Tuesday, September 19, 2006

Doesn't take a Rocket Scientist to figure that out.

19/09/06

Doesn't take a Rocket Scientist to figure that out.

It's funny how fate always finds a void to swallow a small segment of your life, no matter the circumstance. Perhaps, because space is so empty, and sparse, our lives always inevitably reflect the cosmos which dictate us.

But if you ask an optimist he'd tell you that space is full, full of stars shining bright, spinning planets, other random floating chunks of rock, and Spice Girls CDs budding rocket scientists decided to get rid off. Well it does all depend on which way you look at the glass (or if you're peering into space, looking into the glass.

Alternately we all know that space contains a myriad black holes which have swallowed up a thousand hopes and dreams, bright stars, and a pet dog called Laika. Which is pretty much what earth is like. Read Anton Chekhov, listen to Kurt Cobain, and visit your local S.P.C.A to confirm the above.

You'd be surprised.

And sorry to burst any bubbles, but all those stars you ponderously look up to every night are actually dead. Ask the scientists. They burnt out a long, long time ago.

Sound familiar?

Now's the time when all of you still listening to Elvis, 2Pac, Bob Marley or John Lennon nod your heads in startled assent.

Space is the literal translation of disconsolate freedom and loneliness enmeshed into one.

I suspect chunks of it fall down to earth when no-one's looking, not even Chicken Little. Last night, on a late night drive, I saw two teenagers riding their bikes on the sidewalk, they seemed happy. Not twenty minutes later I drove past them again, sans their bikes, perched upon the pavement looking dejected. One seemed to be crying, but the streetlight shone too dim for me to tell for certain. It was not only their bikes the thieves had taken though, it was their dreams as well.
It's funny how fate always finds a void to swallow a small segment of your life.
It doesn't take a Rocket Scientist to figure that out, though.

[D]

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

Life in a Petri Dish...

06/09/06

Life in a Petri Dish...

So like I write poems and stuff.....

Hopes haunted him
with interminable swiftness.
Like cracks in the ceiling they leapt
out to divide his mind.

Life in a Petri Dish, cracked along the edges.

The edges of tables stared
across their sparse loneliness
to the chairs for comfort.

Life in a Petri Dish, cracked along the edges.

War put out its cigarette on a child's head
under a bright blue sky.
Never-never land and napalm.
Afternoons measured by armed platoons and

Life in a Petri Dish, cracked along the edges.

His heart haunted her,
but she smiled and swallowed sadness,
walking unevenly over the scattered eggshells
and dreams she'd left behind.
A cold wind kissed her and brusquely moved on,
moved on away.

Life in a Petri Dish, cracked along the edges.

When I decide to blog

05/09/06

When I decide to blog

So I'm sitting alone harmlessly, listening to Simon and Garfunkel when I decide to blog.
But Paul Simon's singing Bob Dylan's lyrics so beautifully that I can barely pause to ponder when suddenly a swift realisation (or perhaps an axiom) barges into my thoughts yelling, "Good music died with the 70s!"

But hip-hop's its reincarnation.

Now the alt. rock-heads are smashing their axes and the emo-kids are bawling their eyes out cuz I haven't included their beloved sub-genres in the category. And my Mum shouts from downstairs for me to keep it down but by now the rock-heads are slamming E-chords and F-sharps in quick succession while the emo-kids are furiously scrawling poetry across tear-stained pages when, out of a Picasso painting, the art students stagger and skip in, casting meaningful looks over a room with no meaning. Paul and Art are strumming my heart, with whispers, but no-one really cares because they're all too busy yelling and tearing at the limbs of this child they call Music.

Outside African Weavers cackle mischievously, as a drunken man staggers to his feet, their cachinnations pervading my mind when I decide to blog.

[D]

Your Blogging Type Is Thoughtful and Considerate

You're a well liked, though underrated, blogger.
You have a heart of gold, and are likely to blog for a cause.
You're a peaceful blogger - no drama for you!
A good listener and friend, you tend to leave thoughtful comments for others.