Lacking

So, I've noticed this blog has been lacking posts lately. That's due to my being busy. I'm currently 5,000 words into my novella. A select few of you will get it when I'm done. In the meantime, I'll try keep this stuff alive. I'll try to post things other than poetry; I've noticed that that's all that's been posted recently.

EDIT: The post below, Train Trips and Lyrics, got an Excellence in NCEA Level 1 Creative Writing.

Train Trips and Lyrics

I awaken, but keep my eyes closed for a moment, savouring the remnants of dreams. I find myself wishing it was reality, wishing she was here.


Sighing, I open my eyes to find I'm not where I thought I was. The familiar sight of my ceiling has been replaced with a glass roof. I can see the stars. It's still dark; the light surrounding me is artificial.

Rising, I swing my legs off the bench where I've apparently been sleeping. The area around me is slowly being recognised by my tired brain. It's the train station. And it's empty.

I sigh again, with my head between my legs. All of a sudden, I hear a hiss. Looking up, I see a train. I must not have heard it arrive. Strangely, no one gets off, not even the usual wardens. I sit there, in the empty train station, staring at the empty train. I get the feeling it's beckoning me, calling out to me. On a whim, I respond by standing, walking the few paces between myself and the open doors, and entering. The doors hiss shut behind me.

The train is just as empty as the station. There's no one there; the seats are all empty. I sit. No warden comes to collect my fare.

Looking out the window, I can see it's dark. I don't notice anything else. I can't see anything else, just the dark, empty night outside of this empty train.

Glancing around the carriage once more, my eyes land on something I didn't see earlier. It's an acoustic guitar, not unlike my own, resting against one of the seats. Curious, I give into temptation and wander over to it. Picking it up, I give it a strum. The tone is full, clear, louder than it should be.

Not really knowing why, I start to play. The carriage fills with sound, with music, but it lacks meaning, it lacks a melody. So I sing.

I don't know what I'm playing, or singing, but it's beautiful. My voice joins with the guitar, and it resounds through the carriage. It's the most amazing, indescribable sound I've ever heard. I've never played like this before.

The words flow from my mouth freely. They're new, unfamiliar, but they fit perfectly.



"All for you,

Everything I do,

Seems to be for you,

It's how I want to be,

For you."



As I sing, the darkness outside recedes, slowly being replaced by the light of a full summer's day. I see people walking down streets, holding hands. A family at a playground, smiles and laughter. A young boy running after his dog, laughing with joy.

I continue to play.



"And I count down the hours,

Till I return to you."



Couples hugging, friends laughing. Happiness everywhere.

The train stops.

The doors hiss open.

I continue to play as I walk out of the doors and into the sunlight.

She's there, a smile on her beautiful face.

I put the guitar down and run into her open arms.

And I sing the last line of my song.

"I love you, only you."

I'm happy once again.

Memories

Lazing about, together,



All alone,


Quiet, peaceful, happy.


Wish this could last forever.






My memories will never fade,


You will never be taken away,


You are the one for me,


And I'm thinking of you,


Tonight.






Spending time with you,


For you, for me,


I'm happy beyond belief,


I hope we will last forever.






My memories will never fade,


You will never be taken away,


You are the one for me,


And I'm thinking of you,


Tonight.






And these memories,


They are priceless.


And these times,


They are perfect.


And my love for you,


It's eternal.






You and I will never fade,


We will never be taken away,


You are perfect for me,


And you are on my mind,


Tonight and forever more.

A Collection To The One I Love

A collection of... things, I think I shall call them that I have, well, collected. Along with some of my own material.
This stuff makes me feel like a Hallmark writer. Never a good thing.

Though life may have just begun,



And there are surely many days ahead,


I'm happy with where I'm at,


And where I'm at is with you.






The time I spend with you is priceless.


Time is too slow for those who wait,


Too swift for those who fear,


Too long for those who grieve,


Too short for those who rejoice,


But for those who love,


Time is eternity.






Love is a friendship caught on fire,


Love is a friendship set to music,


And music is love in search of a word.


Love is too strong a word to say too early,


But it has too meaningful a meaning to say too late,


To fear love is to fear life.






So, let me say this.


I love you, not only for what you are,


But for what I am when I'm with you.


I love you, not only for what you have made of yourself,


But for what you are making of me.


I love you for the part of me that you bring out.


I love you, not only because you are perfect,


But because you are so perfect for me.






I say the word 'love',


And others may argue that I don't know what it means,


Or even that it has no meaning.


But, if I know what love is,


It's because of you.






And it's been said,


To love is to be vulnerable.


If that's the price,


Then I pay it willingly.


For to you, I am vulnerable.


I am open to you.


But, when we are together,


We truly are invincible.






So, I've said it before,


And I'll say it again,


I love you.

Flight

I await my vessel,
The one that will take me,
To you.

Waiting patiently,
Writing soothing words,
To calm the flight in my stomach.

Here we go.

And Again?

Again, I seem to be in a creative mood. Perhaps it's distance, time, or the Forum of the Banned.
But, more poetry it is.

The music resonates around the room,
The fire the only source of light.
I sit in the dark warmth,
And count down the days.

Time flows slowly, sluggishly,
Mocking my wait.

My mind skips forward,
To the day I see you again.
The impatience leaves,
Replaced by an excitement,
A happiness previously unknown to me.
Disbelief in my luck astounds me.
A grin spreads across my face.

The figurative pen flows across paper,
Literal fingers flying across the keyboard.
I put into words my emotion,
My feeling,
My thought.
This is how I pass the time without you;
By writing for you.
All for you,
And only for you.

There it is. Not as good as the last, perhaps.
There may be more later tonight.

Otira

Deep in the Southern Alps lies a town that is now nearly empty. The sections, once filled with houses, are now empty, only concrete blocks remaining.
Some of the few houses there have smoke leaving their chimneys; the only sign of life. The others are seemingly empty. All the houses are as derelict as the next, inhabited or not.
The local hotel is 'bustling'. Both its fires are lit.
People in this town are lucky to get 2 hours of sunlight a day. And yet, this town is situated directly on the coast to coast train line. The trains occasionally make brief stops, simply for assistance through the nearby tunnel; the third longest in New Zealand.
This town is a ghost town. The tunnel is the most well known part of it.
And here, it ends.
To be continued.

True story, bro.

Something Different

Right. This is all ad-lib, just cos I have the urge to write. Don't even know what I'm going to be doing yet. But, here goes. Poetry, I think.

The sun sets,
The cold mountains,
The fresh snow,
The pale sky.

I sit here,
In a silent house,
And my thoughts are with you.

I pick up my guitar,
And break the silence.
Melodies fill the air,
Calming, soothing.
My voice joins them,
And my mind drifts.

I think back,
Look over the past.
My thoughts zoom in on the past few weeks,
Lyrics propelling them along.

Originality flowing free,
Creativity abound.
You are my inspiration.

That night,
My fluke, my luck,
My amazement at the discovery,
Of someone akin,
Someone alike,
Someone beautiful.

Happiness.
That simple leap of faith,
Leading to so much joy.

End of Term, and the Return.

Getting off the bus, I stand around for a minute, deciding what to do. I don't want to go home just yet; it's only 6.30.

Crossing the road, I decide to wander the streets, and go where inspiration takes me. Heading off, I turn away from the main road and down a quiet, dark street. Lyrics course through my head: "I guess they would say we could set the world ablaze".

I settle into a steady pace, the pounding of my feet on the ground mesmerising. As my consciousness retreats, the steady rise and fall of the hills of West Auckland become a blur.

Eventually, I find myself surrounded by light. Rising from my ponderings, I look around, gather my wits, and realise where I am. It's the local mall. My phone tells me it's around 8pm. I don't use a watch anymore; all they are to me is a constant reminder of time wasted.

My stomach rumbles. I realise I haven't eaten since yesterday. Foolishly, I had left the house with no money. Regretting that decision, I make my way to the nearest supermarket. When I arrive, I walk straight past the entrance, choosing instead to sneak around the back. Supermarkets don't like people going through their rubbish. Which is bizarre; anything there has been thrown out, which is surely a viable argument against any potential lawsuit. It's almost as if they have something to hide.

I manage to get behind the supermarket without being noticed, and I arrive just as some teen working for peanuts dumps the latest load of wasted food. How very clichè, I think to myself.

Rushing to the dumpster, I throw open the lid and start rummaging. I give myself a minute before whoever's supposed to be watching the security cameras sees me.

Finishing up, I slam the lid shut and rush back to the relative safety of the shadows. With my roasted peanuts and bread, of course. Pleased, I chow down on a cheese bun, and continue my journey to nowhere.

I next arise from my deep thought when I run out of food. This time, it takes me longer to realise where I am. I'm at a golf course, apparently. Giving up on trying to find anything else, I sit under some treesm and light up a Crosaire herbal cigarrete. I've been off the harsh stuff for a while now. It's camomile and peppermint. Relaxing.

I sit there, under the trees and stars, in the cool wind, looking over the lights of the city for a good few hours. I like this spot; it's calming.

Then, I notice a figure approaching from across the course. I assume it's a worker here, probably coming to tell me to go away. Why would anyone be here this late? I wonder.

As the figure draws closer, it gradually becomes more familiar. How unusual. Eventually, I recognise him. A feeling of dread falls over me.

Apparently my break is over.

"Hello, my good sir. I'm back."

"I would say it's good to see you, but I don't want to lie, Sialon."

Sialon grins, as menacing and mysteriously paternal as ever.

A Lesson To Be Learned.

I go, for the lack of a better phrase, away from my MO for this post.

Someone I talk to occasionally on a forum lost his girlfriend in a drunk-driver accident recently. He made this post in the sound-off thread. There's a lesson for everyone to learn in it.

"Athina, I'm sorry. I can't believe the last memory you ever had of me was that one. I love you so much, and you mean so much to me, I'm disgusted with myself. I wish we could have held each other for one last time, that I could show you how much I love you, how much you meant to me. I wish I was there with you, that it could have happened to us together. I can't move on, I can't live my life without you. I think you know that though, and the same would be true if our roles were reversed. Remember that promise we made to each other when we were little, that we would always be there for each other? I feel like I broke that promise by what I did. If I hadn't have been a selfish ass, like I always am in comparison to you, we would have been together. After all you did for me, all the love you showed me, I left you alone in your last moment. You died alone because of that selfish fit I had at the house. We could have died together in each others arms, knowing how much we loved each other. Instead, your last moment alive was one of pain, and it's all my fault. Athina, I'm sorry. I'll always hate myself for this, and rightly so. I pray that you remembered how much I loved you instead of that last moment Athina, because I loved you more than anyone could comprehend. Athina, I promise you this. I will devote my life to helping people in the same way you helped me and everyone around you. I just pray that I can do you justice, and that you will be proud of me."

      - Thrashtastic15 (Jon)

There's nothing else I can really say.

And As You Walk Away

As I open my eyes, the world forms around me. The night sky above me, the damp grass under my back. Sitting up, I look around. I recognise where I am. It's the local school. The place is empty, as it usually is at this time of night.
I stand up, start to walk around. Why am I here? I think to myself. Suddenly, a voice calls out from behind me.
"Ashm," the voice is quiet, weak. Turning slowly, I face the person behind me. It's a female, that's for sure. But she has no distinguishable features, no way to recognise her. Her face is blank, expressionless. Her hair has no colour that I can determine, it changes smoothly, rapidly.
"Who are you?" I ask. The girl doesn't reply, she simply turns and walks away. The state that I am in, I am aware of everything. Figures flash around me, cold, a weeping face with bleeding mascara, lonely youths with acoustic guitars. The world is filled with noise, colour, and life. The girl continues to slowly walk away. My need to follow suddenly increases. I take a step forward, and the chaos disperses. Silence.
I am in a field of headstones, crumbling away. As she walks away, through the headstones, grains of stone reverse, float up, rebuilding the headstones, perfecting their ruin.
Another step forward. The headstones disappear. She is getting further and further away. Throwing caution to the wind, I run after her. She turns again, facing me. Now her face is beautiful, composed of all the pain, hurt, and love in my life. I stop in my tracks. Her long, brown hair flows in the sudden wind.
It all goes black. I hear her voice again, calling out through the dark.
"Hindsight. It's a beautiful thing, it shows successes and mistakes, fear and love."

Suicidal Tendencies - Failed Exemplar to... whatever you want to call it.

She took a deep breath, tried to relax. Slowly putting the pen down, finalising her message to the world, she glanced at the mirror on the cabinet. How she despised what she saw. Her long, stringy, pitch black hair fell over her face. Brushing it aside with her soft, olive-coloured hands, she took another breath.
As she thought back on her life, her mistakes, her few successes, the many people who hated her, none so much as she hated herself, a tear fell from her piercing dark eyes and landed on the paper.
Her thoughts rushed around inside her head, the confusion and turmoil endless. Pain, agony, all self inflicted. Depression, resentment, incurable. There was no one for her to live for.
She rested on the floor, letting the tears flow freely from her bloodshot eyes. Although she contemplated her next move, she knew she only had one choice. All other options were exhausted. The answer to her problems, her questions, the cure to her disease, it sat a few inches away from her hand. She pondered it for a second; she is worthless. Her life is a wreck, crashing around her soundlessly. There was no other way out.
All doubts cleared, she lifted her cure.
Whispering to herself, always to herself, she pulls the trigger.
"It's the only way out."

A drop of blood flies, soaring through the room, empty of life.
It lands on a piece of paper, and mingles with fresh tears, an eternal reminder of a life lost.
It lands under a single word, as if emphasising it.
Sialon.

Sluts, Threats, and Failures.

Don't you just love it when someone threatens you for no reason? When they tell you they're going to "Bash your head in on Saturday", you get such a rush. And then, they FAIL to follow it through. They make themselves look like shit. If that was possible. They prove EVERY SINGLE INSULT you've thrown at them to be completely true. It's funny.
And you say I'm a jerk. Hahahahaha.
Just to spite you some more, I shall do it again.
Your boyfriend is fucked up. He is disturbed. He is disgusting. He is a junkie.
So, what you gonna do, Jess? Huh? Insult me? Threaten me?
I am SO scared.
Connor, this is low, even for you. Even Tom agreed that she was as ugly as shit.
Wow.

Nature's Lament

Down the valley,
He walked.
Through paths undisturbed,
Awakening the sleeping.


Ignoring the signs,
Unaware of imminent danger,
He sat, and rested,
Upon sacred ground.


He settled,
He relaxed,
He rested,
And remained.


Unwelcome in this land,
He felled the trees around him.
Removing the quiet,
He would be alone no more.


Once the land was cleared,
The dead lay in a pile,
Their bodies desecrated,
Used for homes,
His kin began to arrive.


The boats crunching upon the virgin shore,
Pounding feet along a new path,
Heading towards a new life,
But the same old death.


They arrived,
And began to live,
Amongst the death,
Happy, and at peace,
The forests cried at their presence.


For years they resided,
Spreading further,
And longer,
Flattened land,
Devoid of life.


More arrived,
Drawn by tales of paradise,
By the scent of a new,
Untouched world.


As more and more life arrived,
More and more left the land,
Retreating,
Residing in places unknown.


Villages became cities,
Forests became deserts,
Vast plains filled,
Losing life,
Losing spirit.


But the land was preparing,
For the last chance,
The towns were unawares,
Unsafe from the turmoil
That would send them away,
Far from this land.


The land waited,
Gradually stripped bare,
Anger boiling,
Waiting to burst free.


After many years,
The land gave in.
Released its emotion,
Bursting out and free.


The anger flowed through the plains,
The sorrow over the deserts,
The emotion into the cities.


The land removed the cancer which was growing,
Returned life to its halls.
Sent energy along,
Down the valley,
Over the long forgotten path,
Into the unnatural clearing,
It pooled,
It rested,
Just as he had done.


When the land had finished,
When its anger and sorrow were spent,
The cities were left empty.
The plains renewed.
The deserts devoid of humanity.
And yet, the land was filled with hope.
A single seed, on the edge of the pool,
Waiting, resting,
In the clearing,
By the path,
Down the valley.
Waiting.

Tradition and Culture In Families and Society.

Tradition and culture is fine individually. As long as it harms no one other than yourself, go ahead.
However, when it is forced upon others, that is when it becomes a problem. This is most commonly seen in the form of indoctrination.
Indoctrination is the forcing of a religion, tradition, or culture on an innocent child. In today's society, this should be unacceptable. But, it happens regularly. A child is labelled as a 'Catholic child' or a 'Muslim child'. These phrases should cause outrage, as Dawkins rightfully points out. Why would you force something - something that will usually shape the way someone lives - on a child unable to think properly for itself? This is where indoctrination becomes harmful.
A child does not have the ability to decide for themselves whether a particular religion, tradition, or culture is sensible, right, or moral. What should be happening is this: parents should raise their children to think for themselves, to accept scientific evidence as right, and to discard views proved wrong by said evidence, even if these views happen to be justified by previous outdated scientific evidence.
Unfortunately, parents are bringing up their children to blindly believe in a faith which is unproven, and even has evidence disproving it. These children are left vulnerable for the rest of their lives. They are taught that blind faith is a virtue.
Some parents, surely the worst kind, even send their offspring to schools that teach false science. Schools that tell children that the earth is less that 10,000 years old. The amount of evidence against this is overwhelming. These schools are even funded by the British government!
Surely, children brought up to believe in something that has been disproven by significant amounts of reliable scientific evidence are not the way of the future, but rather, a step towards the past. These false teachings are only marginally better than teaching children that the world is flat.
A common argument for the indoctrination of children is as follows:
"This religion and it's holy book teaches us morals, and the difference between right and wrong."
This is usually said by Christians, the holy book being the Bible. In order to fully rebunk this argument, I shall direct you towards Richard Dawkins' masterpiece "The God Delusion". But, I shall also attempt my best here.
Those of you who have actually read the bible will know that there is as many, if not more, parts in it which would be seen as unacceptable today. Now, in relation to the moral Zeitgeist, which I shall not even try to delve into here, the 'morals' found in 'the good book' may have been acceptable at the time(s) of writing. Now, however, they are frightfully out of date.
Also, religion is not our source of morals. The 'moral lessons' found in the bible are mixed with many pitifully wrong and sick lessons. In order to choose right from wrong, as many theologists say they do, you need a basis to. . . base them on. A moral basis. You cannot try to say that religious people have an external source of morals that atheists simply do not have. Even if they did, the morals would originate from there, not the bible.
Without religion, we surely would still have our morals. Some religious apologists try to say that the existence of a god is our reasoning behind good and bad. So, according to these people, without a god, the world would be in chaos. How deluded these people are. If a god did exist, surely he would not accept people who are good simply because they are being watched. The most convincing argument against these people are atheists. Their very existence argues against that theory. Atheists do not believe in a god, and yet, the majority are still good people. They still have a very good sense of right and wrong.
Dawkins makes these points and many more. For fuller, better reasoning, read his books, The God Delusion in particular. Also, google him. Find his website. Tis very good.
So, I've gone from culture and tradition in family and society to an argument against religion. I couldn't help it. But, religion is probably the biggest source of culture and tradition in the world. And, as I have tried to point out, if only briefly, as there are many more arguments, religion is not necessary, and certainly not a good thing. Especially when indoctrinated at a young age.
So, it is my strong view that you are entitled to have your own culture, tradition, and religion. As long as your actions due to them do not harm others, and especially, I cannot emphasise this enough, as long as you DO NOT  force these views on others, ESPECIALLY young children, even if they are your own. Let them think for themselves. Don't subject them to your views.
They are human too.
They have a right to make their own decisions.

An Open Letter to Witi Ihimaera.

Dear Mr Ihimaera,

First off, I did not like the Whale Rider. While I respect your writing, and can see why many people enjoy it, your overuse of metaphors, similes, and other various descriptive language features turn what seemed like a good story idea into a piece of overly poetic writing which I could not enjoy.

Right. Now I've got that out of the way, I can get to it. The Whale Rider addresses the loss of cultural identity in a few ways. I'm sure you know this. I have to ask, is loss of cultural identity really that bad? Is cultural identity more important than personal identity?

Sure, cultural identity doesn't have to be lost for your own personal identity. But a lot of the time, it is. In my opinion, this is due to the fact that culture is overly unnecessary. It is good to know about your heritage, and how things were, but that's all it is. How things were. Some of these cultural ideas may be relevant in the present, but in this age of growing atheism, many cultural ideas are frowned upon. Older cultures, such as your own, no doubt, are based mainly on religion. As Richard Dawkins points out flawlessly, religion is no source for morals or any other use today. I have no way of knowing for sure whether women in Maori culture are treated as they were in your story, but if they are, it is only another point in my case. Another reason for the loss of cultural identity being a good thing.

In today's day and age, culture is not valued very highly. It can be used endlessly, and hence, it has lost value. Sure, it defines who you are. But, you don't need to have culture to identify yourself.

There are various other ways to do this. In the choices you make, the things you do, the acquaintances you make.

But, everyone is entitled to their own opinion. Everyone is welcome to share their opinions. If you choose to do so in a story, be my guest. But, when the story is studied in schools, I feel I must share my opinion.

So, while your story can be interpreted as good, it is not for me. This is also true for your view on cultural identity.

Sincerely

~Ashm

Of Plans and Playthings

Ahh, I do love it when a plan comes together.
As I may have mentioned, I gave Ashm a break. So, I took the time to finish a few things off.
The main one, beginning the downfall of a major country. Americans are so easy to manipulate. When the FBI find him, he will have no memory of the event. Those fools will probably kill him anyway. This alone, will keep me satisfied.
Additionally, I have been working closer to this one. In order to make sure he stays alive. To prolong his suffering. I have sent one to join me. Whilst leaving meaningless clues behind, in order to create beautiful confusion. I wish you luck in finding a link between a crashed car and empty shoes.
The other, simply a disappearance. A creation of loss, despair, whilst leaving some false hope to add texture. And, to keep their hunt going, a brief, but useless, cellphone signal.
Enjoy that, puppets.
Now, my favoured plaything, this visit shall be brief.
I shall return, very soon.
~Sialon

My Apologies.

I am sorry for the previous post. It was a freak of nature that should never have left the comfort of my mind.
I shall leave it, as a lesson to be learned.
~Ashm.

Absence.

I want to explain what seems like an absence in my mind.
I have things I want to post, but they are (extremely) personal. Shit that I can't share. Which annoys me, cos it's good writing, if I do say so myself.
My writing has been making me depressed. Depressive writing. Sad writing. Awww.
I need to take a break. Ignore everything. Relax. Forget.
I don't see that happening.
See? Now even this has turned into something deeper than it was meant to be. FFS.
To lighten the mood, imma post something I wrote in maths. A story explaining the retarded-ness of the sine wave.

Occasionally, people's faces are silly. When this happens, the faces can say two things.
Use logic to decide between the fake and gay, or truth.
When your logic is hungry, choose the bigger lie.
To do this, take the smaller lie away from 180 degrees.
This leaves you with a very big lie (angle).
Hungry, anyone?

In hindsight, that's just retarded.
To continue this mostrosity of a post (reminds me of something Allie Brosh wrote not so long ago, but less funny. I couldn't hope to compare with Hyperbole and a Half.):
I wrote a rage not so long ago. It never got published, because, as I said, too personal ("It's too real, Roy!"). I'd just like to say, even though you probably have no idea what the hell I'm going on about, that most of the issues in that rage have been resolved.
I found a confidant with seemingly godlike powers. Suprisingly.
Thank'ee, confidant.
I get the strange feeling I'm using 'confidant' wrongly here. Meh, even though a Google search is but a click away, this computer's too slow for that shit. So imma just point out that confidant here means someone to confide to. But that sounds too serious. Hence, confidant. Like, confidaaant. Stress on the a, not the i. Not confiiidant. Like, a confidee. Or confider. I realise those are two different things. It makes sense in my head.
This post is getting kinda long, and pointless.
I have no inspiration. Like writer's block, but worse, cos it's more like general-life-living-block.
Anyway, to stop this being a depressive thing, I hereby name this to be officially named super-anti-depressive-sad-no-more-happy-general-awesome-blog. Otherwise known as Hyperbole and a Half.
I like Hyperbole and a Half alot.

Of Stubbornness

You stubborn creatures. His reluctance to let go is causing him more harm than letting go would. But, oh, the delight. There's nothing like the human skill of causing yourself intense pain to feed off.
This one is providing too much fun for suicide. He has so much more pain to cause, to himself and the ones he cares about.
So much sorrow unleashed.
But I won't have to wait much longer.
Ashm's about to break.
~Sialon