know, it might be a hidden island somewhere in the world...the Atlantis of the Bible per se.

There were vegetation of all kinds, so what kind of tree did Eve eat from to be convinced by a damned *TALKING* snake to eat from the forbidden tree of Wisdom? Was there some kind of hallucinogens like cannabis or something? Then she gives some to her husband, Adam, who also eats. What does God do when he discovers this has happened? He kills a random animal as a sacrifice to that Adam and Eve can have no shame. Haven't Christians throughout the Ages claimed that sacrifice is a savage, pagan ritual? God, Himself, did this and commanded his people to do the same.

"Your desire will be for your husband," - Well no shit, sherlock...but guess what? Sexual immorality runs rampid through the veins and minds of many if not most of the world ((and lets not forget all those in history too...))

"and he will rule over you." - How's that for gender equality? The Holy Bible, records our God creating all humans as equal but then does something *extremely* sexist...why? Because they were deceived by that elusive talking snake...(( Adam and Eve are parselmouths!!!)) These people, the first humans, -did not- know right from wrong until eating from the Tree of Wisdom. How were they to have any inkling before hand to NOT eat from it??

Then there's also - "Because you listened to the woman ((funny...I thought Eve was his wife...isn't he supposed to listen??)) you shall also be punished." Woah, wait, Time Out *signals* what was the poor boy supposed to think, "She's giving me the full view of some apples she has there, oh and look, she's holding some fruit, lets take a look at that shall we? Hm, it looks like it came from that Forbidden those are all Forbidden Fruits? It might be poisoned!" ...No, he was incapable of those little pearls of Wisdom...poison was probably not on his mind, judging by the fact that a naked woman was offering him fruit for crying out loud.

Hormones, sacrifice and sexism aside, how do we divine the parts of the bible that are false, contradictory and misleading from the passages that are the true Word of God?


Easy. None of it is real.

Case closed.

Old people and technology *growls*

Thursday, Aug 28, 2008 - original posting

'Back in my day, we didn't have the internet to communicate. If we wanted to socialize, we went outside to do it. Now, take that MSN off your computer and give me your mobile.'

Old people. Now, don't get me wrong, they have some great stories from the wars and growing up in poverty and rough times, but they seem to get all up in your face about technology and the like. This line up the top there, this is pretty much want happened to a friend of mine that resembles a potato. ((not a couch potato...the actual vegetable)). Its not that teenagers - in general - are completely lethargic and don't leave their computers. Its more that its kind of impossible to find something LEGAL and SAFE to do with a bunch of teenagers that doesn't involve technology of some sort.

What if they live in seperate areas of the city ((or the world, for that matter, oh noes!))? They can't just go out and socialize with their friends without the trusty handy-dandy technology that our generation uses. Medical circumstances have rendered little Matty unable to move from his computer...lets say, that Matty has just come out of surgery and needs to rest up for the next six weeks. What is Matty to do? Socialise via MSN and phone! But lo and behold, all his friends have had their phones taken from them and MSN has been uninstalled!

*cries* Poor matty. Poor potato-man. Poor 'this' generation that have to listen to old folk splutter on about days that are done and gone.

Although, now that I think of it, d'you realize what will happen when *we* are all old folk? We'll all still know rap songs! Old people rapping! OH THE HORROR!

Geriatric RAP!

Geriatric rap!

Hip hip hoo!

Hip Hip hoo!

Geriatric RAP!

Geriatric rap


*crosses arms, gets athritis*

Love is leaving us

Sunday, Aug 17, 2008 - original posting

Romance is a lost art, we've discussed this earlier, but is Love going the same way also?
People like me and my friend Adam (romantics), are few and far between, we get tossed aside like a literary classic (shakespeare, The Notebook, Princess Bride, etc) for things with a little more crass and a lot less class: bad boys.

Explosions, beer, a cramped car cabin of "Dad's *insert flashy car name here*", these are the places where 'love' is consummated, instead of the romantic courtier's dream of celibacy until the wedding night. The world is a twisted degraded place, filled with the sexually immoral and emotionally (or otherwise) abusive bastards.

Love takes the back burner as lust reigns supreme. Marriage in the 21st century is usually done by teenage 'parties', or by someone who has been married multiple times before (you'd think they'd know by now).

The phrase 'you can do anything' has the potential to unleash hell when heard by impressionable people. An adolescent fueled by lust and hormones can use that phrase to spearhead a thrust (no pun intended) of sexual immorality...or something criminal.

Its sad, that society is so wrapped around the acceptance of adultery that they don't so much as blink when its portrayed in movies, magazine or advertisements (or god-forbid the 'net) that it teaches the younger sort that "monkey see, monkey do?" no. "monkey fuck, you can too!" even worse!

What is love? Does anyone under 45 know? The three words 'I love you' are uttered so much that it appears to have lost all meaning for those who actually FEEL something...instead of using it as a ploy to get a little bit further with the companion of the evening.

When someone says 'sex', what is the first thing that comes to mind? Now, forget what ever degraded base sexually thing you're drooling over...what SHOULD you have thought of? A loving, committed, appropriate-rings-on-left-fourth-finger marriage.

This world is a sleazy, flea-bitten, backstabbing, highly immoral and incomptent place.


written a loooong time ago... there's a vid of it actually in my earliest stuff on YouTube.
check it out...
or not.

either way.

Romance is a lost art...

Saturday, Aug 16, 2008 - original posting

How many people do you see walking along the beach, shoes in one hand, feet drenched by the surf, hands clasped together with those of their loved ones?

How many couples do you see on a lonely mound doing naught but gaze at the stars and the wonders they hold?

When has anyone watched the sun sink below the horizon or rise for a brand new day whilst staying snug and warm in a lover's embrace?

How many men arrive at the door to greet their date, on time, well dressed and with a rose in hand?

I see none. I frequent the beaches at night, and stay at times until dawn, and I see not one romantically attuned male. Not even one. I see animals, I see fish, I see trees, birds, the ebb and flow of the tide and even the odd boat, but never a romantic lad. I see people at night, doing nothing but reverting to a beast like status whilst they ravish their comapanions. It sickens me that nobody holds true to the old customs of 'courting'. Anything romantic has been tossed aside as the years progress like its something to be ashamed of. It is said that we are evolving, is romance as it is left behind in the dust a savage notion? Is it something that marrs the very esscence of what it is to be human? Does nobody see that by giving up romance that the general idea is that two people hook up, spend the night and leave? One must get to know the other first! Spend time with them, learn about them, focus their intentions on them and only them. But it is not to be so.

Dates that are made on a schedule, set and primed, the lady spends hours making sure everything is set and perfect for her night out with her companion, only to find it cast aside in favor of the football or somesuch. Must we lose all knowledge of good clean fun - of romance, dating and courting as it was intended? Or must we sink to the level of beasts and putrid notions of grandeur by car style and beer?

This world sickens me. I'd be better off a hermit.
Or better still, I can re-introduce it.


hm? no comment.