Monday, 11 July 2011

Be Careful When Growing Up

"Never say good bye... because good bye means going away and going away means forgetting" 

"She was a lovely lady, with a romantic mind and such a sweet mocking mouth. Her romantic mind was like the tiny boxes, one within the other, that come from the puzzling East, however many you discover there is always one more; and her sweet mocking mouth had one kiss on it that Wendy could never get, though there it was, perfectly conspicuous in the right-hand corner." 

"Why can't you fly now, mother?"
"Because I am grown up, dearest. When people grow up they forget the way."
"Why do they forget the way?"
"Because they are no longer gay and innocent and heartless. It is only the gay and innocent and heartless who can fly." 

"Can anything harm us, mother, after the night-lights are lit?"
Nothing, precious," she said; "they are the eyes a mother leaves behind her to guard her children." 

"There could not have been a lovelier sight; but there was none to see it except a little boy who was staring in at the window. He had ecstasies innumerable that other children can never know; but he was looking through the window at the one joy from which he must be for ever barred." 

"Shall we make a new rule of life from tonight: always try to be a little kinder than is necessary?" 

"If you have it [love], you don't need to have anything else, and if you don't have it, it doesn't matter much what else you have." 

"The reason birds can fly and we can't is simply because they have perfect faith, for to have faith is to have wings." 

"If growing up means it would be beneath my dignity to climb a tree, I'll never grow up, never grow up, never grow up! Not me!" 

"Stars are beautiful, but they may not take an active part in anything, they must just look on for ever. It is a punishment put on them for something they did so long ago that no star now knows what it was. So the older ones have become glassy-eyed and seldom speak (winking is the star language), but the little ones still wonder."

"It is the custom of every good mother after her children are asleep to rummage in their minds and put things straight for next morning, repacking into their proper places the many articles that have wandered during the day. If you could keep awake (but of course you can’t) you would see your own mother doing this, and you would find it very interesting to watch her. It is quite like tidying up drawers. You would see her on her knees, I expect, lingering humorously over some of your contents, wondering where on earth you had picked this thing up, making discoveries sweet and not so sweet, pressing this to her cheek as if it were as nice as a kitten, and hurriedly stowing that out of sight. When you wake in the morning, the naughtinesses and evil passions with which you went to bed have been folded up small and placed at the bottom of your mind; and on the top, beautifully aired, are spread out prettier thoughts, ready for you to put on." 

Tuesday, 24 May 2011

Good Winter

I can't wait for this man's new album to come out. He has a way of enchanting, lyrically, melodically and musically.  I have to say that I aspire to write music the way he does. Somehow it makes you think, it makes you dream, it makes you feel. You escape for a little while, and feel a little stronger for it. He has a pretty sweet beard too. Maybe one day I'll be like him. Fun Fact: Bon Iver is derived from Bon Hiver, the French words for Good Winter.

Monday, 2 May 2011


There have been a number of instances lately where I have been required to converse...nothing unusual, just small talk, your usual day-to-day banter. For some reason though, I just can't bring myself to talk. I think I've been feeling, for a little while now, like there is no real point to this superficial act, I would only talk about meaningless trivia. I had the opportunity to speak to someone who I greatly admire recently, but when the time came, I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I had nothing considerable to bring to the table, I would have just gushed about how good this person was (which I'm sure they hear all the time) and then spoken about myself for a little while, at the end both of us would have left gaining nothing from the experience, in this case it was better to never have said anything at all, than to speak drivel. It sounds selfish and perhaps anti-social, but a lot of the time, I would rather just sit in silence. I'm not saying that I'm against conversation, quite the opposite in fact, I guess I'm looking for deeper, more substantial speech, something challenging and inspirational. Don't get me wrong, I don't think I'm above my current conversations, and I'm not saying the current topics are meaningless, they can be just as important. I just don't feel content for some reason, like there's something more important to talk about; dreams, and sadness, and passions, and fears, and adventure, and loss, and creativity, and beauty, and love. Questions need to be answered, and there isn't time to waste, the world needs to be admired, and this superficiality takes our attention away. I don't mean to sound too deep either, this attitude could bring us very close to being boring, and I think humour, and laughter are some of the most important aspects of living our lives to their potential. I guess I alluded to the best way I can describe it a little earlier; I feel discontent, and I think that's healthy, I think too many people are content, and will never see, hear, taste, smell or feel the fullness of what this world has for them, not that I'm saying I ever will. I'm just saying that maybe there is too much talking, and not enough sitting in silence together, maybe there are not enough people who hold their tongue when they should, maybe there is not enough desire to engage each other on a more important level. Maybe there is and I'm the one that has the problem. I guess that's a discussion for another time ;)

Saturday, 30 April 2011


Your star was set alight, a satellite, giving us direction as it fell out of the sky. A burning ball, a wishing well, we gazed upon its beauty as upon our own reflection. You read it’s death as if it carried meaning, but if this star just fell in line, our life would be a world apart. It burned out bright, but only for a moment, before it lost its spark, then all was dark, and nothing but a remnant of what used to be a roaring fire, that would inspire all of us who ever had a dream, to catch this very star, as it tore from all that held it and raced out from the heavens to see another side. The heavens waved goodbye, knowing that the sun would not complete, but compete and steal it’s light. This is nothing new, like a victim chasing truth; a star will set out every day, discovering a whole new world. A pity, it won’t survive, for if it could it would signal the rest of us and beckon “follow suit”, yet we, with dreams accomplished, would still feel unfulfilled. Fantasy is that which asks us to desire the impossible, but takes away control, to believe, even inconceivable things, and with that roll away our current state of reality. Such is with the flame that’s become your shooting star, who desires to be freed from what it was created to be, from form, circumstance, responsibility. We all know, however, that it’s true, a star’s place is the night sky, it’ll find no better home, it’ll find no better role, it’ll find no greater fulfillment, than providing its own specific, generic talent. As we gaze upon your star, ever present, trustworthy, we find a beauty, more dazzling than daytime, for your star can show the twinkle in it’s eye. And all is right again; your actor takes his place, one of many extraordinary works of luminescence.

Monday, 28 March 2011


"Love is the total surrender of your heart to another person with the security of knowing they will treat it better than you will."- Unknown

You can never be forced to surrender. You can be convinced to surrender, but you cannot be made. There can be circumstances that compel you to surrender, but you cannot be forced. A gun held to your lover’s head could compel you to surrender, but the choice is always yours.

If love is surrender, then it is a choice.

The heart is a fragile thing. It can become calloused through mistreatment, or it can become cold if it is kept locked away. If it is calloused, it is because the mind’s desire was that its heart should never be cold. If it is cold, it was the desire of the mind that it should not become calloused.

It is certain that every heart will feel the chill of being hidden away at one point, and that every heart will become a little hardened for exposing itself; it is for this reason that the mind fights to find not just an equal, but one who will exceed it’s own capabilities, one that will hide our heart away, and set it free all at the same time. One that gives you the security of knowing that they will treat it far better than you will.

I have this theory; that if your sole focus is on another’s wellbeing, and if theirs is on yours, then you will both be looked after. It is not two halves that make a whole, it is two wholes that secure each other, that perfect each other. I believe that this is love; the choice to surrender your heart to another, with the security of knowing they will treat it better than you will.

Friday, 25 March 2011

Certainly Certainty

i'm soaked to the skin
as the rain begins
to pour, to cascade
our beds are unmade
so we don't have to lie
we don't have to struggle
our weaknesses die
they give us no trouble
certainty certainly
confuses our minds, you see
our hearts are made up
but our heads can't keep up  
decisions are made for us, 
by us, despite us
despise all you want
but the cup is half drunk
and so are you, and you need to finish it
complete, and utter
the words, devastation, 
forgiveness, frustration, 
redemption, elation
that soak to the skin
the world closes in
and we realize that we were right to believe
what our hearts had conceived
but our minds hadn't seen
for it's always the way
that our heart knows what's best
and certainly certainty
doesn't add up
to happiness 

Wednesday, 23 March 2011

The Shining Light

The laws of love describe a time, 
When all my faults and all my crimes
Would pale in significance, 
The shining light, my positives
For love is patient, live is kind, 
There is no envy and no pride
Perfect love can’t be withheld, 
Now traitors turn and run,
While you’re able, have your fun

Friday, 11 March 2011


Sometimes I just get on a train at night time and keep going until I feel like turning around and coming back home. It gives me time to think, and I see some beautiful things. My favorite is going over the Sydney Harbour Bridge and seeing the lights of Luna Park, and the Opera House. It makes me feel lucky. People visit Sydney so they can see these things, and I get to see them every day.

I think everyone needs to stop, and let something, be it a train, or a river, or laying down on the grass and seeing the clouds pass by, but everyone should let something take them, carry them, and to
take the opportunity to stare at the things around them. The shapes, the colours, the creativity in opposition to, and at the same time in perfect harmony with order. It makes you feel lucky that you have been witness to beauty, and maybe even sometimes a participant in beauty.

Monday, 7 March 2011

Lonely Ship

I fear that I will always be 
A lonely ship upon the sea 
On mighty waves I do abide 
The roaring winds will be my guide 

The things that I am searching for 
The things that I wish to adore 
Will not be found in current state 
Nor ever will if at this rate 
I do not hear the distant call 
I do not see the flagships tall 

But even though it doth call me 
To live a life that sets me free 
I choose not to acknowledge it 
That flagships on horizon sit 

“We walk two different paths”, I chide 
But from these voices I must hide 
Must not be found, Must not be free 
For hence the victim I must not be 

For fear of this I run away 
If not, it’s me that I must face 
Acknowledging that all those wrongs 
‘Twas I, not them that dwelt upon 
“Forgive and forget” is what they say 
Yet I’m not obliged at all that way 

For in my mind I still do fight 
For myself and what I hold as right 
While these things may be true 
It seems no matter what I do 
Others don’t know the same as me 
They don’t see things as I do see 

For if they did then they might know 
Of what the things that I do stow 
Open up when I recall 
The terrible storm, the terrible squall 
That plagues my conscience, that plagues my soul 
Of days gone by, pains take their toll 

“Courage”, they say, “Courage my dear” 
“You’ll get through these things, have no fear” 
I begin to believe it, I begin to trust 
In myself, in my strength, in my own cut and thrust 
Yet then I remember my faults and my flaws 
And that sea-monsters fight with their armour and claws 

I’d fight for others, but I’m too distant now 
From port, from starboard, from stern, from bow 
It seems that through no will of my own 
I’m isolated, yet it seems fear hasn’t grown 
To be all alone is what I seem to strive, 
For this shows me that I’m still half alive 

But more than alive is what I want to be 
More than alive, more than the sea 
I search for the things that I know I need more 
I search for the things that I should search for 
What are those things that I know that I need? 
What are those things, where’s the sower and seed? 
But could these ungraciously rebound? 
And turn on me whence they are found? 

The things that are my hearts desire 
The things I know will be my fire 
Could burn me up as they catch sight 
of weakness. They could catch alight 
If I give them any chance to seize 
Upon my own humanities 

But what if all I said was wrong 
In courage did I find belong 
a fire that on what did feed? 
Not weakness, but upon the need 
To fight for what I did believe 
To search for those who called on me 

Instead of isolate, regroup 
To mend and fix, repair the troupe 
In course I may also be restored 
In course I’d find a dock to be moored 
Forevermore leaving the turbulent waters 
That carried us on but could never support us 

If I never take charge of mine own enemy 
I’m sure that I will always be 
A lonely ship upon the sea 
On who else may it be but me? 
I must still play a part in all 
That’s planned for me once curtains fall

Hollywood Boulevard

A few weeks ago I travelled to Los Angeles. I went just for a holiday, just because I could. I met a few cool people, and I saw a few cool things. I went to Disneyland, California Adventure and Universal Studios. Hollywood Boulevard, however, held the most interesting stories, so I'll skip to that part. 

There were many characters, some recognisable, some not. There was Spiderman, and Captain America, there were rappers, or as my good friends Bret and Jermaine call them, RAPists, but I would like to draw your attention to one in particular. He is probably the only man who could get away with grabbing his crotch in public, and he did so on many occasions, at least five times in the five minutes I was there. It seems Michael Jackson is alive and well, he didn't look like his usual self though, but then again, what was his usual look? 

This reminds me, while walking Hollywood Boulevard, I stumbled across Madame Tussaud's Wax Museum. It was hard taking photos of myself with the wax figures, even with my iphone, on which I can see myself, and I bet it was even harder for the lady with a dodgy digital camera that looked like it had been won in one of those claw machines. Before long i was wrangled into taking photos of said lady, which wasn't too bad, because she took my photos for me. It seems that it wasn't this lady's first time to a Madame Tussaud's. I was informed that she travels from her hometown of Brooklyn, NY to all of the Madame Tussaud's Wax Museums in the country, regularly. Not only does she take photos with the wax figures, but she always makes sure that she is doing exactly the same pose as the character. So, it took a while, but the overweight, middle-aged woman finally made it up onto the table and positioned herself, lying down next to Cleopatra. Towards the end, I believe it was George Clooney, who caused this lady to really get excited. I was informed that, along with this lady's ex-husband, she always takes photos of herself grabbing the wax figures' crotches. So who had to take the photo of this woman, performing this indecent act on an unsuspecting wax figure? It was a shock that I am only still recovering from. But I digress.

A few years ago there were rumours going around, about the man behind (or inside to be precise) my beloved Barney the Dinosaur, keeping drugs in, and distributing them from his tail. Well I saw Barney on Hollywood Boulevard, he didn't look like he was up to any good. 

Neither, it seemed, were Elvis and Marilyn Monroe, who offered me an opportunity to take a picture with them, which I took up, "I might as well experience all that Hollywood Boulevard had to offer me" I thought. I was then bailed up for money from Elvis, they lived off tips after all, so I forked out money to him "Oh Marilyn needs some too", and pretty soon I didn't have a lot of money left. So it started me thinking, how easy would it be to make money by wearing a costume in downtown LA? So I went and bought some leather pants, a crocodile skin vest and an Akubra and that night I worked a corner on Hollywood Boulevard...and I made a hell of a lot of money. I did a few things that I'm not proud of, and there are probably some pictures out there that I wouldn't like to get out, but I made a killing.

To be honest I didn't actually do that...but imagine it, ok don't imagine, but consider the idea, how much money could Crocodile Dundee make if Crocodile Dundee could make money, which he can. 

There were many more characters, like that one guy...but that's another story.