Worship

In the beginning
He's said to have loved
Loved so much the man who was sinning

Out of nothing man came
His wife much the same
So she he would blame
for his wrong-doing
God saw this
and wept
and wept
and wept

Resolved and unshaken he made a plan
To become flesh, to be a man

Resolved and unshaken he made a plan
To become flesh, to be a man

Blood was shed
And disciples fled
But there you hung on the cross
Dying and dead, a life, a loss
A Saviour A king
In Glory you rose


Resolved and unshaken he made a plan
To become flesh, to be a man

Resolved and unshaken he made a plan
To become flesh, to be a man

Our righteous banner, our glorious King,
All mighty All love, All Angels will sing
To He who can Judge
We ask you provide
Take us, the lost, and be our guide
Almighty, All Glory to you our God


Resolved and unshaken he made a plan
To become flesh, to be a man

Resolved and unshaken he made a plan
To become flesh, to be a man


You who are worthy of praise
With us your Helper stays
Move us
and Love us
Take us with you
Move us, Love us
Take us with you
Only you can make me new.

The Mercy of Chase

The dire response of the rabid dog
The tired retreat of the school girl.

Matted fur chasing bobbing hair,
pounding iron tendons race to ensnare,
small rubber soles can carry one but not fast enough,
before teeth a life to snuff.

Cold blood rushing through veins
Dress now covered in mud stains
A cold sweat laces each lung
At the sound of its lapping tongue

O greyhound major, the neighbourhood terror,
wherefore lay your master's hand?
What punishment should you withstand,
for causing the innocent to tremor?

Your teeth clasp at His forearm
Like a tongue grasps a barb
In His eyes he sees no cause for alarm
Retreat, savage beast
For your teeth are brittle
So they will never whittle
away
His judgement.

Fall back and fall away
Into darkness and dismay
Be cast into fire
Be lost into flame
Drown in the deepest mire
Until your demeanor is tame.

What of the girl?
And her turbulent hear.
It can rejoice again
in the arms of her father
Now, and then.

.You who sustain me
Are the one who has perpetuated it all
Oceans like mist
Mountains like footstools
Stars like dust

Beat-Beat-Beat goes my heart
With the same rhythm
You intended
From the start

Only you can bring rivers to the desert
To make life spring out of dry earth

Only you can give flight to fire
To make the fallen never tire

I will be your soldier
Incredible and weak
My strength is yours
But Your strength is mine
Who else can turn a meek smile
into a weapon
powerful enough to inspire awe in the most
marveled men

Only you, Lord.

It's because of you that I like many things,
From the brightness of the full moon
to the way that women can sing,
and oh, I'd learn to love it all to soon,
From tall beach houses
To cold winter days,
From old Church hymns,
To modern melodies,
From walks in the Capital
To a swim in the sunset
From a hard day's work
To a good night's rest

But you lead me away
From fable and fantasy
To Truth and Reality

That is the greatest gift
I have received

dreampost

The fade out of a glossy white air
A pushing caused by utter despair

I open my eyes to see into yours,
Like a child opening curious doors

The Ghost Girl

Speak to me, you long-haired ghost,
With your speech sadder than most.

Invisible are you to all of flesh and blood,
But I who you scared into the mud.

Are you alone because you are unseen?
Then let me see you.
Are you alone because you are unheard?
Then let me hear you.
Are you alone because you are not spoken to?
Then hear me.

Alone is good and alone is fine,
No need to mope, moan or whine.

Be content with the whispers of flowers,
And with the heights of mountain towers.

Celebrate the atoning moon of the night,
See the day birds and night owls and envy their flight.

Rejoice in the rising sun of the day's start,
Smile for the wants and tugs of your
More-than real heart.

The Doorperson.

Hold the door open, just a jar,
Just a little longer, I'm not that far.

I'll smile a little sweeter just to say,
That holding that door a little longer
Could make my day.

I'll greet you and thank you,
and introduce myself,
I've done it before, you did too.

But this time we'll mean it,
And make plain to our sight,
Our intentions, dreams, and plight.

So hold that door a little longer,
I'm making my way,
The fact that you held on a little stronger,
Kept me from going astray.

Silence is the language of our love
It is the nexus of our disengagement
Like space is really the black between the stars above
Passion is the hope that fills each lament
Each moment forsaken of its sound
So very hard-hitting and profound.

We have not the parroting of song and phrase
Rather, I have but the lingering hopes of words in silence
And a knowledge that despite all solitude, stays
By no warrant do I have the license
To dream of that which we do not speak

By no reason or doubt that one can see
Can I say that you are not speaking
With me.

.High upon your wooden throne
you sit entrenched.
Your scalp covered with a crown of stone
to show you're hard-hard-headed.

Sing sing sing sing
For the Lady's heart
You know, know, know know that
you didn't stand a chance from the start

Mercy ain't a killing game
And it's not another word for power
It's just not the same
not even close
Try it when you're stuck
Knee-deep in muck in need of a re-
Start
Start
Start

I can keep on

Walking through the open space
of the room where I see your face

Every sixth sun of the week
I watch my chances grow bleak

In my head I run around rooms
Thinking of all the pains and glooms

That await me behind every mistake
Or every stupid face I make

Eye contact

Look away, brush back hair
Turn away, pretend you don't care

Look back, unprepared
Hopeful, yet scared

Eye contact

Panic: systems are go
Cheeks: reddest glow

Eye contact

Something to get me out unscathed
Stickin' my tongue out to say I made it.

Outside

Slam of fists and a non-judicial fight
Anything to get my concern out of sight

Pitiful excuse for a man, ungentle
Code of honour and shining armour
Dismantle.

My mistake was to run
to hide
But that indeed did coincide
With my fear
To not have you near.

So I say sorry.
Not because you're right.
And not because I'm wrong.
But because any plight
Is bigger than my ego
And my choice outweighs
My little dismays.

I am
so tall
and blooming
not everlasting
but i may try
and try and
try i
will.
keep
on
gro
wing
down
down
down
into the roots
where water seeps in
and nourishes truths
away from the sun
and burning heat
away from the sun
and the friends we'll meet
one day we'll climb
but for now
we grow

He of Saving

A chest like mine
With ripples of flesh and blood,
Biding its time
Before time's end
Clutched 'tween it's awkward matter
Are deep-seated hates that none do flatter

This heart-laden burden is none too rare,
This sorrow-maiden voyage does little to care
For brother and sister
Companion and friend.

It does not discriminate
It does not limit itself
In growth or spate

Consuming till I myself am consumed
Presuming till I myself am presumed
Lost, forgotten or doomed.

But You did not listen
You did not care
You did not fear
The marble-thick walls that I built up
Or the bite-barking wolf-beast that I trained
To you the walls were sandcastles
And the monster a mere pup.

Like music in the air you called,
Like a shepherd his lamb you hauled
me.

Avaste.

Expose yourself a little more
Let others your soul explore

Grab the brass of the door knob
Turn it quick and hear the lock bob

The creaking and clicking of mechanical devices
Their inward curious-peeking it entices

There you are on a table fresh and bare
Like the midday hen or the dinner hare

Your inner workings cleverly inspected
The pump of your heart and the blood it's directed

Lightly lifting the little lid
Hearing the heavy thoughts of your head

The deepest of your intimate feelings
The strongest of your inner reelings

Disposing yourself of all your wayward tumours
Exposing yourself to all their awkward humours

Lighting candle-borne flame to your muddy glass
Sighting themselves to your societal class

There posed on a mantelpiece at which they marvel
Like the strong sculpted mass of statue marble

So dearly deprived of dim-lit livings
Of clandestine creations not meant for giving

But free are you now to reflect
And spot yourself clean, without defect.

Now your clarity of mind you can implore
Expose yourself, not a minute more.

What wayward hurt is this,
What terrible fated twist,
What discord of angels song
And Ballad of thieves,
Playing in the night by the waters,
Like minstrels from the King's Quarters
besieged and
unmused
do they play.
Stung by obscurity's callousness
and drugged blind by the uncaring,
Glances and fatalistic staring,
Unrivalled Unparalleled,
Uncalled for and dispelled.
What rhythm of heart
Have I missed?
And what love have I,
Unkissed,
by you.

To falter not

It saddens me to think
That I never fashioned a link

Strong enough to withstand
Free enough for a hold of my hand

And yours

It maddens me to to know you'll never laugh
at my stupid jokes
And  tendons do lock up so very tough
Knowing it could all be one big hoax.

But it's not.

To balance cards on a string
Like a Magician the hearts of his audience
Anxiety, excitement and all those things you bring
Are the consequence of obedience.

Obedient not to my mind
Which thinks and thinks
Till I've gone blind.

But to my heart
Which feels and wants
And dreams and fulfils
Right from the start

Pangs of jealousy when all the art
And Literature and music and more
Summon names that find their way
Into the life you live so full of lore

Not one brushstroke and not one word
Not one song played and not one note heard
Not one thought and not one heartbeat
Makes you think of me.

But then when we step out of make believe
Next to each other, hand in hand
We make work of our great retrieve
With one flash of sapphire eyes
In but one instant, my knotted stomach unties
Unfolds
Unwinds
Beholds

Be kind.

Weeping Harp

What waning minutes
Feel like the trespassing of hours
Is it when the daylight is fading
Or when moonlight is passing?

Or is it perhaps
When your touch is fleeting
And your eyes look elsewhere
And my heart still beating; waits
for our next
meeting.

The wails of Senoh but mirror
Poorly at that
The sound of my skin as it calls so sweetly
For another chance with which you'll cheat me
Out of one more kiss
Out of one more sky-ward glance
Out of that desperate last chance to fare well.

lal.

I don't know what to tell you. I'm good? You okay? Hey, where have you been? Did I do something wrong? Oh you shouldn't have! Really, hah! See you soon? Talk to you later! BRB! You frustrate me. You make me smile. You're awesome. Bye. Goodbye.


I love you.

I love you so much, I think I'll tell you a little story.

There once was a Crowned King of a Country
Who carried out Royal and Regal Duties, Regularly.

But as his workload grew more and more in abundance
Stress would stress-in and stress out until the King doth wince

Hitherto, the young King managed to perform every other deed
But it became apparent and evident that he needed a trust Steed.

So the King went to the Royal Stables
And found most fit a steed for his future fables.

The King mounted the horse and commanded its will
Through harsh summer months and the cold winter chill

But once the King's health faltered and he lost grip on the reins
The Steed took over through exploiting the Kings Pains.

The Steed followed itself whilst the King's slumber
The columns of the Palace broken asunder

Aye, steadfast is the battle for dominion between the King and his Horse.
Aye, constant is the struggle between the Mind and the Heart.

Climate Code Green Campaign - the impact of Climate Change on health (am...

Today, I came across something that irked me.
Nay, today I saw something that scared and annoyed me, incredibly

Thank you, de-motivator google!

What I found, personettes and peoplethings, was a cameraman and a 'journalist' of a women conducting a vox pop outside my school gate. Nothing out of the ordinary, right? After all, there are plenty of people pouring in and out of the gates every hour, and trickling in between--so naturally one would conduct a vox pop there, especially for something like Wednesday evening news.
Alas, to my grand, sodding dismay the woman was asking students 'if they drink alcohol.' Students above the legal age for alcohol consumption who live in a culture where drinking is normal and not really frowned upon at all.
Next up, Newsy Newsperson tells us that Water is Wet. More on that, after the break. This is Stupid McStupidface on L-Ahbaliried.
Honestly, asking youths about alcohol? How shallow can we get? Is there *really* nothing more important to talk about? Is this the extent of tele-journalism, brainwashing and spin? Is this really all that the youths should be asked about, do we not have any other questions to be asked?

Regression at its best, media.

To Another

I know a friend called Ben Kaffar
In some years time he'd be driving his Car
To many a festival where he'll play guitar

He'll play his sing-song tunes
To riff-raff beats
And sing his blue-bird lyrics
Many a stage he shall see
A famous man he will be

But oh, Dear Ben, it's been so long
Have you learned right from wrong?
Do people plague you with social etiquette
and cause you to worry and fret?

Don't be down, old bean
For in time, pain won't be seen!
Rejoice and dance with yourself
Put those doubts on the shelf

And set it aflame, ablaze, asunder

Let confidence roar like thunder!

That is it, I am spent
Perhaps in time I shall have some coin
With which to spend on more than rent

**

There is a man, Matthias the Kentzia

The man, the legend, the 'bestja'.

A man made to dare

Chest brazen with many a hair

Of Germanic descent and Maltese blood

Miles above those who live in the mud

Lover of Discipline and Imperium belief

With many a person he holds a beef

Some of these people he knows their face

The rest, one day, their IP he'll trace

They'll rue the day they fragged his ass

They'll wish they had a more respectable class

Thundering down with the raffica, akimbo

He'll leave you in martyrdom's limbo!

To Elaine!

He loves you
it's true
he made this sing-song to tell you the truth
like superman taking you into his booth

hipster fashion and pop culture jokes
it's when it matters that he chokes!

see the tell tale signs of love-stricken eyes
look deep, pray tell, don't be petrified

by his double-beat thumping heart
through his life a map you must chart

through thick and thin stick with him
when the lights are bright or even dim

lest there be darkness to fight within
lest there be troubles and you let them win!

I came to pay a visit; it's my turn to be kind
So open up young lady; let me into your mind

Take me past level one and two
Take me deeper where blue is not blue

Take me past level three and four
Where gravity makes sense no more

Take me past level five and six
Where reality can no longer play its tricks.

When you take me and when I get there
I will, after all this, tell you how much I care

We'll walk over bridges and have lovely talks
In reaches were doubt can no longer stalk

Where Autumn trees are the Summer norm
Where Spring birds in the snow can form

We'll laugh and cry and laugh again
I'll hold you in my arms, my old friend.

Let us dive into the river brown
So we can reach that rustic town

Lull me into that deep deep sleep
Where I count the android sheep

Luck will follow us no better
Than rain can make the sun wetter

It is there, O lady, where we can and will be.

I want critique.

The snow-coated beach asks for nothing. It holds its Summer memories but is ready to embrace the stabbing winds and blanketing waves of snow of a Canadian Winter. It's non-expectant, it's ambitious, it's... dare I say, human. It is constantly engaged with the grey skies that come with the season, in a dialouge more engaging than lover's quarrel.

I've always liked snow-beaches though, they've enchanted me since childhood, longer than I've liked girls I'd say. Yeah, that sounds about right; a good long time ago. There I stood, a figure of blacks and grays, draped with layers of clothing shaped by my pea coat. I remember how I wore that woolen hat to hid my greasy, matted hair, thinking I'd see no one and nothing of significance. Had I seen myself though, I would've felt nothing but pity.

At the edge of the shore, by the lighthouse, was a girl in teals and bright greens, she stood out more than me. I'd learn her name sometime later. Not then though, no, I knew I wasn't meant to then. I drew my name in the sand with a yardstick I found by some rocks, gave a look to the horizon and then to the girl. After that, I left. I walked up the wooden staircase out of the beach and onto the trail, and I walked that trail. Right up to my car, I got in hastily, eager to turn on the heat. After letting the heat reach my fingers and de-misting the windows I drove off to my home. I missed it.

I didn't slack, I has photblag, see?!

The Tale. Pt. I

. THE TALE OF AIDEN DAES; THE GUTSY CHILD


The children galloped and scurried on the turf-covered ground of the playground. They went round on the merry-go-round, slid down the slide, swung on the swings and took delight in candied foods. But the children did not, however, talk to the blond child by the tree. That child was the village's burden, an orphan fed and housed by the makeshift welfare state. All the children would mock him and shun him, because all the adults would tell them to. Aiden didn't know why, nor did he think it mattered. To him, that was their way, and he was fine with it.
But why was their way causing him so much harm? Why would he clutch his chest every time a parent will pull their child away from his sight?
"I never hurt them," he'd say, "but it's their way."


As the children walked home with the sun, Aiden stayed at the playground counting the falling Autumn leaves. One by one he'd count them, going down, down and down. Slowly they'd fall from a great height, but they wouldn't even dent; it amazed and astounded him. He was snapped out of his gaze, for the leaves were hidden by the moonless night.
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" He yelped as soon as he realised how late he had stayed out. "How'd I not see the freaking sun set?! It's the sun! Seriously!"
He pushed himself up with his hand and got up and started scrambling to get home, he didn't live far, he thought, but he had to hurry.


By the small pizzeria two corners from his house, was a broken street lamp. He was familiar with the street lamp, for some reason it's been broken for weeks. He'd hate having to walk by it, he'd always get the darkest of feelings in the pit of his stomach. He'd tell himself the street lamp was growing stones in his belly, and that he should stop passing through. It was as he was warning himself of the gut-wrenching feeling that he saw two figures under the street lamp grappling each other--fighting. As he inched closer he saw that the aggressor was a man and the victim the woman. He got closer still and recognised the woman as Ms. Packerton, his school teacher.


Ms. Packerton always took care of Aiden, she made sure he wasn't bullied at school she shared her lunch with him when he couldn't afford any and she always scolded him when he was mischievous. It was when he was remembering all that she had done for him that he felt a fire in his heart and tears on his toes.


Aiden charged, bearing a sky-tearing, God-fearing cry in his lungs; and it exploded out of him like a star out of the sky. He launched himself onto the bewildered man's back and dug his finger into his shoulders and ribs. The man wavered and swore, bashing Aiden into the lamp post. Aiden bit down on the man's neck, but the man did not take this kindly, and retaliated. The boy's back and the red-brick walls met in a heavy thud. Aiden fell to the ground in agony.


The man stood over the boy and kicked him in the stomach, but someone forgotten is someone to be wary of. Ms. Packerton gave her last-ditch effort. She threw a rock, with all her might, directly at the man's lower back. The man growled and turned his gaze to her. He walked towards the Middle school teacher, his steps tick-tocking away at the cement pavement. Slowly and meticulously he took in the victory that was teasing his fingertips.
"You shouldn't have done that, I could do this town a favour by killing that monster and get with a fine piece of ass like you in one night. Now, I might have to kill you just so you don't go yapping your whore mouth off."
He raised his hand and it hung in the air, loosely, before tensing his taut muscles and bringing it down upon Ms. Packerton.


But Ms. Packerton's skin did not break, and her bone did not crack.

Like a winged statue, Aiden held the arm of the man with one hand. His body was tense, but his eyes were relaxed. His resolve was solid and his will was ablaze. The man was confused and angry, and he shouted questions at the young boy who's endured so much.
"Why do you even care about this bitch?! You're risking your life for a person who hates you, like everyone else!"
"Because Ms. Packerton is my friend. And I will protect my friends; because that is my way!"


The man finally saw what a strong soul Aiden has when he looked him in the eye. But it was too late, for Aiden had launched his fist into the man's stomach. The man jarred and fell to the ground, his arms clamping onto his abdomen.


"Aiden..." Ms. Packerton began to utter, "...why didn't you run away?"
"Because," Aiden began, "Love came down, and rescued me."

And that floating consciousness, like a pearly bubble of undisturbed thought, floated in a black ink which shared its eternal space with an indiscernible shade of blue. It was stark, save for that sphere of dreams.


And it burst. From the orb of minds a plethora of colours reached and spun outwards, forming tentacles and networks of colours; like radiant veins in the blackness of infinity. A supernova of consciousness pierced the space of self. The Reds arranged themselves above and around, the Oranges darted below, the Yellows shot and branched out of the ground, the Greens took flight and broke through the sky, the Blues stood over all as obelisks, the Indigos scattered and scurried across the ground and the Violets covered large portions of the ground, moving back and forth in perpetual motion.


I suppose I should fill you in a little, you just picked this up and all you got was a very intimate moment with a dream that was arbitrarily picked from my Dream Logs. I had this dream a long, long time ago. Listen, sometimes in life, it's the first things that make themselves apparent to you which are the most important. You don't realise it at the time, but it always is. The thing is, that we humans are resistant to the idea of foreshadowing outside of films or books. We just always like to think that we want will come true; regardless of previous signs already rejecting this.


Sometimes though, it's the disregard of a sign, but the following of that raw, gut instinct that helps us see through the day. This particular morning, also.
" 'Ello, Benjamin." I heard from behind me. Funny thing, instincts, they're not wrong that often.
"Hey there, Roberts."


Wesley Roberts was one of the most distasteful, disgusting and dishonest men one would ever meet. Sure, his hair is going gray and his skin is getting wrinklier, but his wallet gets fatter and his lackies get bigger. In number and brutish qualities.


"You owe me an eye." he said, bursting at the seems with authority.


"And you owe me a life."


 Do you ever get that feeling of instant regret after opening your mouth for no real reason whatsoever? No? Well, it's kind of like feeling your balls retract all the way up to your oesophagus and build a cottage up there for the winter. I apolgise to all ladies reading this, I don't know what it'd feel like for a woman, but I assume it's just as bad.


"This is industrial London, Benjamin, and most of my money is made off of bricks and mortar, as you know. Every man in this city interested in owning any property, any man with wide-eyed dreams of opening a business in any shape or form, and many other such men, can be bent over by yours truly."


"You're out of luck then aren'tcha? I'm not interested in any 1 square inch of land in this city." Oh, I'm outdoing myself this morning. Wesley Roberts stood there, staring at me through his dark-lensed Ray Bans with contempt, or so I thought, until he sported the biggest shit-eating grin I've ever seen a man sport.


"Oh, you'd think that, wouldn't ya? You see, every so often I find someone who has something I want. Now, I'd normally just go about the usual methods to get what I want from such a man, but sometimes I make us of other methods. They're a little rough around the edges, but I think that makes them especially efficient."


Oh... shit.

The Natural yet Somewhat Less-Useful Internet.

I have not posted in a while. I call that dedication. Oh yes.

In case you haven't noticed, NEW LAYOUT, if you already noticed, awesome now get with the others and celebrate the new layout. Free chicken wings for all.

So a while ago I was thinking, and I had a thought. A thought that I found to be quite deep.

What did I do?

I did what any pseudo-intellectual would--post it on my facebook.

You can hug the whole freakin' world. That's awesome, hug the word and everyone on it. You can look at the moon and think 'wow, there are other people avoiding coursework just to look at the moon; like I am!'

Just last night I was looking at and pondering about said moon. Then my friend, who's studying for her A levels just sends me a text, telling me how beautiful the moon is. Now there's only two explanations for this.

1. I told her I was going to look at the moon.
2. She saw my reflection in the moon (and thus has ocular powers I should ask her about)

So, that's all for now, I got a bigger post to bring so GET READY.

Or don't, I know I wouldn't hold my breath or anything. You can't wait for dedication

/procrastination

Barefoot for a day

Barefoot for a day



Hell yeah.

The Teatime String Theory.

I'm probably one of the only people who thinks that (and I await a facebook group to defy me)somewhere, some day a future me will confront me thanks to time travel (and my characteristic and diligent following of rules)and it will be comforting to know that time travel was made possible and that my future is probably pretty cool.

I shouldn't think too much though, for my head will hurt with all the pondering and whatnot. Besides, then I'd have 0.02 less material in my current book, 'The Quantum Travelling of Time, Space and Being with a side of Chips'.

It's a working title.

But yeah, today I was on the bus and there was this guy who looked a bit like an older, socially awkward me (I guess having access to the Internet with cybernetic eyes would make one less inclined to venture outside, then again, why would a shut-in civilian of the Internet decide to venture outside of his own dimensi- DAMN IT I'M OVER-THINKING AND WASTING GOOD MATERIAL). Right, where was I? Ah, yes, future me. No, he was pretty cool overall, gave up his seat for old people (the seat next to mine) as soon as I was about to get up. He also walked right up to the Junior college ATM alongside me. And I swear he gave me a few, discreet glances which screamed 'Oh yeah that's me, man I was so cool. I want to talk to him but that could be dangerous HMM OH DANG'.
Not only that, but he didn't actually use the ATM, he just waited in line. Clearly a man from the future won't have a current savings account he'd need to withdraw from.

That's not over-thinking, that's rationalisation!

I really felt like blogging before vlogging (I love how the v and b are right next to each other on the QWERTY keyboard, totally not atrocious to type offhand/blindfolded.)

I think I've used enough brackets for the day. So, to you, I bid an adieu. <3

(Have you noticed I started watching The Big Bang Theory?)