Hello. This is a small collection of stuff I've salvaged from Facebook, as I prepare to completely vaporise my account forever. Cos I am DONE with that shit.
First posted on Monday, February 21, 2011
a little short inspired by a couple I observed in the cafe this morning...
Stupid Bitch
"Stupid Bitch" he said; but not with lips drawn or teeth bared,
"Stupid Bitch" he said; but not with lips drawn or teeth bared,
just the eyes that spoke; louder than his lungs.
She bought his coffee, he swaggered to his seat and there he waited,
Lord of nothing save her heart. Her simple, naive heart
That hoped for nothing save his.
Their coffee drunk, their toast and eggs demolished,
He rose, and spoke his heart's desire.
"Can I have some money then, or what?"
And she, with her simple, naive heart
Gave gladly, hoping that he'd understand.
Hoping he'd appreciate her kindness, return her love...
...stupid bitch.
First posted on Sunday January 23, 2011
Untitled
To see inside the head - that's no great deal; the eyes are mirrors, real reflections of inner directions. But the heart? Now the heart's another thing. To see inside, to hear it sing or sigh = that takes more skill, more time - and time is all we have when all we have is done. A chance to claim the prize and name our price is but a dance; a stance whereby we rise above the fear and breathe and clear our heads and look into the great abyss and know that we're okay with this; the great adventure's just a hand away, and reaching out to what you fear can shear the chains in two and, in doing, free you...
*Addendum November 2011*
I've learnt some things recently. Some people are living, breathing, self-perpetuating tragedies; doomed to write and star in their own downward descent into destruction. You can try and love them with everything it's possible to give, but you'll never change them. Sometimes you have to just walk away and let them perish - otherwise they'll drag you down too...
To see inside the head - that's no great deal; the eyes are mirrors, real reflections of inner directions. But the heart? Now the heart's another thing. To see inside, to hear it sing or sigh = that takes more skill, more time - and time is all we have when all we have is done. A chance to claim the prize and name our price is but a dance; a stance whereby we rise above the fear and breathe and clear our heads and look into the great abyss and know that we're okay with this; the great adventure's just a hand away, and reaching out to what you fear can shear the chains in two and, in doing, free you...
*Addendum November 2011*
I've learnt some things recently. Some people are living, breathing, self-perpetuating tragedies; doomed to write and star in their own downward descent into destruction. You can try and love them with everything it's possible to give, but you'll never change them. Sometimes you have to just walk away and let them perish - otherwise they'll drag you down too...
First posted Thursday February 25, 2011
Untitled
I was born to capture stars;
To keep them safe in sealed jars
Until such time as life grows cold
And brittle; and the new seems old
And little things like smiles and tears
No longer matter much to men
I'll smash the jars, release the stars
And create the universe again.
I was born to capture stars;
To keep them safe in sealed jars
Until such time as life grows cold
And brittle; and the new seems old
And little things like smiles and tears
No longer matter much to men
I'll smash the jars, release the stars
And create the universe again.