tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332036792024-02-20T15:57:35.413-08:00The Windmill - grinding life into poetryDE GUICHE:
Have you read 'Don Quixote'?
CYRANO:
I have!
DE GUICHE:
Then I counsel you to study the windmill chapter!. . . windmill sails may sweep you down into the mud!. . .
CYRANO:
Or upward - to the stars!Julian Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08093357113647240007noreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33203679.post-21032035728986800472007-01-28T22:58:00.000-08:002007-11-05T02:40:12.573-08:00Another Visitationa broken door scores<br />his rage at forgotten names<br />and sleepless haze<br /><br />the sink<br />his civilisation lost<br />and deserted<br />an order too far invisible<br />manifest in round flat<br />concave silver sharp<br />incomprehensible<br />and dazed<br /><br />crusted insects smeared across<br />crack'n'blackened deco tiles<br /><br />microwave mummified from within<br />exploded eggs and year-old beans<br />overflowed milo and molten meat<br />trailblazing ants stealing<br />for new colonies - or rats<br />scraping loudly in toxic cupboards<br />of chemical waste and home-brew<br />exterminator<br /><br />a history of papers<br />stories never read<br />collecting grime on tabloid verse<br />stacked and sticky<br />wrapped in string with alzheimer's bows<br />a feeble shuffle and<br />resolute NO to any hand but hersJulian Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08093357113647240007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33203679.post-35072705951104767672007-01-23T22:42:00.000-08:002007-01-24T23:07:07.686-08:00Hot Chips and a CokeIn this time of food phobia<br />eating hot chips<br />is a schoolboy delight<br />Carrying fries in a paper cup<br />wrapped in a grease-stained bag<br />I can feel the glares<br />stretched out from<br />my peers and people<br />twice my age<br />Are they silently<br />chastising me<br />for being so irresponsible -<br />raising my cholesterol -<br />anything that feels oily probably is -<br />as my doctor says<br />Or are they hungering<br />after my tasty bonanza<br />rebuking my flippant disregard<br />for their shoulder-to-steel<br />journey north to their<br />meat-and-three-vege wife husband kids<br />Don't worry I'm heading there too<br />Just stopped on the way to smell<br />the smoking oil and crackling fat<br />Don't I care that<br />I'm staring death in the face<br />sneers one boney man<br />in a suit with a<br />NY Marathon backpack<br /><br />At least I don't smoke or base jump<br /><br />People from the North Shore<br />who wear suits<br />don't eat hot chips<br />and drink coke<br />on trains<br /><br />They might steal a snort on a furtive break<br />or claim they need a caffeine-hit-fast-fill<br />on the weekend with mates<br />but on the train in peak hour -<br />you watch them -<br />they don't -<br /><br />but they wish they could -<br />occasionally...<br /><br />it would bring back<br />all the freedom and escape<br />of after-school hours<br />waiting for the bus<br />eating chips<br />in pulled-down ties<br />shrugged-shirts ruffled-hair<br />jumping and laughing<br />stealing a smoke<br /><br />Ah how the acid in coke<br />dissolves the chip grease<br />so sweetlyJulian Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08093357113647240007noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33203679.post-52299731325688939002007-01-10T22:50:00.000-08:002007-01-10T22:56:19.393-08:00The Breakfast RatThe breakfast rat<br />sniffed Sanitarium crackers<br />and turned up his rat nose<br />at the milk-sodden tax haven -<br />glue-glugg-like-mud -<br />stick his rat-faced jaw together with<br />tarry-milk-wheat-mud like viscous sludge -<br />he knew better than this<br /><br />They don't eat the bodies of the<br />rat babies like the three squeals<br />of an illustrious Shanghai banquet<br />but shake out flower water milk<br />like good children<br />soft and low<br />gentle and prudent<br />as puritans in the suburbs<br />tending babes and leather books<br />while the world outside burnsJulian Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08093357113647240007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33203679.post-54426040780387618982007-01-03T22:35:00.000-08:002007-01-07T20:02:03.483-08:00Christmas Meditations '06When did the gods stop pissing & shitting<br />when did they stop fucking bulls on Attic plains<br />when did Dionysiac lust leave the heavens for<br />Hades and when did we forget that god was a human shame<br />Aphrodite's heaving breast seduced Adonis<br />as she was pressed by Ares<br />Saturn chewed his children till their<br />heads popped in Goya's oil<br />and almighty God shafted his bolt like<br />some petty despot punishing and<br />destroying his people from Eden to Gomorra.<br />How did a wine-sodden merchant-kicking Christ<br />transcend those who created him?Julian Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08093357113647240007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33203679.post-1165485261579224332006-12-07T01:21:00.000-08:002007-01-10T22:55:25.001-08:00Observations Waiting for Trains<span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >or the Alain de Botton and David Ogilvy shuffle</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">[Travelling to work Monday from Kings Cross to Edgecliff Station]</span><br /><br />Understanding money can make a difference<br />Best before anything<br />In New Zealand, the daily grind is a perfectly<br />brewed espresso<br />Win the $100,000 ride<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">[Monday Lunch heading to Bondi Junction]</span><br /><br />Maths made easy<br />LG has an air conditioner for<br />everyone. well, almost.<br />The new Marie Claire cook book in store now<br />Nokia Music. Drag. Drop. Your way.<br />Connecting People<br />Fresh not frozen grilled not fried - warning<br />can be seriously addictive<br />Like a bigger home with a smaller mortgage?<br />Best before anything else<br />Best before anything else<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">[Travelling back from </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Martin Place</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> after a meeting on Monday afternoon]</span><br /><br />Varekai: Cirque du soleil<br />Nokia Music. Drag. Drop. Your way.<br />Give to the Christmas bowl<br />Loves your bum<br />Miss C accessories<br />The next generation doesn't stop here<br />I like to go faster<br />Good thinking<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">[Late Monday evening at Edgecliff Station - heading home to The Cross]</span><br /><br />Understanding money can make a difference<br />i groove. i watch. i capture. all thanks to one little card.<br />For every guide dog, we train 30 cane users.<br />Loves your Bum<br />Discover Australia's East coast.<br />Best before anything else<br />Understanding money can make a difference<br />i groove. i watch. i capture. all thanks to one little card.<br />The next generation turns travel time into download timeJulian Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08093357113647240007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33203679.post-1165482944341711092006-12-07T01:05:00.000-08:002006-12-07T01:15:44.466-08:00Prayer to Unswerving Junk Godtime stamp: 8:01:11 AM<br /><br />SUBJECT:<br /><br />Stephen check this.<br />defend indemnify against<br />Ashlee check this.<br />Please contact your system administrator to report this fault.<br />Bank of Queensland security alert - NM94K_09.<br />Extra incomings for Christmas!<br />Extra incomings for Christmas!<br />Ismael check this.<br />Job in International Auto Broker Company for Australia (New Zealand) residents<br />download speeds<br />Bethany check this.<br />Dave's Opinion I've been using Firefox since the day that it was first publicly released, and I've made it my primary browser, setting aside Opera, and eschuing Microsoft Internet Explorer, entirely.<br />Casey check this.<br />learn apart<br />late backward<br />Job in International Auto Broker Company for Australia (New Zealand) residents<br />You want cheap viagra ?<br />Buy One Salsa, Get One FREE!<br />Austin check this.<br />By "going off" I mean "vibrating madly on the coffee table.<br />Fay check this.<br />org as a great community service.<br />emergence saying<br /><br />time stamp: 8:55:34 AMJulian Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08093357113647240007noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33203679.post-1164875377374850862006-11-29T23:20:00.000-08:002006-12-12T22:53:36.582-08:00A Fierce PowerI watch him stagger and grow<br />burst forward<br />drop down<br />regather<br />with nimble-ing fingers clutch<br />at detritus<br />uncovered on his way<br /><br />Turning to me -<br /><br />his eureka moments devoured<br />like a Columbus or Polo -<br />awareness of possibilities with<br />each new touch -<br /><br />he smiles<br /><br />a wireless touch that<br />activates pulsing deep<br />within me<br />transfixing - driving me<br />through all barriers -<br />sleep - hunger - pain<br /><br />he smiles cries out flaps his<br />arms trying to fly<br /><br />A fierce power resides in these small conjurationsJulian Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08093357113647240007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33203679.post-1164617588449210172006-11-27T00:52:00.000-08:002006-12-12T22:58:14.655-08:00Electric Time TricksMy devices have their own rhythm<br />controlling me one on one<br />each taking turn to speed me up and shut me down<br />counting my haphazard stutter through the day<br />for their own electro-entertainment<br /><br />Morning is worst<br /><br />My alarm clock kicks ten beats too soon<br />heaving me into light<br />stumbling I run into the<br />deviously calibrated DVD player that -<br />conspiring with the microwave -<br />rips twenty minutes from my day<br />like a well-practised street thief<br />so I bolt - thinking<br />I have irresponsibly lost time<br />somewhere between the<br />bedroom and the toaster<br /><br />In my haze I hear laughter I cannot placeJulian Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08093357113647240007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33203679.post-1163727668089682042006-11-16T17:26:00.000-08:002007-01-14T22:59:42.579-08:00Getting HighThey’re building the city up –<br />steel rods soaring on the end of a crane<br />jackhammers thumping –<br />That’s what they’re thinking –<br />They’re building the city up<br />that’s what keeps them going when they dream who they are –<br />They do it first for their families<br />and then so they can shout the next round<br />but they have to be someone too –<br />They're building the city up<br />To her they’re just hurting her head<br />That’s what her heroin mind<br />shouts through the morning haze<br />She screams back at them to shut up<br />first blindly as she passes the pugilist's cafe<br />then straight at them<br />when bearings are zeroed<br />from outside the Silver Screen<br />She could be twenty-five or forty<br />She doesn’t care about anything except the noise<br />Soon she’ll have more on her mind<br />but the noise is cutting through<br />everything just now<br />She shoves her hands deep down<br />the back of her black bicycle shorts<br />and screams that she’ll show them her arse!<br />If they don’t shut up she’ll show them her arse and they can kiss it!<br />The workmen laugh and look at each other<br />with that expression that says ‘not another one’ –<br />these poor suburban boys<br />have been learning a few things<br />since they started working ‘The Cross’<br />One shouts ‘go on then, you slut’ down at her<br />She just screams more obscenities and<br />starts asking cafe customers<br />for a cigarette then a light<br />Some people laugh<br />some half-laugh embarrassed<br />others bury their faces<br />in their café lattes and cappuccinos<br />After a while standing with her leg cocked on a bollard<br />smoking her fag and howling at the sky<br />it’s time to make for the methadone clinic<br />The workmen pound more steel into their leviathan<br />more caffeine goes round<br />and the world keeps getting higher.Julian Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08093357113647240007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33203679.post-1163688719186169862006-11-16T06:37:00.000-08:002007-01-17T22:45:20.924-08:00EmpowermentI feel empowered by poetry<br />It fills my meagre wit with<br />surging bolts from Parnassus<br />A muscular swell as I<br />swoop my pen over scraps of<br />naked paper<br />Perhaps it suits<br />my short attention span<br />perhaps it’s the free-flowing form<br />the creative girth<br />the motion of the wave<br />pitching and throwing<br />reader and creator<br />together or off-course<br />as line crashes into line<br />idea into idea<br />And maybe<br />it’s that treasure-find moment<br />when everything stops<br />and you read<br />something forever true<br />All this empowers me<br />keeps me writing<br />re-working to<br />crystallise that perfect jewelJulian Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08093357113647240007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33203679.post-1163554247042422332006-11-14T17:29:00.000-08:002006-12-12T23:02:15.156-08:00Pretty PicturesI leave pretty pictures for others to paint.<br />Don't get me wrong,<br />nothing delights me more,<br />than to lie with a girl on a rock,<br />watching a stream tumble<br />over cool granite,<br />while kookaburras swell<br />the cathedral gums above.<br /><br />Yet, in my Windmill times, I like to delve<br />more darkly<br />sucking on sour rather than sweet.<br />Turning to Gleeson,<br />not frolicking with McCubbin.<br />Looking for spiders<br />under the dunny seat!Julian Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08093357113647240007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33203679.post-1163552738531311552006-11-14T16:44:00.000-08:002006-11-14T22:29:17.266-08:00One TreeInto a football stadium they put him,<br />my father, his mother, his people.<br />I don't know how he felt<br />because I never asked.<br />There is often an aching vacuum,<br />never breached,<br />between those who've<br />tumbled through<br />war and holocaust<br />and their children who<br />have always known peace.<br /><br />What I know is this -<br />That he led his mother to safety<br />through a hole in the wall<br />used by young boys to watch<br />football games for free.<br />At nine years old he preserved his family tree.<br />I've seen this tree -<br />drawn by my grandmother<br />with forty-four limbs cut off,<br />names circled and marked<br />Auschwitz.Julian Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08093357113647240007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33203679.post-1163487203439460822006-11-13T22:26:00.000-08:002007-03-19T23:54:49.070-07:00From here to the CrossLong sleek cars<br />filed in against gutters<br />tan-leathered, gilt-edged.<br />Short skirts bent at the waist,<br />Prada on show for the<br />village cafe.<br /><br />Prancing boys muscle<br />past breeders and feeders<br />on street corners,<br />glarey tops shouting ironic slogans<br />at latte guzzling home buyers<br />craving to get in.<br /><br />Dogs shit, owners scrape,<br />filling plastic bags,<br />dropping them into bins.<br />Couples stop in sunlight<br />and stare at boat-filled harbour glimpses<br />or sparkling cityscapes<br />before stepping over used syringes<br />and half-filled condoms.<br /><br />A broken-down man shakes himself<br />out of fever-filled dreams,<br />rolls up the edge of a cardboard mattress<br />for a buried smoke<br />and asks a Zegna suit,<br />cupla coins for a hot cuppa, mate.<br />The suit walks on.<br /><br />A red-dressed lawyer<br />and her banker man<br />edge into a street table,<br />parking their bugaboo pram,<br />and order an evening spring coffee<br />enjoying their special time<br />without the nanny.<br /><br />This is my world-weary show.<br />A sometimes-good-time adventure<br />wonderland wearyland world,<br />where gutter and stars churn<br />day and night<br />but rarely<br />come together.<br /><br />A couple,<br />driven by circumstance<br />to get out,<br />close the car doors,<br />and head away,<br />Somewhere,<br />Anywhere they can start again.Julian Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08093357113647240007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33203679.post-1163042613716267092006-11-08T19:23:00.000-08:002006-11-08T19:32:36.693-08:00DownfallA waggle-faced pepper-man<br />Stole the game,<br />But his knees were cut,<br />Today.<br /><br />Out of his war britches<br />Fell the cowboy,<br />As the people woke,<br />Today.<br /><br />Hallelujah, cried those who,<br />Long silenced,<br />Found their song,<br />Today.<br /><br />But the question hangs<br />Over people's play,<br />What motives moved,<br />Today?Julian Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08093357113647240007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33203679.post-1162877703396627152006-11-06T21:33:00.000-08:002006-11-06T21:35:03.410-08:00Imaginings 1Unable to catch back the black hand,<br />The cold hand, the slap hand<br />The touching hand that drags<br />Across your lost face,<br />Staring-blind, unforgiving.Julian Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08093357113647240007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33203679.post-1162283861298662992006-10-30T23:53:00.000-08:002007-10-11T01:47:22.081-07:00On Reading of MessinesAs the mandrills pock-egged and gnarled<br />Came tumbling through the<br />Gloomy view<br />I sat and rubbed the ghoul's<br />Whitening thigh<br />What frozen way do you count this waste<br />Strewn like a beggar's wage<br />By men too full of pride and plenty<br /><br />An imperial house of idiots<br />Let loose their toy chest<br />And usurped the world<br />Of thinking men<br />A crushed and breaking<br />Squelch that turned their heads<br /><br />All right I say<br />From up above and down below<br />The covens cry of hungry feet<br />And and swollen mouths<br />With nothing left to walk with<br />But our thousand crimes<br /><br />Could you speak in any softer tone<br />When all the air<br />Is sliced from your jaunty belly<br />With a lion's claw<br />Red hot in no-man's land<br /><br />And the sky above<br />Black-streaked with iron<br />Like screaming babies<br />Never faced again<br />My sunken mud-faced mate<br />No face no guts no legs<br /><br />And crawling from the docks<br />The bastards could never know<br />How could we even start to say<br />What a time we had<br />And what we<br />Left behindJulian Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08093357113647240007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33203679.post-1161765804841383772006-10-25T01:20:00.000-07:002006-10-30T23:52:23.760-08:00YouthTweed patches dissolve from my mind<br />As I watch the clock spin like a yo-yo,<br />Decorated with Coca Cola and Fanta labels<br />From my childhood.<br /><br />Flash, flash go the images of<br />Cricket matches on the front lawn<br />And stick fights in the park,<br />Charging down the street on<br />New bikes and skateboards,<br />Footballs over the fence and<br />Running from dogs driven mad.<br /><br />Yet, where there were sprinklers in the sunshine,<br />Now everything is pin-striped and cold.<br /><br />Tell my son to enjoy his time.<br />Tell my child to take risks.<br />Tell him this,<br />And smile for me.Julian Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08093357113647240007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33203679.post-1160472149281577322006-10-10T01:45:00.000-07:002006-11-07T20:32:58.380-08:00The MentorTo pay for the mortgage<br />I dance with the devil,<br />Up on his goat-legs he jives<br />As I learn the dark arts<br />To connive and turn off cold<br />My moral pump.<br /><br />I've seen the philanthropist<br />Spin from caressing babes<br />To spitting out<br />Blackened lies barbed<br />With cross intentions,<br />Thrilled in his mauling grope.<br /><br />Lick-spittle and suck, he says,<br />Come learn the way.<br />Don't judge my actions,<br />Judge my greater aims.<br />Have I confused you<br />With my Machiavellian call?<br /><br />Embrace this as the law, my friend<br />Drink it in and say, I live!<br />For nothing deserves<br />To survive unless<br />It has fought and won,<br />He sniggers off to one side.<br /><br />But he knows I've seen -<br />Don't be a fool he shouts<br />This pathetic angst<br />Isn't worth the time<br />It takes you away from<br />Bruising more bones.<br /><br />There is no god<br />And no judgement book<br />And all things are equal<br />And nothing wrong<br />When everything ends<br />At a gravedigger's farm.Julian Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08093357113647240007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33203679.post-1158136903968002042006-09-13T01:00:00.000-07:002006-10-09T20:49:20.103-07:00View from a DeskCasting a glass eye round<br />For approval<br />He feels winks fall<br />On his polished page.<br />Nothing simple and beautiful<br />Is easy.<br />He knows that,<br />Like a childhood pledge.<br /><br />Yet bells toll hollow success<br />As heroes morph<br />From hungry piglets.<br />He consents to pride<br />On a Monumental scale<br />As his capital heaves<br />On the back of swooning ego.<br />All puffed puffery.<br /><br />Back-slapping, boob boys<br />Chase themselves<br />Back to sports sheds<br />And bar rooms,<br />Telling stories<br />Of cut-edged risk<br />And shoulder charged<br />Confrontation.<br /><br />Keep it up, Keep it up<br />If you drop the pace<br />The team goes down<br />We're ALL connected,<br />You know -<br />For No man's an island<br />Unto himself -<br />Any drop will collapse the stage.<br /><br />In this false cry,<br />Reason is drowned,<br />What else can there be,<br />But complicity.Julian Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08093357113647240007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33203679.post-1157279738910016152006-09-03T03:33:00.000-07:002006-12-02T07:35:49.600-08:00Pericles Rising<span style="font-size:85%;"><em>And by the example of our Declaration</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>Make everybody want to be a nation.</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em></em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>They are our wards we think to some extent</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>For the time being and with their consent,</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>To teach them how Democracy is meant.</em></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Robert Frost 1942</span><br /><br /><br />From a swollen earth,<br />Wrought-cracked and splitting,<br />Rose Hellen’s dream.<br />The Mighty stretched out,<br />Dry and fraught,<br />Fingering their empires<br />To city states,<br />Gold like a phoenix claw,<br />Pierced upward through wilting flesh.<br />And the Mighty recoiled,<br />Snapping back each hand,<br />One by one by one,<br />Shrieking and lashing tongues.<br /><br />A revolt of grime and blood<br />Burst from pierced arteries<br />To fill the ravines.<br />And Pericles kept rising.<br /><br />As each new city severed<br />The chord to its mother,<br />New cracks were filled in the earth.<br />As each new city found a song,<br />The land began to glisten,<br />Woven as a brutal tapestry.<br />Each song new.<br />Each song unique.<br /><br />As time marched on<br />Kingdoms dissolved<br />Leaving just their name,<br />Echoes of a hollow scream<br />As a new world was born.<br />And Pericles kept rising.<br /><br />And the new way spoke<br />Of freedom and truth<br />In the place of<br />Darkness and tyranny,<br />And Pericles kept rising.<br /><br />While his monstrous head grew<br />To caste its shadow<br />Over free peoples,<br />And Pericles kept rising.<br /><br />Until he was high enough<br />To roar of danger<br />Beyond the horizon,<br />And Pericles kept rising.<br /><br />O great leader save us!<br />They cried.<br />Without seeing an enemy,<br />And Pericles kept rising.<br /><br />Then he bent down<br />Sweeping his hand across the land,<br />Taking up his flock<br />Crying: “I have created all this for you.<br />Follow me, to your war.<br />It is inevitable.”<br />And they followed.Julian Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08093357113647240007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33203679.post-1157104024506132682006-09-01T02:30:00.000-07:002006-10-10T20:09:16.096-07:00The InterviewI couldn't let her know<br />About how I really felt.<br />About why I shit<br />On every opportunity<br />That she felt was so<br />Beautiful and piqued,<br />Ready to be plucked by<br />An enthusiastic whippet,<br />Just like her young champion<br /><br />I couldn't tell her I didn't give a shit for any of it.<br />It was all old.<br />Stale.<br />Rude.<br />Molested by her enthusiasm.<br />I was too old.<br />I wanted more.<br /><br />But I couldn't tell her because<br />I was trapped.<br />No escape door in my head.<br />My perceptions had let me down<br />And I couldn't scream out "fuck you"<br />From under my self-made ocean.<br /><br />I know she wanted me to.<br />Looking inside my eyes<br />I think she knew there was more to come out.<br />But I didn't help her.<br />I gave her stories of hope,<br />Confidence,<br />Development,<br />Vision.<br /><br />Now, it will be a matter of time.<br />But everything is a matter of time.Julian Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08093357113647240007noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33203679.post-1156324427071578102006-08-23T01:05:00.000-07:002006-12-08T04:42:26.036-08:00A Surfer's LamentI feel myself reaching out anonymously,<br />comfortable,<br />sliding into the vastness<br />of cyberspace<br />touching an accelerated mindscape where I<br />close off to shelves around me piled high.<br /><br />It's a sad state to need this<br />collaboration<br />with artificial reality to get my kicks<br />when not long ago I was<br />climbing mountains, trekking deserts and<br />drinking too long at smokey jazz joints.<br />Put it down to responsibility.<br /><br />Have I let the cold hand<br />of commercial coercion<br />play me?<br />Drag me along with the eternal promise of<br />consumerist, middle-class, underachievement<br />mortgage, marriage, child and career.<br />Comfortable discomfort.<br /><br />I look around for the disappointment<br />hidden between this comfort zone and the<br />camcorders<br />but my schoolmates are trading up to<br />three kids or a Mercedes<br />and I feel<br />disembowelled, cheated.<br /><br />So I go back to the anonymous zone<br />silent, flash, interact with whobody -<br />comfort.<br />The World In There is created<br />juxtaposed to the World Out Here.<br />The marketers, the gamers, the IT junkies, the dreamers.<br />deliberate or not.<br /><br />Yet the World In There is never free<br />from reality's interventions,<br />DisComfort<br />as the phone rings.<br />What were once rivulets of escapism<br />now rise up as chains shaped like<br />telephone cords and computer cables.<br /><br />Tomorrow they'll be bars, tentacles<br />confining me<br />holding back my thoughts, desires, voice, actions,<br />sliding 'round my hands, pressing<br />contraptions to my mouth.<br />Suffocation,<br />and a new day.Julian Blackhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08093357113647240007noreply@blogger.com0