Some Boys Just Don't Make The Cut

He loved her with more of himself
Than he had anyone before
But alas! She had more love to give
So still she loved him more

If The Wicked...

If the wicked mustn't rest
Then I shall not close my eyes
I will saunter like I'm always drunk
My tired face, my great disguise
If the wicked mustn't tire
No pillow shall ever meet my head
My mischief shall have the best of me
For I can sleep once I am dead

Jessica

Tonight a friend asked me to write of her
She said it in jest, but are these not truths we merely disguise
My dear dear friend, her name is Jessica
I just thank goodness, I rarely write in rhyme
So this dear girl, she is petite and feisty
With sapphire eyes that cut like diamonds
Hair, black as onyx and wild as the jungle
You'd take her everywhere in your pocket
If you didn't fear that she might bite
So this Jessica, that I choose to write of
She's one of the inspirations behind all that I do
I wish I was cooler, more calm and collected
When near her I think, "I want to be more like you"
She encourages with a fierceness
I've rarely ever encountered
Not empty words, but thought through and through
She tells me the books, films, and music
That I need to immerse in
She listens as I rattle off
My illegitimate points of view
To many she's been a saviour
A conquerer on their behalf
Through their headaches, confusions
Their darkest moments in darkest dark
To others a lover
But now only to one
Whom she speaks of without negativity
Just pride, honour, and love
She will hyphenate the names
Of the next generation
Because nothing she does can be done by someone else
So to my dearest dearest Jessica
Please take this, a mere token
Of my appreciation, affection, regard and esteem
Of what I know of who you are
And who I am sure you will soon be

Resting Place of Lady Glamour

Hollywood! Why do you do this?
Lobotomise your audience
For the sake of a laugh
Hollywood! Why did you do that?
You've killed Miss Au Natural
On the altar of Botox
Hollywood, I've walked your streets
And those stars on the footpath
Do not sparkle like I once believed
Hollywood, resting place of Lady Glamour
You've taken that glitz
You've tarnished her name
Hollywood, how can you do that?
Bury the greatest of genius
Yet claim to suffer his fate
Hollywood! I will call you a deceiver
You lure in the youngest
And bleed them of their last breath
Hollywood! Dwelling of liars
I'd be kidding myself if
I claimed not to desire the fame
Hollywood, I can't fight this
I'll apply for a green card
I'll book my seat on a plane

Oh Sweet Apothecary

Oh sweet apothecary
They drugs aren't quick enough
And this blade too dull
To pierce her thick skin
So there she will lay
For I cannot euthanise
In fear I may just cause more pain
Than that which she has learned to bare

Oh sweet apothecary
Thy drugs require speed
For otherwise I will beat her flesh
And break every last bone
So please oh apothecary
Let us take away her misery
For maybe beyond this life
She will find her great calm

And My Bones Fragile

We exist in our own discomfort
But without, why need we evolve?
My flesh is weak, and my bones fragile
I'm breakable and I can dissolve
But with these imperfections
We make ourselves grow strong
As Neanderthals we used tools
And discovered beauty
We were painting and carving
We even wore jewellery

We exist in our own discomfort
Though some never seek to change
Rather to procreate without improvement
Betray their legacy with narcissism
Of equal fervency to which
All of our ancestors championed us
So as some plateau into mediocrity
Perhaps their survival rate shall cease to grow

We exist in our own discomfort
We walk both together and alone
I stand tall with evolution
A mere theory? No, not at all
So my biology and humanity
Am I proud enough to preserve
Should I take up arms for a future
I'm unsure my genetic traits deserve

Thoughts I Run From

I spend most of my time, explaining who I think I am
It's taken me this score and some to figure myself out
I'm too impatient to wait for someone to get to know me
For I might hate what they come to figure out

I know that I am shy and I hate too much attention
But in a crowd, I make efforts to be the loudest
Maybe because I can project someone else
Maybe because I can hide my vulnerable self

I talk with volume, but hardly substance
And when I write my fears are revealed
I battle with my image, both body and of intellect
I shudder to think you might see who I truly am

Underneath the layers of pride, there's my frail disposition
Maybe one day I'll learn not to hide under the lies
But until then, would you mind, to please just take your time

Untitled

This anxiety overruns me
I feel it flooding through my bones
I can't compare this choking lack of air
I breath out my mouth, then in my nose

I want to count out numbers
I'm calmer when memorising pi
Archimedes, you've been a saviour to me
I wish I was there when you were alive

I struggle with my polarity
Zero to ten and back again
Hippocrates labeled my melancholy
This mania suppresses my number five

So I shut myself down to your pitiful moans
My sympathy had to depart
For this empathy would be the death of me
As I feel too much all of the time

So as this anxiety bleeds into me
The pressures cooks into my heart
I hate the mess I must learn to live with
But I don't want to be dumb to feel fine

Granted I've been demoted now
What once was south to north
Is now Cancer to Capricorn
But my equator is still amiss

So I've been resting between two and eight
I toss and turn with every dream
But those night terrors eat away at me
I desire to lessen this great divide

It'd be easier not to be this way
Not tracking my choices, just letting life be
But I take note of my mood each day and night
I'm learning to reason when I desire to fight

Some forget me or just choose not to care
I'm both the loudest and the quietest in every room
Never the prettiest, nor ever the least
And I've tried and tried not to let it get me down

So I dwell in this anxiety that I crave to overcome
Before my impatience takes the best of me
I take pills with juice each and everyday
Yet, forever that taste remains on my tongue

1 + 1 = 1?

Numbers are funny things. They can unify and divide (multiply and divide, if you don't mind the pun.) Life is a funny thing, it dangles in the balance of the numbers that define us. Tax file numbers, phone numbers, money, birthdays, school grades, bus routes, bank accounts, intelligence quotients, and so on. We can be broken down and catergorised. We are statistics, we are numerals. We are vast, many, few and solo. Alone, one, and single, all synonyms for my existence. Pair, couple or set, well that's the desired outcome, is it not? The road leading there is not lonely, but it certainly isn't unified.

I don't claim to know anything about successful relationships. But I do know how to go about a terrifically unsuccessful union. How do I figure that? Because, I've done it. Broken up, and broken down. Stumbled, tumbled, tripped and fallen in love, only to claw my way out again.

Back to the numbers, is there really only one person out there for each of us? A soul mate, a split-apart? The year is 2010, approximately seven billion individuals, or ones, reside on this planet. There are roughly six and half thousand spoken languages, now if only 5% of the world's population can afford to eat three meals a day, I doubt it's much more than 0.5% that can afford to travel. So if I have only a "one" what if I never meet them? What if the perfect candidate for me lives in a small town in Sweden? I refuse to believe these frivolities. Hey Plato! Thanks for creating this fantastic propaganda, it may have ruined more than one life!

Now, I can't definitively state what I want in a relationship, but I do have a mini "No Way" list. Film and television have encouraged the "love conquers all" notion, and simultaneously the "don't compromise" concept. Is this realistic? At all? That in a relationship we needn't compromise, we just love? Sure, we shouldn't be compromising on our values or who we really are, but our opinions probably need a good shake-down from time to time. Suck it up. See that movie that you have no desire for, go to the work events you can't stand. But, be sure to define the line, there is a distinction between a doormat and a negotiator. Bargaining and negotiations are the steps toward compromise. We decide what we want, and what we are willing to yield to get it.

But who are we willing to yield to? Need they be tall, dark, handsome, intelligent, worldly, funny, talented, and affectionate? Or would a certain percentage suffice? Do we really want someone who meets our every last standard? Or should we relinquish something from the beginning, and get some practice from the start. Because, let's face it, what standards are we lacking in that we hope and pray a nice person is willing to overlook?

I know that I bite my nails, swear too often, hate washing my hair more than absolutely necessary, I can't cook, I hate to clean, I say the wrong thing at the worst possible time, I prefer being at home than being out, I'm difficult to argue with, I struggle to form casual social bonds (weather talk simply flabbergasts me,) and I'm a bit of a geek.

If someone, anyone, is willing to look past my extensive assortment of short-comings, who am I to say no to any of theirs?

My First Love

I was with him from the beginning. I walked with him through self-discovery, through making new friends, unveiling old enemies, first love and heart-ache, through death and despair. We went through it all together. Our journey is over now, but the opportunities for us to relive those moments are yet to come to an end.
I first met The Boy Who Lived when I was eleven, the year for me was 1999, and I've stuck with him ever since. Harry Potter, the stories I grew up with, I've read every book over and over, and seen the films even more.
The first film, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, hit Australian cinemas on the 29th of November 2001, it was a Thursday morning, I was in the 8th grade. My mother let me take the day off school to see the very first session, 10am at Hoyts Belconnen. I almost wore my "Sorting Hat" but I thought better of it, and allowed my memorabilia rest at home.
I remember the mystery of getting "The" first letter from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, hand delivered by a half-giant named Hagrid, who soon became, not only an ally, but our friend and confidant.
The journey ended in July of 2007. I was 19 years old, yet I sat crying over the loss of many great friends in the Battle of Hogwarts.
Harry Potter was a pilgrimage I shared with my generation, for those of us yet to experience some of the maturer events in the real world, Harry introduced us to the shallow end of the pool. And for those of us older than our years, we had a friend doing life with us through the hardships we were unprepared for.
The Harry Potter voyage is approaching the absolute end now, Deathly Hallow Part 1 is being released later this year, and I for one, could not be more excited. The film saga began with Chris Columbus' directing. He took care of the Philosopher's Stone, translating it to the screen with the grace and respect it deserved. And the finale has been reared by David Yates, who picked up the baton in 2007 with The Order of the Phoenix.
Today I watched the official trailer of Deathly Hallows Part 1 for the first time, and it sent tingles down my spine. I do have a tendency to approach all book-to-film translations with apprehension, but I refuse to this time.
Mr Yates, I do have faith in your work. I trust that you wish to do the best for Harry. And please, please, don't add any unnecessary scenes, like the Battle at the Burrow again. That was ridiculous.

The iRevolution

The iPad is here, it's queer, and not going anywhere. Those of us here for the iRevolution have probably noticed one thing, the written word is not dead, the written word is more alive than ever, it has evolved drastically, however it's not going anywhere either.
The 80's and 90's brought forth a drastic fear for those of us who love to read and learn. In the 80's televisions in homes were accompanied by the VCR, and we began recording live TV, watching movies over and over, and a great deal of my generation began to lose interest in reading a book, when a movie was easier. The 90's introduced the internet to the average household, mobile phones to almost every pocket, and the discman in almost every school backpack.
The noughtie's were a different beast, we began txting, blogging, myspacing, facebooking, and youtubing. The time it took for a book to made into a film has decreased, exponentially. J.R.R. Tolkien's Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring (Part One) was first published on the 29 July 1954, Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring was released on 10 December 2001, a fifty-six year turnaround. J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter and the Philosophers Stone was published on 30 June 1997, with it's film adaption being released on 4 November 2001, a mere 4 year turnaround. And interestingly Nicholas Sparks' The Last Song novel and film were written simultaneously with the novel being released on 8 September 2009, and the film being released on 31 March 2010, only 204 days apart.
What strikes me as fascinating is that with the multi-billion dollar industry overflowing with witty jokes, gorgeous movie stars, and jaw-dropping special effects, the written word is making a comeback, this time in the shape of a 242.8x189.7mm tablet weighing in at only 730g with the capacity to hold thousands and thousands of book titles.
Sure the Nook and Kindle were brilliant, however without them being available in Australia, they had no value to me. But, alas, I have been rescued by Apple yet again, and the iPad is the new lifeline.
So to the fellow iRevolutionaries, old is new again, and it's better than before. Now, who wants to give me a thousand bucks?