You're tweeting
Texting
Face Timing
Whatsapping
SMSing
Facebooking
Skyping
Yet you seem to disconnect yourself from the authenticity of the present
She, he, them, us- are all gone
Congratulations on your 'social media'
Because now the only thing you can really socialise with, is nothing
So think about the next time you decide to choose social media
Are you willing to risk it all in return for a like, comment or message on a screen?

Once upon a time there lived a little girl. This little girl was no different to anybody else. She liked to play with her friends, she listened to her teachers and everyday she’d go home to watch TV and play with her two brothers and her little sister. This little girl’s life continued to flow smoothly, she went to school, got good grades, started high school, made new friends, and everyday she’d go home to find her mum making dinner and she’d watch her dad come home after a long days’ work.

The little girl had a good life.

Until one August morning when the little girl awoke only to find that she’d never hear her mother’s voice again.

That little girl’s mother died that day and that little girl suddenly wasn’t just a little girl anymore. The little girl was devastated by her loss but she tried her best not to show it. The little girl put on a mask, one that hid all of her pain and suffering from those around her. No matter how much the little girl hurt, no one could ever see it. What the little girl didn’t know was that the longer she wore this mask, the harder it would be to take off. So the mask stayed on, forever hiding all that she felt from the world. This mask took all of the little girl’s emotions away, both good and bad, it made her completely numb.

So the little girl learnt how to pretend.

She pretended that she was fine. She pretended to be happy when something good happened and pretended to be sad when something bad happened. The little girl was able to pretend for four years before the cracks started to appear in her mask. You see after four years of pretending that everything was fine pressure started to build under the mask. Every fake smile, every fake laugh….. Every fake tear, it all built the pressure up under that mask. Until one day the cracks in the little girl’s mask got so big that the mask shattered into thousands of tiny pieces that could never be put back together again, and all of the emotions, the fake smiles, laughs and fake tears; everything under that mask came out all at once.
Suddenly the little girl couldn’t pretend anymore. Everyone had seen the mask break; they had all seen what was hiding beneath it. So the little girl stopped pretending, but after so long without real emotions she realised that she didn’t know how to be happy, sad, angry, anxious…….. She didn’t know how to feel anything.
The little girl that had once hidden from her emotions, her pain, the world and even herself was forced to face it all at once.

The little girl couldn’t handle it.

The little girl went to the doctors and asked them to fix her. They told her that she was depressed. They gave her some pills and told her that they would make the pain go away. And they did, for a little while at least, but then new problems emerged. Sure the pills took away the pain, but now it was almost like there was too much happiness. The little girl saw the world in Technicolor vision; her thoughts raced and flew faster than anything known to mankind. She had compulsions to clean and to create, to socialise and love. She wanted to yell her happiness from well above the tree tops. Nothing could stop her. She felt immortal. Death was but a tiny distant memory to her.

This feeling never lasted long.

Before long the depression would come back, she found herself with a blade in her hand and tears streaming down her face many times. Too many times she found herself asking what the point in living was. All she wanted to do was die. She experimented with different kinds of overdoses, she got sick and most importantly she stopped caring. She didn’t care about anyone else, she didn’t care about herself. All she wanted was for the world to just stop spinning. The depression took over, until suddenly the world would change and colour would come back. That’s when the compulsions would come back, the racing thoughts, and the happiness. All of it would come rushing back. But just as quickly as it came; it went. This cycle continued for a long time until, during a moment of depression, she got a little too close to death and found herself in a psychiatric hospital.

All of the doctors and nurses agreed that there was more than just depression plaguing the little girl. They threw around words like bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder and cyclothymia. They gave the little girl new pills. This time they were supposed to stop her from going high, and also low. They were supposed to keep her stable. And then, they sent her home. They messed with her medication a lot, trying to find the right ones. They started her on one hell of a rollercoaster ride; and on that rollercoaster ride, is where you can find that little girl today.

(Before you read this, this is only applicable to my experience, I'm not judging you if this is still your life; it's written more because it was my life and I wasn't living.)


At the time I thought it helped me socialise,
now it’s no surprise I look through anti-social eyes;
supplied with a look over the shoulder guise.
Bored of chasing a broken prize, smoke n lies
I chose to thrive, pry open these permanently closing eyes.
It was the bane of my existence,
now my resistance is high instead of me.
I better be the best pedigree of I.
Instead of the guy flying with eyes far from wide
spying those that despise trying to get inside my mind,
to find they aren't real. Addicted no longer,
uplifted, higher than leaves can carry,
now you’re green with envy while I parry
back your attacks and crack on.
I blow-back your slow trap and reflect upon your affliction
I’m best without your friction on my lungs,
now I’m cutting you with the diction from my tongue,
no grinder.  Now my mind’s up to speed,
no amphetamine, no dependency,
it certainly seems that I’m living better than I could ever dream.
I’m an evergreen standing steady for centuries.
At the time I thought it helped me socialise,
now it’s no surprise I look through anti-social eyes;
supplied with a look over the shoulder guise.

you can ******* a man with accusations of insanity and destroy him instantly, or over a few years... but that only shows the collective approach is insane and, including the man in question the prefix added to the collective: self-destructive... it's no good implying a man faked a coherent use of language, when the western model attached paranoiac iconoclasm of certain pronoun and noun usage - one man had more coherence in language than a million reduced to Emoticons - but no one minded that affair - they simply accepted it - it was once making the populace literate then the unmaking of literacy with technological advances - as ever the lax aristocracy - we don't philosophise in western society, we simply imply logistics of psychology - a Chinese model for the eradication of the unit of indestructibility - a soul, but what happens in China is a success story, the number in question are too man, our experiment is a failure in this eradication of the unit of indestructibility is a failure, excess individuation processes with too few example of coherence and grey matter - the family model is primarily the one source we have no coherent grey matter populace - with its failure no person will strive to wear the mask of father, grandfather, uncle... there's no investment in society of a family, western hands said: freedom to clone, freedoms for L.G.B.T. communities to flourish - surrogacy prostitution... care homes and tattoos of ***** bed-wetting on the skin - individuation's aggressiveness and objectivity's passiveness reduced to a criticism of a book rather than a project of collective cohesion... Communism came across the greatest antisemitism known to man - capitalistic zenith of the holocaust - now slang in populist propaganda - V for Vendetta realism i approach - i don't think i want to go to a pub these days, whether with Scot, Irishman or Anglo - i don't think watching rats scuttle is much fun over a pint of beer... schizophrenia of the collective, from theorem and other additives you can see the reverse chirality - some way or another you become involved - globalisation did that, you want to be un-involved and yet you become involved - you want the village life but are forced into an abstract urbanity - you have the urban life but are discouraged from an abstract village-life although in deepest desire, you wish for it... the day when two speakers of the same tongue undermine each other's speech - by way of constructing the perfect Ypres' replicas of entrenching validations to stand opposite each other on the basis of argument per se, and so the argument comes... how then contend between masochism on one side and sadism on the other, when the former traps himself in a panic room and does it to himself, and the latter is kept repeating a knock-knock joke with no answer?*

England has become a place where
i don't want to socialise -
i wouldn't want to be in a pub
full of Irish or English -
i've become marginalised as a user
of the tongue - i'm a user
but hardly the attaché - the "where you from"
question is always asked, i'm here,
but where from seems to matter more -
it's not fun anymore - London is
slightly confused at it all,
they said the European Union experiment
is a failure akin to the Communist Plot -
but of course both were pre-readied failures,
the former was tackled by puppetry of the
American president, the latter by the Pope -
both were ****** - the populist assertion
of the dream of Nebuchadnezzar -
if history is hardly a hindsight, it certainly
is a way of sleepwalking -
the failure from places not formerly conquered -
the anger of north africa and the elsewhere
encompassing the Mediterranean -
invigorating a force of conquerors by the once conquered
by goose-pimple buttocks of the Romans not
heading north on the continent (islands are insulators
of the cold) - hence the once former conquered
trying to scold and try out their post-colonial
authority - white v. white won't work -
Scandinavians and the Baltic States weren't
ready for ***** Gaul or ***** Britannia setting
orders - the Roman didn't go that far -
the failure was imminent from a single dream -
history is nothing about hindsight -
the hindsight default is nothing but the wrong
of the waking hour for many a man,
to take a dream as a vector for forward only sent
as backward - never make history from the interpretation
of a resting body - from a dream -
to make history from a dream is to give more men
unrest in the waking hour - to make history from
dreams is to make history without hindsight
but with sleepwalking, and few men are given
the anti-psyche drugs for a sober approach,
they say: but i didn't drink... but their intoxication
came from dreams... a drunk man will stumble and fall,
but a man intoxicated by dreams will make more
horrors outside the realm of cinema than is already
there with an eager audience - indeed, a cinema with
an un-eager audience - residues of symbolism,
the quote: for king and country and such baffling e.g. plural.
Ukraine was almost ready to join... you could say
Russia and Britain pulled the project apart...
i just don't think you'll like this aggravated German
with the expulsion of Jews from Poland -
the Visegrad Group - partly because this is the undercurrent -
so when will the channel tunnel become a plot-line
for Guy Fawkes? it's already rearranging itself -
a new chapter - a new nothing - it never worked in
the first place because there was no respect for the diversity,
we shared a single phonetic encoding, sure, some of us
used diacritical stresses, one particular didn't -
but it was anti-representing the diversity, this was
supposed to be an European Union -
not the Post-Colonial-Pseudo-African Union -
the great colonial states ruined it, that's why the greatest
of them has left - the European Union should have
excluded Britain, France and the Iberian peninsula -
it was intended as the revival of the Holy Roman Empire,
but including post-colonial states invoked the realisation
of their colonial past, thereby necessitating an integration
of their past colonial subjects into Europe -
Britain left because they heard the news... Turkey is going
to join... well... never mind Rotherham, eh?

It's such a quaint notice to understand
The very point on why Friendships are made
And you in Cheer, though Special beforehand
Was just a Concern I had to obey
This thrice on Crop's Best; And opened before
Such that Stubborn Mules fail to socialise
They only eat grass - aloof and demure
And a Good Partner most unqualified
We shared the News once. That a Good Exchange
Of Certain Facts the Telly won't disclose
How frustrating when we need a wide range
And once we did just adds to our Remorse.
Freakish Things they are, Roaches in the Brain
Unless we sweep this, infest they remain.

The dim morning sun danced across the white bed sheets
The lamp posts flickered
The cars, enthused, hooted
It could not have been past six in the morning
Drivers, passengers, by standers, they were all part of the pre-Christmas rush
Christmas was a week away.
I smiled at the thought of waking up on Christmas morning
Although I am not one to socialise (you know that)
I was excited to see family members that I would only see next year, this time, again
They would bottle up the year’s stories and once the glasses clink,
The liquid fizzles,
The stories will be offered to people who listen but are rarely focused.
Liquids impact your life
We often take them for granted.
Droughts teach us not to waste water.
Wine (if you’re religious) teaches us to never forget the reason we are here today.
Hangovers, they teach us to put the cup down and socialise with the couples,
Being a third wheel is not safe, but avoiding a hangover is.
Party liquids, are great.
They ease the tension.
They help avoid awkward situations.
In most cases, the night before would be a blur.
This case was different.
As I tugged on the cold sheets,
It brought warmth to my aching body.
My heart rate had decreased and my chest had fallen.
Then, it sped up.
I prayed that I would not be having another anxiety attack,
But the events of the previous night had lashed out.
Anxiety attack for who?
I recalled his blonde-brown hair.
The way he begged for his comb over to not move over.
He had this giggly whim about him.
His face would light up each time his glass was filled,
But it could not have been as bright as mine.
“This is my girlfriend.”
That was my introduction.
That was my title for the night.
I could have been upset.
I was upset but,
Anger was destined for the morning after.
The first string,
Caught me off-guard.
Although I tied it.
It surprised me.
It didn’t happen to surprise you, though.
You never finished that conversation.
The moon light looked brighter and for a few seconds, the lamp posts worked.
Your friend helped you and reminded you that I have baggage that has been deported.
He reminded you that I may be using you to avoid my own emotional distress.
“We know what we’re doing.”
I smiled and agreed when I heard that.
That night, we knew what we were doing.
We were prepared.
Everything was going to be okay.
I am decoding scribbles right now.
Trying to cut the string,
My scissors are missing.
Do you think we knew what we were doing?
Yes, it took a few slurps for me to be your girlfriend,
But was it worth it in the end?
As I type this,
A thought lingers
“Alcohol changes your behaviour,
Not your feelings.”
I will repeat these words every time I enter your neighbourhood.
I know it is absurd that I have grown to develop feelings for you within a week,
But I needed to destroy writer’s block.
You offered a lot more, though.
Just my luck.



-Tryston Kae

Here's the story told to me about our glorious infantry.

Louts,rapscallions,friends battalions
arm in arm and full of glee
marching off to join the infantry.

In the rear lines drinking fine wines,hock,moselle,some burgundy
and some drinking ginseng flavoured tea from some far flung idea of Empire
while only half a mile along the road the whole world was on fire,
were the fat arsed generals with their horses, waiting on their second courses,
crepes and franzipans and to a man they didn't care that the war was waiting there,
'let the ******* wait',they'd say,
after all that was the gentlemanly way.

The bullets striped us left to right and falling into our own falling ***** we'd call for mum and dad
aye lads
aye lads
war is bad
but for the buggers at the rear who never so much as once came near the sound of a gun,
war was fun a chance to socialise,
society is full of lies and leaders they were not.
But death's got their number on his shell,they'll soon be joining us in hell,
so ****** them and sod the lot
were in a spot,we'll not get home,splintered bone and mangled limb and corporal thinks it's still a sin to swear
well ****** him as well,we no longer care.
As we share a final smoke,Johnny tells his favourite joke about three generals and some place called,but I forget the punch line as the time has come for one more bullet,one more gun and silence.

In Croydon,Roydon and North of Watford Gap,families are spoon fed some wholesome krap from drip fed Sergeants,battle,shield and argent,honour King and all the other little things that the senselessness of death brings home.
Let them keep their fields filled full with glory,we know the ***** **** filled story,
war is bad
war is bad
I'm glad that I cant fight no more.

i get bored of using websites
with only strangers on them,
it's like trying to be a stage-fright
actor imitating statues,
it's almost but a too
clear bewilderment;
i wonder why the internet was never
intended for the sole purpose of
bureaucracy, trading, banking,
and all those social requirements,
the dark side of the internet isn't
the dark web as such, it's the oddity
of using the internet to socialise,
the hindering, the crutch, when otherwise
all benefits of the internet have
proven effective, for example?
the shrinking diversity of the high street;
large and accessible world,
yet no community in the vicinity,
and then friendships 12 hours apart,
and then you step onto the streets of suburbia
and death's grinding grip of things,
because, let's face it, the bright lights
and constant social engagements will only
appreciate you for as much time as necessary
to feel over-confident and then you're
easily recyclable - and then the pre cemetery:
suburbia.

The man alone sat in the restaurant
as people talked about him.
Somehow he had become a real loner
nobody talked to him.
He never spoke to anybody close by
losing the will to try.

The man alone had not always been like this
he'd been married twice.
Blessed with four children and socialised
yet lacked something.
He was not considered a long term friend
lacking a chemical blend?

The man alone began to feel more depressed
watching others socialise.
What lay ahead the past didn't cheer him up
questioning his purpose.
Isolation was becoming more of an issue
his future not even he knew!

The Foureyed Poet.

you see before i moved to canberra i moved to woodberry, woodberry, a place where

if you have a mental illness you are declared CRAZY, you see i was hearing voices

when my brother was joking around with me, the voices were saying, your a **** and your crazy

you don’t belong in this world, i know i belong in this world, i love life so much, but all the time

i was hearing voices saying you are a yeah mate yeah kid buddy, ya know a nerd, and you don’t belong

anywhere on earth, it was a crazy country town, you see i remember getting a taxi to school, getting bullied

in the taxi, which made the voices go completely crazy, dad kept on saying don’t be shy brian, i never liked that

but in hindsight, he was trying to get me to have fun, you see i used to in sort of a way never telling lies

oh well, that all changed when i moved to canberra, but i needed a way to calm the voices, of we don’t like you

you don’t belong in this world, i know i belong in this world, i am a lover of life, you see i remember hearing that

same bully say to my brother kidnap yourself buddy, cause you realise you are from that family, he just wished

i was aware, but all my life i have been hearing voices, maybe it was me pooling my pants, i don’t do that anymore

you see, what i don’t understand, why can’t people respect me when i say i am a nice guy, and that is what lately people can’t

respect that i wanna move on, i have had more teasing than anyone, i need a break, but as soon as i moved to canberra

the voices left my head, but when they gave me wee and locked me in the storeroom, oh well, the voices started up again

and every time i got teased by anyone, a voice came into my head saying, i might kidnap in a minute, i remember a voice saying

i am going to bash you up, i hated every negative voice that cam into my head, my mum and dad liked how i never told lies but

i needed to get on with my brother, so i played with him, but what i didn’t understand was dad was suffering with my constant yelling

and he probably went to his grave thinking what he was doing back then was wrong for me, i am reformed now, and i am on medication

there are voices in my head saying, take brian’s pension away from him he’s not like me, i said as a joke, and give me superannuation

but i at that stage, very much of a ******, i hate this other voice saying, you are the only one who is getting hassled, i never hassled

anyone like these voices are hassling me, i understand paul berenyi if he is dead hassling, because i was staring at him, i used to stare

at everyone, but i am trying to get reformed, i used to stare at my family as well, and that is why dad lost his cool, saying i don’t want to be cool, how weird is that

you see, i hated being treated like a man to a tease, because it was ******* me, i was starting to think that these voices were just voices, but outside the

charnwood inn some dude grabbed me, i struggled and ran up the stairs, you see when daniel pederson died he got inside my head to make me a big man

too uncoil for his family, but i don’t really like being a big man or a big young dude or a big kid or a different person, you see when i was at school i said

i was different, but that was just school talk, it’s hard being treated like a different person, like tonight, i was walking over to the sink to do the washing up

and i felt fatigued and i felt fatigued when i bought the garbage out and the voices were saying, you are easy to tease, i don’t want to be easy meat

i want to reform my brain enough, you see there is a movie group i went to as well as a writing group but i can’t socialise because of the buses and

my blasted voices, there was this other voice saying as i said, i want to be normal, the voice would say be like us then, i don’t want to be treated like my brother anymore

i am like one person and that is brian allan,

Splinters, blisters.
Losers, winners.
Saints and sinners.
"Come in for dinner" s

It's where we learned to socialise.
Our very own sovereign land
zero politics
and conflicts always solved
hand to hand.

Loud junctions juxtaposed
against our little corner of paradise
motorists peering in when they stop at that red light.

Ringing on doorbells, buzzing on intercoms
The anticipation
to hear whether your friend was home or not.

Colourblind kids with the most vivid sight.
Retrieving footballs under parked cars
was the extent of our plights.

I didn't know where the world would take us
or the type of people it would make us,
but something I learned from a young age
is that the rest of the world isn't like
Gooseacre.

This is for everyone else,
Because finally I'll get this off my chest,
But it will never be out of my system.
This is my apology;
The pain you may never see;
Just me saying sorry for ever single time.
Everyday the rest of you expect communication,
Except you've stopped attempts to seek it from me,
And although some of you make efforts,
It's still just not the same.
I'm separate from all of you.
This is why I'm telling everyone;
I'm sorry I can't speak with you;
I'm sorry when I walk into a room
That you wish I wasn't there;
I'm sorry when you're paired with me
It's such a problem
-I'm just not as fun as the others,
And it's kind of like I'm not there;
I seem to just get in the way,
But everyone's too nice to show it bothers them.

Now here's my attempt to explain,
Or to try and make you almost understand.
It's not that I don't want to talk to you;
Or that I hate everyone here;
And I'm not trying to eavesdrop without giving anything away.
Instead it's as if,
I just can't work the same way you all do.
Sometimes I try to socialise,
And it just doesn't work.
Mostly it's just that,
Me and the rest of us
Have different takes of what that means.
For me, being social
Can just be showing up.
Humans thrive off social interaction,
So obviously I do too,
But for me this is limited,
Because this can just make my life worse.

I see how now everyone is more like one big group,
Which I am not a part of.
I guess I prefer having a few close friends,
Plus after the last group I'm less confident,
And now the aspect's not that bright,
I became a mess.
You all seem to be happy in company,
And then there's just me standing away from it all:
Literally on the sidelines.
If I was like you lot,
I'd just be able to start talking,
And that would be okay,
And maybe I could even be part of the jokes and fun.
This almost happens in one lesson,
But the thing is, those of you in it,
Would still think I never talk in those moments.

Many of you are kind,
And really try to make me feel...
Spoken to.
Maybe less anxious.
Then I get more socially anxious,
Because I don't do enough,
I can't just start talking to you like all of your friends,
So maybe you don't think I appreciate it.
Though you could literally give me one kind glance,
And I'll be amazed and eternally grateful,
As I expect less than that.

So because I cannot speak enough,
My mind doesn't seem strong enough to cope,
And the rest of you think I'm really shy,
I'm saying it here,
One last time:
I'm sorry I don't participate, communicate and socialise like you want,
But I won't tell you it will change,
Because that's not something easily cured,
And this was my apology.

Not since the plasmic glow of the Inflationary period,
When the glorious Universe could be held in the palm of your hand,
Has the Light prevailed;
Ever-after, the Darkness has gained increasing *******.

Forget those globular perturbations coalescing into Galaxies;
Forget, too, the denser gases igniting into radiant stars;
The cold, dark space-time only retreats temporarily - and grows all the while.
The expanding Universe acts to isolate the Light,
And the Darkness is patient enough to await its ultimate victory.

When Matter has run its race,
And complex Life is a distant echo;
When atoms and molecules haven't the Energy to socialise,
Then the Darkness will swallow the Light for good.
The Universe will be dark and dead -
And God will cease to exist.

my sister has always been above me
18 months older,
she's larger than life
a social butterfly fluttering non-stop and here i am, still trying to spin my cocoon

you can hear her laughter from the next room away,
(the next five rooms away, if she's with a friend)
always smiling, groaning about something, or ohmygoshhaveyouseenmyigottago-ing
she's got a mane of hair half her height
her keys jingle jangle on the state university lanyard she wears around her neck
she's always home before 1 am but some nights, she doesn't sleep
other nights, she's out like a light
she was always so good at sleeping

me, i'm short hair don't care
anti-socially awkward
perpetually clenched hands covered in paint most of the time
beat up toms on my feet, ***** glasses on my face
come winter, her forgotten beanie until it's on my head
i phrase things oddly, have a dry wit about me
i keep to myself because i hate the way i sound/look/talk
i have one friend my own age in real life.
the other ones are about 4+ years older or younger than me and our method of communication is typing on screens, thousands of miles away from one another
i prefer this method

today she told me how weird it is that my "real" friends are strangers on the internet "like ten years older than you"
i told her that's as weird as her being friends with guys a year behind me if i were still in high school
she says "ummm i don't know why you can't just socialise normally like a normal person"
she says she doesn't know why i'm so painfully socially inept
i remind her i've been out of school longer than she has and haven't been around anyone other than my doctors and mom for more than a couple awkward minutes in over a year
dramatic sigh "yeah but you like dropped out so that's different"

she's so very lucky she can't see into my mind
she'd be terrified and disgusted by what she'd find there
too many monsters, too many thoughts, too many girls, too many raindrops to pour on her parade

there are so many things she takes for granted like
smiling, laughing, talking normally, not having to stress over whether people will be able to understand her
"just go up to someone and say hi"
yeah sorry, i kind of can't.

one day i decided to wear my dad's old button down shirt and khaki pants
i gelled my hair into spikes, just to see what kind of reaction i'd get if i started dressing to match how i felt about my ****** orientation
"here let me roll up your sleeves it'll look cuter that way"
"ohmygosh you look like a lesbian you need to go change right now"
she was only half wrong
i didn't change.

she's short and muscular while i'm tall and freakishly thin
she's able bodied, athletic as heck and my body is slowly deteriorating but at least my mind is still sharp

when we were kids,
i followed her everywhere
when mom dressed us up alike
i loved it while she hated it
one time we bought matching dresses
i wore mine all summer while hers collected dust in the back of her closet
the next year, i bought it off of her for $4.

before I left school, we took an AP Psych class together
she thought Psych looked so interesting and wanted to major in it
i was in the middle of a downward spiral and just wanted to understand what games my mind was playing on me
my sister memorised and studied hard
i didn't and got a higher score than her
i started missing class, more and more and our teacher asked her where i was
she was too embarrassed to tell him the real answer
in bed, eating about 5 crackers a day, in a cloud of depression, sleeping and wasting away
the kids at school thought i had cancer

a year and a half later, she's gotten her diploma and i, my GED
we're both taking classes at the community college now
my end goal is art therapy
hers is undecided

i'm not comfortable in my own skin
i've been in the dark for most of my life, be it shadows or my own man-made perpetual nighttime
my sister has tried and is trying her hardest to look out for me
but i'm not some clay that needs to be molded into her perfect little box
i'm sharp edges and bony crevices to her soft welcoming shell
i am the dark to her light, the yang to her yin
and one of these days,
i'll be okay with that.
-
-z.z

and those who socialise
go among such few
as to be dubbed philosophers
for nonchalantly smoking
cigarettes in corners,
and there are those who shun
socialising as a pastime
equivalent of backgammon,
and smoke cigarettes entranced
by speaking back the nervous-twitch
embodiment of a sparrow's chirping,
smoking cigarettes as if they
were dragons.

the late 19th century was famous for its ménage à trois,
a profanity of a trinity, nietzsche rée and salomé
akin to edvard munch, stanislav przybyszewski
and dagny juell (ducha), and the evening by account of
jens thiis with stark naked satan unable to die
from pneumonia... we have much to congregate over,
less familiar stances to keep observance to,
and when the munch (moon khh, not
a marijuana smoker's pastime for a psychoactive
ingredient missing fuel or calorie),
exhibition came to london, i was expecting
the SCREAM... didn't get it...
fell in love with the madonna (1893),
such refined curvature, it was almost a
chair never sat on... pristine remembrance
of sloth never enjoyed for a book of letters
to be written by a politician...
shame, really... a homosexual's additive
enzyme of jealousy, who knows what chance
by-product  is worth keeping... l.s.d. or champagne?
well one produces psychotic people thinking
they're wheelbarrows, the latter produces anorexic models...
take a pick... take a sweetie darlin'.
that przybyszewski was an odd sort,
wrote solely in german, hallucinated,
was the stark naked satan at one seance of artists...
i'm guessing the next ****** will come
from a mono-****** marriage disdaining
the woman, the surrogate as merely *tool,
if not from there, then where from?
dysfunctional heterosexual marriages?
you can engrave an orphanage populace with the latter,
with the former you can't...
yo-yo was the craze when i re-entered english education
caterpillar of tiers...
you can't do with the former as you do with the latter...
they're too rich... godly power bestowed upon
mortals is only bestowed with a debased exchange of matter:
you guest it! money!
money is cheap as ****... it's basically an **** by-product
of a shovelled ***** squirter digging into it
with piston thrusts... money, an enzyme a catalyst
in reverse... poems are cheap as conscience...
while artistic doodles gain a multi-millionaire status
once the dabbler in oil is dead...
i sold van gogh's sunflowers for a country's g.d.p.
the over day... how's that?
the point of art is to be dead... that's when the hagglers
and merchants come... art of worth means the artist is dead,
dead;
so there we have it: men overtly invoke optics
into ******, they paint, watch a woman utilise
all vowels and one particular consonant into
an ******* contorting moan, hence they paint...
male poets are an oddity... they say:
painters go ahead, enjoy the sights...
i'll use words as wet thumbs and indexes
putting all the vibrant candles out from contorting
to a swallow's chirping twitch...
keep your paintings, sell them for a grand...
there are many more colours here...
than the primitive spectrum to a suited geometry
of contortion that only revels in still-life, the captured
moment: but indeed akin to the primary,
red and noun, indigo and pronoun, green and
adjective, yellow and verb, orange and adverb,
blue and proverb... while the other colours
missing are left to occupy the two canvases of
black & white, as writing, grammatical syllable
shrapnel of prepositions and what not.

I'm sorry I'm not as outgoing
I'm sorry I don't like to
go outside everyday
I'm sorry I don't agree to plans
I'm sorry I don't socialise a lot
I'm sorry I'm self-conscious
I'm sorry I prefer to stay at home
I'm sorry I feel unsafe
I'm sorry people intimidate me
I'm sorry I think people are suspicious
I'm sorry if I am too selfish to accept the fact that we've moved

The list will go on but who has time?

I'm sorry
    I'm sorry
          I'm sorry I changed

(c.r)

When I was five Miss M sat the Chinese
new girl next to me and I made a face.
Miss gave a sharp look like: empathy please,
an ethnic discriminates against race?

Even as a child I squirmed at being
cast as Other. I wanted to be with
the anglo kids. The natural fleeting
first impression of a child who writhes

at injustice. I was conditioned to
socialise and be protector of those
who I didn't want anything to do
with. The brash Anglo kids I suppose

were oblivious and weren't burdoned by
ideas too mature for them. Ah equality.

I thought and I set of what life is to me
Actually! I have a dream
I have a dream to open doors and let my wishes in to survive
I anxiously and I urge to make my life valuable and let the past be

I have a dream, a dream to socialise
I have a dream, a dream to express my talents, to society yes.
I have a dream, a dream to brighten my future, to society yes.

I have a dream, a dream to handle challenges and let my heart love and care
Acquire the ability and stabilise the requirements of my thoughtful senses and hopes
Resemble the minds of those who heal and let me breath out disgrace to suit grace

I have a dream, a dream to diversify
I have a dream, a dream to successful life
I have a dream, a dream to see and individual stand and say,

because of you, I've build an empire
because of you, I never give up
because of you, I'm singing a song
and I say, thank you
thank you for making me believe
thank you for building trust in me
thank you.

I have a dream.

It's my day at home today
And people ask what I will do
But I turn to them and tell them
That I really do not know

Well I'll wake up in the morning
Feeling like I've had no rest
And the fear that lies within me
Will rise and constrict my chest
But I'll stand up and be counted
I'll work hard, I'll try my best
And if you're lucky then I might even get dressed.

It's my day at home today
Some people say I work too much
But if they want me to socialise
Why don't they keep in touch?

Still I'll sit at home and surf the web
And text them from my room
And I'll look at pictures on the net
Of people on the moon
Sing **** the ashcloud with Miss Palmer
She'll be Mrs Gaiman soon
And if you're lucky then I might just pen a tune.

It's my day at home today
And people ask me why I'm here
I say that's because I have no plans
I play my life by ear

But it's doing me OK so far
I'm living with it well
Even if sometimes it can feel like
A flaming pit of hell
Still I'm learning and I'm trying
Poking out beneath my shell
And if you're lucky and you're good then I won't tell.

It's my day at home today
Sometimes people ask me why
I shut myself in yet seem so strong
And never, ever cry

And I tell them that I'm happy
And that's why I don't look sad
And I try my best to help them out
When they are feeling bad
But they don't know what I cannot say
That I've been driven mad
And if they're lucky then they will not understand.

It's my day at home today
And some people ask me why
I prefer to sit behind a screen
And watch the world go by

I say the phantom of the opera
Composed in a secret place
For he never wished the light of day
To fall upon his face
Even if I'm sat behind a pane
I'm running my own race
And if you're lucky I might let you keep the pace.

It's my day at home today
And people ask what I will do
But I'll turn to them and tell them
That it all depends on you.

unfastidious relief
my throat burns
like a midnight afterglow
crystallised
in fleeting harmony
jaded reflux
relishing
in others memory
piecing the night together
from bed
from outside windows
under cars
and in apertures
tiptoeing on one foot
drinking my third segment
of tonight
black, snotty wine
drying in blue
destroying my thirst
and cracking my lips
i tumble onward
stewing in false pretense
irregular
unimportant conversation
fabricated
pissy and ****-faced
struggling to capsize
their ego
finding oneself
in black bin bags
filled with a need
to socialise
for the sake of it
my bones are empty
the road bends
and my back is wet
first one to
go home tonight
is dead

Most of the people in my story
Have disappeared
into a far away mist
There are only a few I can say
I genuinely miss.
One in particular
That I wouldn't if I could
Because altho paradise has faded
She is the thing which made paradise good.

Decades have passed and I still
                                 drag my cross
                                   Thru the quicksand
Dreaming of when it was held high
                                  in the clear sky
By Wendy Ann

Too many people invited into our life
                           Took away what life is
Too many people hearing too many secrets
To socialise with
Too many displays of vulnerabilities
(Or is that too many self-protecting excuses?)

Most of my life I've pretended to accept things
\but memories hold too many tombs
                                  Of relationships blending over
                                     To loss of dreams.

I'll never return to Utopia
However, I experienced it so intimately
I can rotate fiction to fact
But I wouldn't believe that
If a miserable monument of pain
Sold me it.

Nowadays, I am a particularly content person.
I write, I study, I watch, I socialise (but only on Wednesdays)
and I am alone.
I have officially finished with the nasty business of a relationship, in fact, I don't think I'm relationship material at all.
All in all, I'm okay with where I am in life.

But at night,
I have to close my bedroom door.
I have to close it as soon as I turn out the lights, so the ghosts of my past regrets don't come sneaking in and come creeping into my head while I sleep.
I must keep them out of me, it's not my fault you see.
I tried so hard to help them all but I'm not as strong as I seem.

I accept my life of sin and solitude.
I'm happy this way, honestly, it's the truth.
You have to believe me, you must.

Its getting harder to laugh a while

Its getting harder to happily smile

Its getting harder to put on a mask

Its getting harder to just walk past



Its getting harder to go socialise

Its getting harder to look into their eyes

Its getting harder to see the right choices

Its getting harder to ignore the voices


Its getting harder to keep secrets up my sleeve

Its getting harder to find reason to live

Its getting harder to not submerge

Its getting harder to suppress the urge



Its getting harder to say “I’m alright”

It’s getting harder to see the light

Its getting harder to run after

Its getting so.

                          much.

                                             darker.

Hi dudes and dudettes welcome to Jupiter moon where we are doing a concert and our next performer is briano alliano who performs some great silly songs you might enjoy
Hi I am Briano and my first song is Jesus said

Jesus said something wonderful
Jesus said something true
Oh yeah it is the truth there is a chance he never come
Jesus’s light is more powerful than you
You see Jesus can walk on water
Then he can turn water into wine
He was killed on the cross
On Good Friday but was born again
Easter Sunday
Oh Jesus sweet Jesus why did you let trapper trap everybody with the coronavirus
Come on Jesus tell me why
It makes me believe that you never came
Your power is less powerful than me

And the next song is why have they cancelled all the sports except horse racing

You see I like the Aussie rules
And rugby league is pretty rad too
Rugby union shows us how to play right
And basketball is cool as well
I am glad we finished the cricket in time
But ipl is suffering, man
So why oh ****** why
Do the horses still racing it just puzzles me right till the end
I know trapper hates sport and people having fun
He wants people to sit in their homes
Finding a way to catch the sun
But in the prime of the virus
We still have horse racing
You think it would be hard seeing that
The spectatars are the important part
Sports are cool and trapper has us
Right where he wants us
And cancelling all the bell sports
It isn’t very cool mate

Ok and now here is the song about trapper who I mentioned in the other two songs and the causer of the coronavirus

Last night I dreamt about
The bad coronavirus bug
And I said it was trapper
The cause of it all
And the judge and jury
Say trapper isn’t true
Even my old friend Andrew
Said he was a load of crap
The only one who believes in him
Is me is me is me, the only one
I reckon people could be informed
About the danger that trapper
Could do to us
Everybody oh everybody thought I was crazy
But how can you explain
How the virus could strike us down
They say only hooligans believe in
That great ghost
And if you were down on earth
You would be crazy if you say it was him
Only trapper can **** us yeah
With Corona Corona Corona
Is the disease he brings
Trapper is striking us down
You thought I was crazy but trapper is real, yes he is striking us down
Andrew oh Andrew what do you have to say
How else can you explain this crazy virus we have
He will say it is the devil but well it is a total crap
Trapper could be the devil incarnate
Only trapper says we’re doomed
The sports the arts the night clubs the acting world keeping nice people in their houses
Trapper has us all
And Athena is working with scientists to hopefully find a vaccine or cure
So let’s hope Athena can stop him
From harming the innocent
And let us go out again and socialise

And that is is
Byyyyyyyyyyeeeee

ever read a book and thought about a chello?*

on the left page of a book,
a finger follows an eye
that would be a tongue...
    on the right:
       a nun that understood
a paragraph...
         like a tailor eating
a pizza...
                     what 2 +2
is there to mind?
       apparently my maine ****
likes mahler
        and the sound of
a clicking keyboard....
                   well... if i am not
supposed to have children,
i have to study:
aren't petted felines
entwined with feline
eyes, when, what the lion
possessess (
i imply the past participle
of havin)
    it's not a spelling
mistake, rather:
                           an experiment...
        can you spell that
without
genesis genghis
              khan morphed;
half of pakitan ends with khan,
to read a book...
        being right-handed,
while drunk,
      and have to read the *left
page with a finger-conductor...
        "claustrophobic"
             with due to the "cube"
of a paragraph...
                                  as son,
i might bring the mass to kneel...
       juxtaposition
                   has never, but will now
offer a neo-abstractum;
just like modern media hasn't
understood:
            the world tends to tilt,
and yawn, simultaneously...
                 but there's still a cat appreciating
mahler...
          i still don't understand
a honing device
        of globalist mafia marking fame:
translated into trivia...
                and have you ever
read a book like a musician might
play a tuba?
         ask a ******* píckey for
            a knuckle tattoo...
                            and i'll beg you for
an attempt of a: skovronek fluster!
                  i pity the anglophone world...
it's so bombast prone...
                it has no mediocre allowance...
since the time
that a television replaced a fireplace
and didn't do much for
what was necessary to socialise...
      ; each and every day i'm growing
suspicious of
                            what encompasses
a need for thespians...
                       and why plato doesn't
revel in excluding these *******
from the republic...
                    poets? muhammed also
attacked then...
            no one attacks the thespians
though...
                          a bit like me not
index finger **** ******* my cat...
                          poetry is, a democracy...
the ars poetica est civitas popularis,
but this greek ******
                       has bred an ideology
of thespian autocracy...
      we live in times when the arts
are hardly mediated toward a democratic
buffer model;
                     just ask a painter about
what "he" feels about the over-representation
of a thespian...
                           nietzsche was
wrong about plato being boring...
                plato is someone i rather not have
inherited...
                      or rather: the past is past...
****... it's history?!
                   ars poetic, qua restitutio
                                republica:
           ­                    qua contra thespian.
perhaps myths have spawned and
died in the theory of time
based upon the "study" via nostalgia...
                       but thespian is
a deity, more real than god, being
a deity "needing" prayer.
         i still have to run my finger
across the sentences, condensed
in a paragraph on the left face of a page
as if imitating a braille reader...
   but when it comes to the right page
of a book?
           call me loon, call me child:
i can strangulate a cobra and call
myself a b'o(h)a(h)...      
                 for me it's monday, purim,
tuesday, purim, wednesday, purim,
thrusday, purim,
                             friday, purim...
    i still can't remember the name
                      of the sequence of months
in my native tongue...
            hard to consider a disparity
between a ******, and a brute.