Oh, oh no.

Not so good tonight.

Oh, they're talking,
Oh, they need it,
Oh, they want you,
Oh, oh no.

Standing on the sidelines,
Baffled and confused,
They've offered you sweet reason,
What have you to lose?
Take a penny, leave a penny, kill for pennies,
Have you any shame?
How have you survived so long,
Forcing us to maim.

Machines that give justice, mercy,
Mercy, human kindness from a screw.
Dials turn and displays flicker,
Just another cog with work to do.
Work for money, die for money, breathe in money,
Money is the way,
How have we survived so long,
Off our knees to pray?

Oh, you're weeping.
Oh, that's pointless.
Oh, you want them?
Oh, oh no.

Working by the guidelines,
Shattered and construed.
They've turned your soul to numbers,
And you've nothing left to lose.
Build a robot, see a robot, be a robot,
Cut yourself in two,
How did we survive no long,
With nothing to do?

Order gives us structure, glory,
Glory, working for the good of man.
Throw away what made you human,
That'll fit the plan.
Slave at something, slave at nothing, slave no matter what.
Build a soaring temple for the corpses,
that are all we've got.

How have we survived so long?
How have we survived so long?
How have we survived so long?
How did it survive at all?
How did it survive the fall?
How, how, how, how.

Oh, you've fallen.
Oh, you're worthless.
Oh, forgotten.
Oh, oh no.

Of Tattoos, Witches, and Men in Suits

What an odd title.

Still. It's been some time since I've sat down and actually set down how I'm feeling, what I'm doing, that kind of thing. Y'know, one of those autobiographical dealies. So I'm gonna do that tonight. It's 12:30am, I am probably incapable of setting it all down coherently, but fuck it, I'm gonna try, despite confusion, exhaustion, a bit of a chill in the air, a housemate that WON'T STOP TROLLING and a cat that won't shut up.
What a brave little soldier I am.
First and foremost I now have a tattoo. Let's see if we can't get a picture of it.

There she is. Isn't she marvellous? I'm still a little shocked I took the step, to be honest with you. So the first half of this blog post is going to be me talking about it. It is a red mana symbol from Magic, a trading card game that I may have mentioned once or twice. Before you automatically assume that I merely got a tattoo from a trading card game for the nerd credit and I shall regret this later in life, swallow your critique and bear with me a moment. This'll be a good reminder to Future Me if I ever want to know my motivations (not that I'm likely to forget).
Red in Magic is the colour of chaos, of passions unrestrained and unrefined. It is primal, potent and utterly powerful, raw and pure and all-consuming. At the risk of sounding like some stupid animie kid who is all CHAOS AND POWER YEAH AWESOME these elements really speak to me. So the first reason I got the tattoo is that I like what it represents in terms of where it came from. The second reason I got it is because it is a fireball and my fondest dream now and forever is the ability to fling them. The third reason I got it...well, in all honesty, I got it because in a way I felt like I needed to mark myself to show what I'd been through. I went through what I now view as a trial by fire, to forge myself into who I am now. I've already been marked by those flames internally. Marking myself with flames on the outside is a constant physical reminder on my frail, frail flesh of just how strong I can be when needed. I've only had the tattoo three days, and every time I glance at it I feel good about myself. There could be no greater marking.
Okay. End tattoo wank. What's next? Witches!
I mentioned in an earlier post that I've been cast in the lead role of a university production. The production is of The Witches by Roald Dahl. The story itself is an utterly amazing testament to the ingenuity and daring of youth - a boy and his grandmother triumph against The Grand High Witch Of All The World by turning her own diabolical poison against her. And I'm the boy. The Boy, to be more specific. And in short, I am panicking. I'm surrounded by experienced student actors doing actor-like things like dramatergical work and all that jazz and I'm a kid from the middle of nowhere who's done one show and directed one show and is completely out of place and oh my god. I mean, I'm not saying I can't do it - and even if I can't do it, I'll be damned if I'm admitting that - I'm just aware of exactly how much is required of me and to be quite frank I'm scared.
It's going to be a good show though. I can feel it. So let's not freak out too much over that one, Jason.
A few little sidenotes now, I suppose, just to get them out of the way:

• I am off World of Warcraft but miss being Liri. The past few weeks I've been a tiny fish in a gigantic pond. There was something fun about being the centre of a thriving universe. However, I don't miss being Liri enough to go back to the abomination that is WoW. I'm content being Mr Small Fish and I never thought I'd say that.
• Financially, I am doing okay, I suppose. That doesn't stop me from panicking constantly. All the good video games and books I want are not making things easier. Did I mention the tattoo was two hundred dollars? Oops.
• We were going to get a dog but the landlord won't let us, all of my hate for that.
• I really miss Ben. Not for any particular reason, usually when he's around I want him to fuck off, but these days his presence and scent are sorely, sorely missed.
• I still love my housemates like mad and in fact probably appreciate them even more over the past month if such a thing is possible. The people I live with are better than you, everyone you've ever known and everyone that walks this earth. Don't argue. It's true.
• I am still involved in several dubious sexual escapades. I wish I wasn't some days, but old habits die hard. I also have feelings again. I wish I didn't, because feelings get in the way (oh god, now I sound like Jayd and before I know it I'll be an embittered, forty year old faggot who still uses Grindr and Manhunt and wants 'gym buddies'. Help me. Please.) but there isn't much I can do about it, so I'll roll with them for now and hopefully they'll fuck off in time.
• My life is filled and I am content with it, even though some days I want to tear my hair out.

To close this (and to emphasis that last dot point) I want to share a feeling I had when I walked home today. I was wandering along the footpath when a black car pulled up and a man got out in a shiny black suit. He would have been about two years my senior if that, and he was carrying a sandwich board under his arm. He began to set it up on the side of the road, and I saw that it was advertising an auction or an open home or something like that. He then got back in his car and drove away.
I looked at him. Crew cut hair, pressed suit, not a distinguishing feature on him. Even the watch looked like it came with the company car. There was nothing interesting or unique about him beyond the fact that he looked quite young and was reasonably handsome. Nothing about him stuck in my mind and if pressed (as I am pressing right now) I could not remember a single detail about him. I think his hair was black, but it may have been brown. I think he was clean shaven but he may have worn some stubble. In short, he was faceless.
Then I had a look at myself...
Pierced ear. Pierced brow. Tattoo lurking under my clothing. Riotous blue jacket and patchwork jeans. Music in ears pumping out Placebo next to Crystal Castles next to Dead Letter Circus next to swing music, for God's sakes. Legs pumping, practically dancing along the path to home. Back from the gay rights rally with a head full of scripts, boys, dreams and soul-curdling contempt. Craving nicotine, nudity and other hedonistic things starting with the letter N.
And my god, it made me feel so much better about everything drawing that comparison.
The patchwork faggot and the man in the suit.
I'm so happy to be me.

I deliver?

I can't say I'm a fan of this sensation,
Elected by a quick elimination,
Over my shoulder,
I told her,
You don't want someone older -
No, you don't want someone bolder?
Full of insinuation.

Nonsense, she said, and smiled -
We've watched you for a while,
And though you're small,
And untried,
You'll do fine.
Relax. We believe.

Masks are laughing,
Masks are crying,
Masks are what you need.
Ask the mask,
Be the mask,
Soon the masks will feed.

And now there's a room full of them; full of flavour,
And I'm starting to believe I can't compare.
I suppose the things they're asking, they just caught me unaware -
But they grin and laugh and act like I deliver.
I must not shiver.

I must not shiver.

HI BRANS

HOW ARE YOU TODAY?
I'M PRETTY GOOD, THANKS FOR ASKING.

Roll The Bones.

Break it down to the stones, she cried.
We'll tear down those walls, we'll tear it all up.
Contracts and cateracts and people who lied,
Before we can fill it, we'll empty this cup.

Roll the bones, roll the bones.
Run down to the river and drink till you bloat,
The world, it is flooding, and sinners won't float.

One nation, under God -
But who are YOU under? Why, and what for?
Conspire, conspire, and bring it all down,
The blood of the rich for the souls of the poor.

Roll the bones, roll the bones.
Get out of the city, there isn't much time.
The waters are rising, and nothing is mine.

She told me then with a grin that all of this could end,
So I offered what I could.
Out of sight, out of mind, can you do what you should?
Place your faith in your God, out of hope, out of need,
You fools - now they will feed.

Roll the bones, roll the bones.
On that day, life goes on, but cities will fail.
Rome burns, and their glories will pale.

We've left bodies in the houses,
And we've left houses in the night,
We've forgotten all our powers,
But now it's time to fight.
And you've left the light behind you,
For it blinded us from truth,
But what can we all do?
We can cling on to our youth...

Roll the bones, roll the bones.
They belonged to your mother,
But she was driven under.
Roll the bones, roll the bones,
Your father isn't here.
But surely he's still near.
Roll the bones, roll the bones.
Sticks and stones, sticks and stones,
Roll the bones on the ashes of the life that you led.
Roll the bones of the traitor on ground splattered red.
Roll the bones, but the bones only roll in your head.

The Past Few Weeks

I have started university.
I have panicked.
I have recieved the leading role in a production.
I have sat next to interesting people and been quite, quite unable to talk to them.
I have sung quietly to myself.
I have sat on comfortable couches and surrounded myself with people I find distasteful.
I have smoked far too much.
I have had some of the best sex of my life, and I suspect some of the best sex I will ever have.
I have hugged people I did not expect to hug.
I have taken somebody else's medication.
I have eaten a great deal of cheese.
I have worried about money.
I have decided to get a tattoo.
I have flirted with strangers, and more.
I have played more video games than is probably healthy for me.
I have realised that my personality is undergoing massive, MASSIVE changes.
I have not been blogging.
I have felt guilt over not blogging.
I have decided that blogging in such a fragile state, while interesting, is probably fruitless.
I have forced myself to write something, anything.
I have discovered that it wasn't worth the effort.
I haven't shed a tear, and for that I am proud.

Am I?

Your strength is a source that has weakened with age,
Your rules are something you'll no longer obey,
But when they are gone, what the fuck's gonna take their place?
You say that you're solid, you say that you're sure,
I say that's pathetic, you're nothing - I'm more,
And when they all learn, I will laugh - laugh right in your face!

Am I still all the things you saw, those things that I once was?
Am I still all this fire, am I still for a cause,
Well maybe I'm pathetic, and maybe I'm the same,
But I'll keep hoping you can't break this mould in which I'm made.

Clod

The day drags ponderously onward,
Weighed down with the choices that I wasn't allowed to make - had to make -
For fuck's sake!
But it drags onward, and all that is desired is avoidance and serenity.
But that was not to be.

And here he is, the boorish clod,
The utter bastard, selfish sod,
A disgrace on the face of God!
Has set his sights on me,
and with a glare he demands;
"Are you listening to your MP3?
I mean, I don't mean to intrude,
And please don't think me rude,
But isn't that insulting?
We're all here with the intention,
To pay utmost attention,
and without intervention,
your inattention is revolting!"
He pauses,
Catches his breath,
One closer to his death.

I blink,
and try to think.
But before I can, he's back again with -
"I mean, the lecturer here is doing his best,
And maybe this'll be on the test,
I mean, I'm not one to judge,
And you don't look as if you'll budge,
Which is fine! Coz, I mean, you've got to be
True to yourself! Right? I mean, there's no need to fight!
Right?
I wouldn't want to fight! Right?
Right?
So if you don't think it's a big deal,
I can respect how you feel,
But don't you think the lecturer would mind?
I mean, you expect respect in kind,
So why ignore him?
Don't you care?"
And then he fixed me with a stare.
That stupid, stupid stare.

I look back ruthlessly, wondering where to turn my knife -
To destroy this mouth-breather's life,
For daring to presume that I,
Give a shit! I mean, he knows
Nothing of my thoughts and throes,
Nothing of my might and times,
Nothing of my solemn rhymes,
And nothing - NOTHING - of my life.
So, shall I turn the knife?
Shall I end the blathering fool,
The loud kid at this woeful school,
Full of fear and full of piss,
The point that he will always miss,
Lacking grace and lacking poise,
Hated by the girls and boys,
Without a scrap of social skill -
Should I go in for the kill?

I clear my throat.
He's got my goat.
"I imagine that the teacher cares,
About as much about my attention,
As I care for intervention."

Once a week,
The future's bleak.
But at least my barbs have scum to seek.