Life

It's been hard lately. For most of my time I think. What else is there to do? My days are routine: go to school, play guitar, work out, eat, breath, sleep. I hate it. I hate school. School itself is fine. It is there for a purpose. However, the time wasted infuriates me. School is not me. I was not made for education. I do not want to be in that hell hole. There is no chain that binds me to it. I am an adult. I can leave and get a job if I wanted to. The thought crosses my mind every day. Why don't I? One reason. I may want to become an Officer in the army at a point. I need my L.C. for that. I am even wondering if I want to be in the army or not. I love the world. I love nature. Mountains, rivers, beaches (to an extent), grasslands, forests, jungles, seas, deserts, all of it. I love it all. The sky in all its wonders that are taken for granted. Standing in the thundering rain makes my heart swell. Lightning striking the Earth or racing across the clouds. It's beautiful. The stars and other space creations. Nebulae, planets, suns, moons, asteroids, meteoroids, comets, all of them. Everything. All the works of man can not come close to nature. All we seem to do is strive to copy it thinking we can do better when we can't. We manipulate trying to better the world of tomorrow and throwing our waste on today. Every today we do the same never to touch tomorrow. Never to see the benefits of our alterations of this planet, only to succeed in destroying the only place we have to live. This is what I live for. The world. To trek high into the mountains and shout at the highest peak a wordless cry of freedom that the Earth itself echos back to me in a chorus of admiration for life. Let the wolfskin I wear become real for a few fleeting moments of true happiness. Of true fulfilment and purpose. Let the intellect fade in to nothingness, leaving only the Earth and I to be one. I want to be free. Here, I am not free. I am bound. Here, I and forced into standardised testing, thinking, doing and a standardised life. Here, we are all chained. We march every day through our streets of grey cut stone slabs and see our airbrushed monarchs and deities on magazines and on the T.V. screen. Distractions from the misery we have bought in to. People peer in to the lives of others to ignore their own. Our hunger for technology and mass production combined with scientists that don't know when to stop has led us down this long road. Some try to swim and dive in to life, but they break their necks on the rock bottom of this shallow puddle we all seem to trudge through. People let their bodies turn to shells, uncaring what happens to them. Letting the drugs take hold of them, letting the grease and butter soakings seep in, letting the smoke build its cancers on strong foundations of addiction. I have done drugs, I have smoked, I like the taste of butter on my toast, but I have made the conscious to stop. In a modern world where heart failure is a stones throw away to the closest and cheapest food you wan find, I'm saying "I'll enjoy my little bits, but I will not fall pray." Moderation is the key. It always was the key. Too much is bad. Of anything. Food, drink (not just alcohol you idiots), oxygen, exercise, fat, sugar, fiber, sleep, sex, everything. If you have too much it'll do you harm. Even time. Mortality is the greatest blessing an the greatest curse. We are weak and die easily. Too little of life and you never had a chance. Too much and you lose your zest.
You know I'm right. If I put this much thought into something, I'm rarely, rarely ever wrong about it. It comes with my double-sided sword. Being analytical. I can get things right with a lot of thought. Too much thought and I'm wrong. Thankfully, with this I have thought just enough.

Bye.

She Who Lets Me See Again

Smile for me, make me laugh. For tears are welling in my eyes, making sight so hard to see and I wish to see the sparkling sky. Orion, and great Sirius. Leo and Sagittarius. The nebulae that span a universe, and birth a thousand stars. I wish to hold your hand in mine and stare above in awe of sight that grants to us the power to see, and not to cower, from this spiral view of glitter that contends with you, but flitters, in all its wondrous majesty is dull and dead and dreary. For when those eyes that mesmerise, place their look upon me, I can not help but forget the world and the universe around me. So please, my dear, smile and laugh and keep a lofty heart so demons can not reach and grab and tear its flesh apart. I wished for you, upon a star, that; you would be so happy, in all that life may give to you that you would keep your smile. For in that smile I see your dreams that will not bend, nor break. You, my dear, are strong in will and mind and moral stake. Keep that with you always. As days and days go rolling by, you can look them in the eye and not be jeered nor steered off coarse from all that life can give you. You are you, and none are you, and you are special in my eyes.
So wipe away my tears so I may see you bright and clear.

Tangled Words Set Free

Now don't you regret when I spoke my mind? Hearing all my thoughts of you that seemed kind. But really, I should have kept that opinion of mine secret, enclosed, and constricted in a vine of sensible action and logical fact. On second thought, seeing it replayed like an act, in the same position I'd do it again. Not out of enjoying us being in pain, but simply because, and I'm not to blame, it's simply like suddenly being caught in the rain with no coat, no umbrella, just stuck in the middle, as the street around you turns to a puddle. You try your best to run to a shelter as fast as you can but you're just getting wetter. So if I was to do it again, be in that situation, stuck in a pen, I'd be confounded with words, destroyed by emotion, unknowing if you thought with the same simple notions. But really, I knew. "There is a connection", but nothing that could turn it to a conviction on either of our parts, you're not alone, I don't know how I feel about you as I'm sitting at home pondering, wondering, think, think, thinking about all of the times we've talked, as we were reading the letters and messages and mail sent to both. But I do feel I know you a bit better than most. Not in a "I know your favourite colour" kind of way, but I know how you think. But I still don't know what to say when you're around, when you playfully hit me a pound that barely even hurts but I react like it does and I sprinkle you with dirt. I do it because, "There is a connection". Will it ever be conviction.? So, do you regret when I spoke my mind? Or are you glad I let go of the vine?

Death of Gaia (Luna's Eye)

Moon, oh, moon,
oh, hanging moon,
the bright eye in the sky,
slowly close
and slowly open,
watch your sister die.

During day
you look away,
that's when creep and crawl
out and in,they take it all,
the wretches, born in sin.

"Moon,
my little brother, moon,
watch me as I sleep.
They drill in deep,
they crawl and creep,
they fester in my wound."

"Gaia, Sister,
Mother Earth,
this wish I shall obey.
I will watch you
night after night
until the dawning day."

Moon, sweet moon,
accursed moon,
you stare at Gaia's plight.
The men who kill her
see you there,
but they will never see the light.

Immaculate In Her Fog

"Hey there, little girl, come sit and talk for a while. I've got the time to kill and we haven't talked for a while" She told how she'd run away, how with circumstances she couldn't stay. "I'm just an ordinary girl," she'd say, "I'm really not one to lie." And in truth, if truth be told, not one word was a lie. But this deceit ran deeper in the girl with the black traced eyes.A smile for hiding cuts and scrapes and wounds that run much deeper. "I know the pain that runs through you." But she'll not let me weep for her. A song of sorrow, a melody, that chimed through out my mind. Her voice, the instrument so played, so mellow, soft and kind. However much she hides herself, the girl with the black traced eyes.A mystery unfolds from her, a swirling sea green haze. Perpetuated by two fish, both of uncountable age. The shoreline of her mind is smooth, no rugged rocks there lay. But stones are smoothed by thrashing caused by tempest raging waves. The two, they mingle, then bump in confusion, scared by a trouble, but it was only illusion. A rippled effect from sudden surprise, never portrayed in those black traced eyes.However much the cloud around her twirls and twists and swirls, I can see right through the fog and see the truth of the girl. She looked at me with no disguise, and said not but a word. All she did was stare at me, silently, knowingly, with her black traced eyes.

Thank God

This is great. Finally, I'll be off that stupid website Bebo. Long over due.