We've Lost Control.

How the hell can we take someone whose creative fire lasts such a short period as a posthumous prodigy?

How come we never thought of the arty bullshit while said artist was alive? They were never revered while alive, why all these fantastical conclusions now?

How is it that we draw conclusions from statements never conceived of nor uttered by the artist, and rather from heresy via magazine articles and various media, which later become blown out of all proportion and then martyred decades later?

Is it our nature to seek meaning from nothing? Are we so lost that we consistently need to make up bullshit in order create direction when in reality there actually isn't any anyway?

So this is what our society has become, an exaggeration based on fiction?

Spiral Of Black Doom.

Words, stupid thoughtless words
Unthinking, directionless
Emission of an overactive heart
A love of her magnificent detail
Crumbling into scrutinous shards of broken glass
Speaking cuts of dripping blood

Recoiling, a half-turn to run
Arms flailing, missing the embrace
I streak away into the self-loathing of embarrassment.

Flashback.

... flashes, blinding explosions searing the mind,
Each one a return to a euphoric sensuality,Beautiful contorting bodies, deepening sexualisation of every breath.

Writhing hands, ravenously exploring the smoky rays of light,

Shapes shifting, distorting with each wave of hips and thighs,

Eyes slowly closed, the mind travelling through waves of aural orgasms.

Colours change with each gasping moan, a palettory celebration of heightened sense,
Textures dance with each trickle of sweat, my body a serpentine of expression,
I waver my limbs through the blurring stars, continuing my journey through paradise...

The Painful Departure.

... and in the distance thunderclaps peel,
Lighting flashes around my shaking limbs,
As songs of longing echo through turning clouds,
Her ivory limbs finally approach from blackness,
Searing me with gratifying pain.

... touch of raking nails shave defenses with each pass,
Weakened insides exposed to her blinding sun,
Voice of silk condemns me to hell, torching hope of control,
Yearning follower, ardent addict of her beauty.
I am her's, loving slave to my companion,

... and at last, I taste her lips for the last time,
Absorbing her curvature, femininity, I melt into her embrace,
Finally she turns, fading into ebony starlit ambience,
My hands flail, gasping the empty air,
My heart bloodless, screams once more from the dead...

The Surrendering Interlace.

... flailing limbs fall from blackness,
Towards a shimmering pale embrace.
A scent, tresses of shining gold,
Eyes of crystal, windows to truth.
Breaths short, rhythm of desires,
An interlace of flesh, interlude of energies.
Tremble, aftershocks of familiar unfamiliarity,
Our souls searing into each others hearts.
An unraveling, the freezing anguish begins,
A closing door, silent surrender...

Full Moon

Full Moon

Phoenix of Gold, Enter the Sun.

Eyes, crystalline blue of ocean,
Lips, pink of spring rose,
Hair gold, scent of apple, morning dew,
Skin of porcelain, tender birch sapling.

Slender beauty, she treads softly,
Feet slight on the forest floor,
Her touch soft, body caressing petals in passing
Voice whispering, softly singing to waking branches.

Free at last, her soul retained truth,
In the wake of parting clouds, spread her wings,
Taken to the sky, blazing heart of purity,
Resplendent phoenix, she rose at last from the ashes of the dead.

The best fucking unknown rock 'n' roll band in Australia.

Eleventh He Reaches London from Perth WILL rule the Aussie indie scene come their new record due soonish.

These guys combine post-rock, elements of metal and sludge to create a fucking mindblowing powerhouse of emotion, power and tonal bliss. Their magnum opus, "The Good Fight For Harmony" almost caused me to order a second copy of it, for myself!

They have recently uploaded a song from their upcoming record entitled "For The Commonwealth And The Queen to their myspace.

Photos from a previous Melbourne show here courtesy of Peter Parsons.

I really can't wait to see these guys live. I'm going to totally wet my fucking pants and buy each one of these gods a drink.

An Unknown Direction.

... and so my war continues...
Patience, once virtue
Now is torture
Two splinters, in heart and mind...

... journeying into wilderness again,
Heart rules the mind once more
Unable to shy away from golden tassels,
To break the lingering oceanic gaze, my fluttering heart...

Dawn skies drift from grey to orange
My eyes closing heavy and leaden, dreaming of that gaze
Aching for a longer embrace
Taste of unknown lips, the scent of unfamiliar skin...

Rich Dinosaur lovers?

An interesting little article over at SMH regarding the slate of classic bands coming to our shores and charging ridiculous prices for their gigs.

On the one hand, I can agree on the steep price issue, but on the other hand, could I give a fuck about a steaming shitpile of a band like Radiohead in comparison to the mighty Iron Maiden? I think not. So in that context, I'll happily hand over my $150.

Circular Rebirth.

I.

To this day and age, it never ceases to amaze me that one person can intentionally restrict another to the point where the other can not express themselves in the way they wish, down to the very books they read, the clothes they choose to wear, even topics they wish to discuss.

This kind of controlling behaviour, especially in relationships, exhibits nothing but psychological abuse. It disgusts me. Control over others is rarely (if ever) with good intention nor result, but this kind borders on abhorrent.

A new friend once entered a partnership with good intention, opening her arms and walking into the unknown with good will and challenging herself at the same time by walking so boldly. It's an admirable act for anyone in my opinion, especially when past experiences, or perhaps old habits have made the challenge difficult or daunting. Nevertheless, she accepted the challenge. She gave it her best, only to be eroded and ground like the sandstone on the Sphyinx to the point where perhaps, she barely recognised herself. Luckily, she did recognise the restriction, so sensitive is her view of the world around her, and made the decision to free herself of it. Now, she flies once more, unweighted by chains.

II.

It's funny how the universe acts. I've walked through a world punctuated with glimpses of colour, yet largely grey and lifeless for some time. The Return has been painful, but reinvention, or chiefly circumnavigation, has been increasingly fruitful. The colours in my world are slowly increasing in vibrancy. Shapes continue to take form, the disconnection lifts.

From the shallows of distant black narcissism and the strain of my limbo has risen another colour to add to the spectrum of positive direction, a reconnection. A severed bond which could not sprout, which was never allowed light in which to grow, has broken free of a bondaged miasma, forming finally as it was meant to form. It emerges almost unrecognisable. No longer governed but free, bursting for light, reborn, in some ways stronger than ever before. Another blast of light cuts into the grey world.

You know who you are. Someone out here is damn proud of you.