Excerpt for Don't Judge This Book By It's Cover - Looking for the perfect word by , available in its entirety at Smashwords




























































Michelle from the first time I saw you.

My defences had fell,

like a coin in the wishing well.

I wish to have a chance to prove...

How the earth beneath me does seem to move.

Every time I look into your eyes.

I can't ever tell you any lies.

I wish upon the morning star.

That today really is a day, new.

And that I can some how, show to you,

That I'm who I say I am.

And I will do, all I say I will do.

You've got me falling like a storm struck tree.

This is the first time, anything like this,

Has happened to me.

I will never forget, the first time I saw you, Michelle.

Dead end city.

nothing new, nowhere to go.

You say, "No more for me to do."

There's nothing left here for you.

You are too superstitious to retrace your every step.

That's the only way out of here, as yet.

Miles of road but only one way out.

It's like one of those horror stories, you always read about.

Like a paradise island, in the middle of life's vast sea.

Like an oasis in the desert.

But nothing is the way it first looks. Nothing is a 100% free.

From a distance the city lights, look so appealing,

like a whole new galaxy.

Waiting to be explored.

But you soon learn, that there is nothing new,

under these handmade stars and moon.

You quickly lose interest and become easily bored.

The buildings reach for the sky,

like your distant past dreams.

But now you're living reality's nightmares.

Becoming painfully conscious of others.

And their inquiring looks and disapproving stares.

The imprisonment of yourself within superstition and fear.

Knowing that this encagement of a capital,

has it's grasp upon your heart and soul.

Becoming a shell of a person.

The real life, the real you, had left and gone, long ago.

You don't fit in within these subcultures, fashions or a fad.

In more ways than one, you've been had.

Promised riches and happiness you are poorer and sadder,

than when you began.

You lost the race which wasn't yours to participate in.

There's a million ways of losing but no way to win.

Fitting in with the majority of the crowd,

your face is a ice cold numb blank.

No recognisable enemy and no true friend.

You now see for yourself that this,

"city that leads to everything"

is really a dead end.


I'm flying back home, I'm afraid I return alone.

I left to go to war with four friends of mine.

We all joined the Cause, all at the same time.

We knew each other from the time, we were very young.

Wayne said that we should join up, just for fun.

He was the first to meet his maker, via his own gun.

After a week of fierce fighting with the enemy,

only one way out did Wayne see.

He knew that we were hired killers.

With our leaders pretending,

that this slaughter would bring peace.

With the realisation of reality,

Wayne's insanity did increase.

To the point that he loaded his gun and shot himself dead.

In full view of his best mates.

Michael, Richard, Peter and myself were the only ones,

who knew the truth about Wayne's death.

All the other soldier thought, he died from enemy gun fire.

As far I am concerned he died a brave death.

His death was for principles much higher,

than just nationalistic pride.

Pete, Mic, Ric and I where shot down over Germany.

Richard died in the crash.

He always said that like a bird,

was how he wanted to have his last ride.

Peter, Michael and I where captured in the Black Forest.

Pete was killed two days later by the SS, cause they though he was a Hebrew.

Mic and I escaped the concentration camp.

We were lost in the mountains with no idea where to go.

Then one night Michael was froze to death in the snow.

How I got back is not important.

My four friends aren't and that's all that I can think of.

How I wish I died, instead of them.

If only I could bring them back, again.

Death seems so far away, when you are so young.

But if you live amongst the dead and the dying.

You will never take it for granted.

For we are like trees.

One day planted,

the next day we grow.

The next we are food for the forest.

But why are we chop down, just as we reach our best?

How will I ever look into my friends' parents faces?

What gives me the right be alive, when they're no longer here,

While I'm still here doing things and going places?


As I travelled down this road of life. I came to the painful realisation of the fact, that I'm carrying more of a load than I need. Burdened down by everyone's woes and fears. Washed out by everyone's bitter tears. Caught in the trap of giving a few seconds to strangers until they become years. I don't regret a thing I've done. But now I realise, I can't even help myself so how can I help anyone, else. I can't change the world for better or worse. At least not until I can brake free from this curse, of being overly concerned about others. To me all the people I meet are uncles, aunties and sisters brothers. I will always feel sad when I see other people hurting. Hurting themselves, hurting the ones they love, hurting a stranger. We're sometimes like a box of matches, burning each of the fifty or so fire sticks, till all that is left is a... A heap of ash and an empty box to carry a few small objects of a happier past, in. Hope can sometimes be a blessing and a curse. For sometimes if hope is all you have, you die hoping. But when you reached the point of hopelessness, you are more determined to prove everyone, including yourself, wrong. The human creature is the most confusing thing of all. All animals do things by instinct. Our instinct is Passion. We passionately love or passionately hate. We care about everything or are totally apathetic, either one with a wildfire like passion. Trying to find middle ground is like searching for a lost two dollar coin on a crowded nightclub dance floor. I don't know if.... I will find "the right balance", of the opposing passions. Or if I will forever and a day, follow then resist this world's emotional fashions. Just like a wavering, football team supporter, with his team having a good then a bad season, consecutively. The fruits of passion are bitter-sweet. Like a sweet and sour fruit salad, one bite you get sweet mango then bitter lemon.

Positive frame of mind

When the weather or the news starts to get me down. I put a cardboard box over my head. I call this reverse sandbox, my positive frame of mind. Inside and out it is covered with beautiful pictures and inspiring thoughts. A positive frame of mind. Leave all the negative feelings behind, for a positive frame of mind. It's time to trash these terribly, tearful tragic thoughts and replace these with relaxing, realistic, rejoicing reflections. Of the pleasant past, and a fantastic future. People walking down the street with coat hangers around their heads to keep out the magnetic bad vibes. Brain washed by the waters of propaganda running into their ears, leaking into their minds. Seeing them peeping through cynicism blinds. Wanting more out life than what they have at the moment. But they won't go and get it. They just whinge and whine about how the past was a better time. And how they need to return to their prime. But what they really need is a Positive frame of mind.

All I really need.

I need something, to get me back on my feet.

A cold shower and a coffee bitter-sweet.

A pie or something to eat.

I do the dishes as a way to pay.

It's all I can do, cause I haven't got a cent, anyway.

Broke and homeless, wild and free.

But now I'm the happiest, I could ever be.

Now I have learnt, there's more to life than, work and money.

There's more to living than, credit cards and mobile phones.

There's things more important, than expensive imported cars, And priceless castle like homes.

I once paid a lot of money for breathtaking scenery.

But I was too smothered by the bill for it, to enjoy it.

Now I see the sunset from a different viewpoint everyday.

I watch the waves wash on a new shore line, all the time.

Living my life, is worth more to me than,

gold and diamonds and all the riches.

Now that I have none.

I have all I really need.

Money and power, the only two things to which this rule does apply: The more you get, the more you want.

And the less you have, the less you need.

Suicidal Celebrity.

They're gonna make a martyr,

out of the

Suicidal Celebrity.

Better beware,

the next Dead Hero could be you or me.

They say, he did support their cause.

But only heaven and hell, know what went on, inside his mind

and behind his closed doors.

You say, he was on their side.

But I say, the secret self he did hide.

Just another child of their propaganda.

If you don't dance to their tune,

they will destroy you with their slaughter slander.

Lost in a maze within his mind.

Look more and more closer till no way out, can you find.

Afraid that he has become a different man.

Ashamed that he doesn't do all he can,

to tell people that this world is wrong.

His voice was watered down,

by the river of the mind minders' lies.

Silent hidden tears are the only tears,

he is allowed to cry.

But you could hear it in his songs,

you could see it in his eyes.

Waiting for the macabre madness to come to an end.

Turning, the son of darkness into a saint

or a seraph into a fallen angel.

Changing the stories to suit one’s self.

The same as an all sizes pair of socks.

He left this world in the same mess, as he found it.

But he was smart enough to realize,

that there's no future here, I guess.


Blood messiah.

With a pack of propaganda matches,

Set our hearts, minds and souls on fire.

Blood messiah.

Say that the end is nigh,

Time to follow man rather than God.

Time to take up arms and die.

Say it's God's will,

That we partake in this Mass.

Mass hatred, mass destruction, mass kill.

So much for the Prince of peace.

Blessed are the arms by the reverend, pastor or priest.

Melting down the farming implements for guns and bombs.

And the people do it, cause you tell them that it makes sense.

So much, for loving our enemy.

So much, for love and truth setting us free.

We all just follow your words, cause you say you're divine.

Why should I do what you ask,

When it bothers this conscience of mine?

A celebration of destruction and devastation.

You turn blood into wine.

Making bread from the ashes of the dead.

Making today a festival,

When today should be a day of morning instead.


This week's special,

American pies with cream of lies.

Everything is Americanised.

We're losing our identity to a land faraway.


What I need most of all is you.

If I lose everything I will still scrape on through.

But I don't know what to do.

Now that I no longer awake by your side.

You told me that you loved me and would always stay.

But I guess you lied.

You don't appreciate what you have, till it's no longer there.


There's a plastic monkey swinging on a synthetic tree,

In my concrete state of mind.

There's a plastic junky getting high,

on the thought of all the cheap imports he could buy.

With those souvenirs of all those real things,

that he kept for all those years.

But he thought,

What use is reality?

When you have it virtually, free.

Well at least from the point of view, they have us see.

Every thing is fake.

No wonder life is so hard to take.

Be careful or the bubble just might break.

When I look into your glass eyes,

I can't tell if, you are telling me truths or lies.

When I hold your cold steel hand,

It doesn't feel like love anymore, my friend.

All things here are done so roboticly.

They're making robots out of you and me.

Caught up in this synthesis of our pretend society.

When we try to speak of, what is in our head.

They sew up our thoughts with microfibre needles and thread.

When we try to have our say,

We're told, that we are too old or new fashioned, anyway.

All around us are things,

that are bogus, phoney, a sham and synthetic.

No wonder everyone's life is miserable, pitiful and pathetic.

Even the clouds and the setting sun,

on the horizon are optical illusions.

And all the scenery is a clever trick with a hologram.

So now you see why,

not a single person,

has come to the point of making their own conclusions.

It all looks so realistic.

But all things become a statistic,

Making way for technology.

You call it progress.

But you can't redress,

the problems with out at least, a twist of reality.

If there is other intelligent beings out there in space.

One day they will come to earth,

to mock us and laugh in our very face.

And they will say ...

Everything is fake.

Virgil's Reality.

Close your eyes and you will see,

Virgil's Reality.

Use the power of your thoughts and mind,

To take you there.

And leave behind,

Yesterday's, today's and tomorrow's every care.

Enter a world beyond all preconceived ideas.

Learn to face all your fantacies and fears.

Learn that there is a world yet unknown and unexplored,

inside your brain.

A place to go, when you need to escape life's pain.

Give shape to the shadows.

Give life to the wind.

You brake out in a rash of laughter,

as your mind is harlequinned.

By the joking storm cloud,

dancing round the gypsy woman's moon.

In her hands she holds,

half the stars and all those wishing to be.

Don't be afraid to awake the visions,

that lay sleeping in your head.

Don't fear the creatures lurking beneath your bed.

Don't believe all the stories you have been told.

Cause fools are eazily bought and sold.

Your imagination is one of the few real treasures,

Guard it well, as if it was made of pure gold.

Market your mirage, sell your dreams to the dream phantoms.

Pamper your mind,

with thoughts and daydreams of extreme exuberance.

Cause one day,

you will over stay,

your welcome at Virgil's place.


For the first time in my life,

I'm sure that I'm right.

All my life has been one big mistake.

It's got a little too hard to take.

But for the first time in my life.

I'm sure I've got a break,

from all the trouble and strife.

I used to become a pack of nerves,

flying around the room like a pack of cards,

in a game of fifty two pick up,

every time I had it made.

Then I always lost my cool, and go off the rails,

before the traxs were laid.

Everytime I planned on something it never worked out.

The weather would change or the curcumstance would turn about.

For the first time in my life I'm positive about the future.

For the first time ever I'm leaving behind the past.

Everything is going my way at last.


There's nothing here for me.

How I wish I had a gun.

I would load it and then shoot down the sun.

How I wish I had a plane.

I would fly myself to oblivion and become a red star.

A galactic blood stain.

I've done it all and I'm afraid it's not such a big deal.

True happiness and love are the only things, that are real.

I have nothing to show,

For all the things I have done and the all places I did go.

I pursued the wrong things, at the wrong places.

I have been mean, ruthless and cruel.

And afterwards,

I really didn't feel any better for it as a rule.

I just wish I could die.

Straight to heaven I want to fly.

But I don't deserve to be in a heavenly paradise.

Do I deserve to be put through this living hell?

My heart is stolen and broken.

My soul, on every street corner demons try to buy or sell.

All I ever lived for, has lost it's worth, or gone away.

All I ever dreamed of,

Has disappeared amongst a galaxy of nightmares come true.

And once upon a happier time,

I had you as a true and kind friend.

Like all good things, our love did crash and burn.

And come to it's tragic end.

With nothing but one single string of hope,

To keep me from falling in the deep dark ravine of insanity.

There's nothing here, for me.

So now I pray that somehow, through destiny or tragedy,

I don't wake to see,



Vicki wants to be a sculptor.

But she had to get a "real job",

To survive in this "real world",

After doing visual arts at Uni.

So she did a course in hair styling.

Worked for a large hair dressing salon franchise.

Built up a clientele.

Then left to work for herself.

She broke free from the fascism of fashion.

Adding to her work, her own special style.

She took life on with all her heart and all her passion.

Now people book three months ahead,

To get Vicki to do their hair.

Cause she likes what she does,

she does it with a song and a smile.

She is an artist of hair.

She works each strand with the most intensive care.

She makes dream looks,

Out of a tangled knotted black knight mare.

Sit down and relax in this sculptress's chair.

You are the clay,

In which she will use to convey, her feelings and her soul.

Changing not just your appearance but your whole being.

With a pair of scissors and a dye coloured bowl.

Teasing, tucking, blowing, braiding,

Your locks into submission.

To make a non submissive statement.

She once said

"The hair is the cage of the mind, set your tresses free and you will think more clearly. Words get entangled in your hair so as not reach your brain. You lay down the tracks for the locomotive of thought, but it's only used by impuzzlement's ghost train. How can you think when your genius is captured in your mane?"

She changed our view of beauty from a little studio in the Western Suburbs.

Vicki refused to give into any ones scorning words.

She stuck to her dreams even though they change course.

Her need to do something artistic was her driving force.

And now she drives down the highway of success.

So if you ever question,

If you should follow your dreams and go your own way?

The answer is yes, yes, yes.


Unity is the only thing, left for us all.

But how can we be at peace,

when we don't have our own identity?

Take away our future.

Hideaway our history.

No wonder we're at the place, we now happen to be.

Cultural Genocide.

Cut down the forest to build a factory.

Promise the natives luxuries.

But give them ...

a diesel generator, an old radio and black and white T.V.

And leave them a planet of no use to anybody.

Cultural Genocide.

People lost in this so called civilization.

Finding it hard to be proud of who they are.

When they don't know who they were.

How can they dance the traditional dances,

when no one is there to carry on the traditions?

A fire place story is replaced by a Bart Simpson cartoon.

The children will never hear the story,

of how the rabbit got to the moon.

The people no longer live a hunter\ gatherer life of ease.

Now they work in the mines, factories and offices.

And die at Forty five of heart disease.

Finding it hard to make ends meet.

Lost their heritage, their land and their rights.

For what?

A convenience store and a marketed dream,

more bitter than sweet.

A city full of nervous people,

finding it hard to communicate,

As a family, as a society, as a worldwide community.

We are learning our values off a valueless square box.

Flashing pictures of ...

this selfish commercialistic system in which we live.

Turn To Stone.

I wish I could become a rock. Become a marble statue in the park. Sharing the days with the lunchtime workers, tourist and the pigeons. Sharing the nights with the rats, possums and the children of the dark. I wish I could turn to stone. Blend in with the stone horsemen. So no one would recognised me. So I could be left alone by passers bye. How I would love to be stalactite, just hanging from your ceiling. Wouldn't you dig being an italian slate tile. Just think of how expensive you are. And even with someone's heel in your face, I'm sure you could still smile. If I was a steep rockface escarpment. I would make it hard as possible, for those mountaineers hell bent on getting to the top. How I wish I was a just another stone. Fade in with all the other granite monuments. Find a place where I can be on my own. But not totally left alone.

To be like a solitary ant on a picnic rug, taking in all the surroundings. A Visual Feast. But not being noticed or bothered by anyone. No one to bug you. To be the remains of an ancient city. Like a skeleton of a now extinct dinosaur.

Standing still, having time stand still with you, as long as you are still standing. Do you ever go into an art gallery, near closing time? And think someone is watching you, even though you are the only other person there? Apart from the curator who is in her office reading... Arts Today. I'm sure those flint age mannequins, are really persons who have found the ultimate escape. Just standing there being studied, admired and envied by the craftsmen’s and the novice alike. Being the Piece de Resistance of the collection, in one or another's eyes. I wish I could become just a lump of ... unnoticed, unattractive, indescribable piece of conglomerate. Just lying in the open paddock, feeling the elements wear me down. To turn me back to gravel and sand. Waiting patiently ... for every grain of me to be carried to the sea. The rain, wind and sun wash, blow and bake me into... a masterpiece of nature's illusions. When the midday light hits me like a bolt of lightning. I look like a lion sitting proudly on my throne.

From a different vantage point, I look like a guard of an oriental palace. Standing tall and erect. Only my eyes moving,

to see the full view of the royal court yard. But I am neither of these. I am a rock lifeless, cold, rough and hard. Waiting for my end, only to begin again.


I'm looking for the perfect word.

I can't say heard it used in conversation.

But searching in anticipation.

I'm travelling all over the landscape,

Of published thoughts of people, prophets and deities.

I keep wishing that I can find the quintessential sentence.......

That says everything, yet doesn't really say much.

That opens the mind so the heart you can touch.

An expression that can, the meaning of life, explain.

The lexeme that does unroll...

The magic carpet of pleasure and pain.

The revelation that takes you on a enchanted rug buzz about.

Flying on high as we watch the incomprehensible,


Into the easy to define.

I'm pursuing the ultimate one line.

Something that expresses things far beyond the mere surface.

Something that sheds light upon...

Life's dark delitescent secrets.

Something that will not confuse.

A word that is easy to recognise.

A saying that is pleasing to use.

Your advise is to...

Paint a picture that says more than words can ever say.

But I'm afraid that's not my forte.

But I do have a way with words.

Or is it that words have their way with me.

Encapsulated by language's boundaries.

So maybe there is no perfect word.

Just a world full of not quite good enough mono and poly...



Why use the last canister of cool fresh water, on a beautiful to look at, yet dying poisonous noxious weed?

Why sell the last of your treasures for a bag of useless grass seed?

Why leave the service of the good generous kind king, to serve the cruel cranky corrupt prince?

Why leave all you have, in return for nothing?

Why at what could be the most joyous time of your life, commit suicide?

Why leave behind the only truth and freedom available?

Why give away the best years of your life, just for the fleeting pleasure of this world's quick, qualming, queasy joy ride?

The absence of you, makes my saddened heart grieve.

But it was by your own choice, that you did leave.

The lessons of life are sometimes strictly stern.

I hope and pray that soon, for good, you will return,

to the only place worth being at.

Back with the ones who love you, most.


Day by day life does change.

Sometimes life seems so hard to cope with,

And so strange.

There's not much I can do.

But I will always be there for you, day by day.

I can only take it day by day.

I can only live, life hour by hour.

One step at a time, is the only way in which to over power,

The obstacles that challenges me.

Breaking the drought.

You are breaking the drought.

I've been hanging out,

To break the drought.

My heart was so lonely,

My soul so dry.

I swear that if I had to live much more without love,

I'd surely die.

I forgot how love once felt.

With a heart as cold as Antarctica.

With a smile and kiss my icicle defences, you do melt.

Now my love is running like a river down the mountain side.

To wash away the shell of shyness,

Under which I once did hide.

I was afraid to fall once more,

In love.

But no longer, do I live in fear.

What once was a dry lake bed.

Now is a oasis.

What once was a dead sea.

Is now a life filled shore.

Doesn't matter what tomorrow might bring.

I don't care what song, the wind of change might sing.

I can handle anything.

With a little love.


Only when I see you, does beauty come into view. When you are within sight, is when I take in the loveliness of the night. With the stars sparkling in your hair. Like glitter. And the moon shining in your eyes like a distant headlight. I think of your Ornamental Doll looks, and watch as you lie, still under the ever changing sky. I ask myself is it just your attractiveness that I love? Or is it you? Is it the attention you acquire? Or is it you that I love? Will my love for you die? Or will true love come to transpire? Then I realize that your beauty is within. For your heartfelt smile and your kind and loving way, is genuine. So even when your old and aged, my heart, you will still have captured and caged. With love you are a glow. I will always by your side, where ever you may go. Like treasures hidden in caves. Like pearls deep below the breaking waves. The source of your beauty is deep within your heart and soul.


Cloud cover, cover me.

I need shelter for my heart and soul.

Sunshine has a hold on me and she won't let me go.

It's been two years of endless summer.

And I aren't one to complain.

But I've told her I need some winter hibernation and some spring rain.

But she keeps coming back to me, just the same.

She is the daughter of the sun.

She is the child of the stars.

She takes me to all of her domain.

She takes me to Uranus, Pluto, Venus, Mercery and Mars.

It was alright for a while but now I'm sunstruck,

By her warmth and her light.

Clouds cover the sky to make it as dark as night.

I need a rest from the midnight sun.

To much of anything, is no fun.

I'm starting to turn red.

I'm starting to blister.

I never knew I was sun burnt till I missed her.

But I need some shade.

I need the shadows of a heavy mist.

Before she burns a hole in my heart.

And makes me her loyalist.

Cloud cover, cover me.


Going out of your way to break my heart. There you are walking out the front door. Saying you don't love me anymore. Going out for the night, looking for someone new to set your heart a light. But you'll be back here with me before the week does end. Asking me to forgive you and once more be your lover and friend. Once or twice, I decided to let you go your own way. But once I've found somebody new. You would come around and convince me, together we should stay. Then like a hundred times before. You would leave me on my own waiting for your call. Is it that I'm a fool for love? Is it that I'm crazy for you? That I let you do to me, all that you do? I should know by now, that love to you is just another game, for you to play. And every time you go out, you go out of your way to break my heart. I must be addicted to the pain I feel. Cause I keep coming back for more, before my heart has a chance to heal. I keep telling myself that one day you will stop being a... GypsyOfTheHeart. That one day the seed of love will grow in your soul. And it will take a hold. Then our love will get a proper start. Then when you're going out I will go too. Together, things we will do. But until that day, you go on your midnight strolls alone. With me watching out the window for you to return. Waiting with Cat for you to come back home.

Going out, going out of your way to break my heart. There you are walking out the front door. Saying you don't love me anymore.


Adversity strengthens me.

It makes me a stronger man.

It proves what sort of person I am.


If patience is the only true virtue. I'm a virtue less man. I know I didn't wait very long. But waiting too long becomes boring and dead pan. I waited as long as I could. I left this letter attached to my new number and address, With the red head waitress, Of this carnival cafe. Sorry I didn't wait but my schedule is in a disarray.

I couldn't wait any more. The last boat was leaving this, stay forever shore. I couldn't have given you a second more of my time. I needed to get back on the main land, to further this career of mine. Please write to me if Chelsea gives you this note. I would have loved to stay. But upon this vessel of value all of my hopes do float. Hoping to find the Quay of happiness. A place where all my ambitions and dreams are fulfilled. But I guess my chance to have you as my friend,

I have already killed. But I hope you can forgive me for being so selfish and impolite. And if you find it in your heart, To dismiss what I did tonight. I would like it very much if to me, you would write.


Aliceson Green

Where have you been?

I still have that torn piece of paper

With your name on


But I would like to know.

Where you have gone?

I met you at the bus stop.

I gave you a poem

And a your name was what I got.

You wrote it on a little yellow bit of ripped scroll.

But you didn't leave a number or an address.

And I must have rang up every "Green" in Australia

I guess.

I really enjoyed our discussion of the arts industry.

But it would be nice if you got in contact with me

and let me know how you are.

And if you have found happiness' seventh star.


Just tell me what's on your mind.

How am I to know what you are thinking?

How can I be sure,

You have the same thought inside your brain?

If we don't talk anymore.

I can't be sure of what is bothering you, if you don't tell me.

I know, I should already know.

But I ain't no magician or a mind reader from some side show.

I do my best to try and understand you.

But I can't work out what makes you tick.

But I have no yard stick, in which to measure you.

It's not that I want you,

Put in a box all sorted and labelled.

It is, that I would like to appreciate your point of view.

But you never speak from your heart.

You just say what, you think I would like to hear.

Well I would like to hear the truth.

Even if you fear it will hurt me.

If I wanted yes people all around me,

I would not of had you as my friend.

But I regret that the out spoken side of you,

Has come to an end.

Is it because I told you that, I love you?

Or is it that you have said, all you think you need say?

Or is it that you are bored here with me,

And you are day dreaming of getting away.

Going to some where different and new.

If so go.

But if not please let me know, what is really upsetting you.


I once read in an old dusty book, a story that was said to soon come true. When all the people of the earth had happiness and joy. And the dingo and the goanna are friends with the emu. No more hunting. No animals in a jail like zoo. A day when the only harm is the one in harmony. A day when once again it's safe to swim in the sea. A day when peace is more than just a hollow political promise. A day when we have left behind all of this, stress laden society. Each person doing what pleases them most. No borders, no need for the navy to guard the coast. Plenty of food for all. No one homeless or poor. May that day come soon. For you, for me, for everybody. No war and no destructive bad weather. Everyone in good health. Everyone living forever. Building a better world, we all work together. No money, no greed, no crime. Just life to be enjoyed and plenty of time, to learn to do things that we don't have time to do and learn now. But you say it is all a dream. But I believe it will happen someday, somehow. May that day come soon.


It was five to three, that's P.M. When she, an under dressed, over painted, early twenties woman. Walked into The Dark Horse Cafe. The place in which I work. Well I make an effort to give the impression... that I'm constructively adding value to my boss's business. Soon after she sat down, she was acting like a jerk. Telling me that, "I'm in a very big hurry young man." Young man! I was at least two years old than her. Then before I could finish serving the ten people, ahead of her. She said "hurry up I just told you I wanted some green tea." That was news to me. She didn't ask me if the kettle was on. I didn't know she wanted a cup of tea, hot and strong. What am I a mind reader? If I was, I'm sure all her brain could be read quicker than a five minute fiction. She said I was the one to blame. But she didn't even use my name. Which was very clearly embroidered on my shirt. Instead she treated me like dirt. She insisted how important she was. Cause she has her picture in the Vogue Magazine. Threw accusations like curve balls. She said that guy over there. So everyone stops drinking their caffeine fixes. And cocktail mixes, to look and stare. At me. On my own embarrassment and attention's stale air, I started to choke. At what time the silence was broke by the fall of the cappuccino, I was not sure. But it was no sooner than half past four. As soon as I served all the other people before her. I got "Little Miss Aren't I Special" her green tea. To which I added some tasteless, odourless, colourless weigh gain fluid. She said there was a stain on a spotless cup. Just my luck, to get such a pain, on my shift. Well she came every day the same time. Revenge made it all bearable. She lost her modelling job. Her short skirts and low cut tops were no longer wearable. Not tastefully any way. She eventually was nice to me and the other customers. I stopped spiking her drinks. She got her job back and I fell in love with her. And I'm still with her till this very day. Weird story ah.


Trouble is brewing in the kitchen. Evil is cooking in the street. So I went to a cafe for some shelter, a drink and a bit to eat. As I went in through the front door, I ran into the red head waitress. And five hot jugs of tea were spilt and made a awful mess. But luckily no one was hurt. It just fell upon the transilveinian vinyl floor. The waitress mopped all the steaming liquid up. I apologised once more. She said that was alright. Then she said "It would be good if all life's little dirty problem where as easy to clean as a storm in a tea cup." I sat down and thought about what she just had said. As I did, I drank a hot cup of Irish tea and ate some exotic foreign sweet bread. After that I got a cab to a place owned by a friend, who went up north for an extra long week end. Cause at home there was world war three. Found the key in the bough of the potted tree. I opened the door and went in and put on the kettle. Then listened to some relaxing Heavy Metal. Stage dived on the lounge lion cat. Splat! I think before Jason does come back, I better replace that. Then the kettle remembered how to whistle. So I rush in to the cookhouse like a nuclear missile. Turned it off and poured a cup of suicide weed tea. But just then I realised, that no one is as clumsy as me. I lost my balance and started to fall. I was sure, as I'm a fool, that I was about to wear it all. "The waves rose high, crashed against and climbed the china wall. Another wave of stains the carpet bravely did ride. And all the dust mites ran for their lives and a place to hide. From this caffeine carrying killer tide." I thought "abandon ship" this is shore to stain. And if Jason doesn't kill me, he will at least tell me to never come over again. But I soaked it with a magic mix of lemon juice and bread, over night. And thank heavens, in the morning all that was there was a lemon butter sam witch. Yes every thing was alright. I went to market and got a cat like the other. Only thing was this one is his sister and the other was her brother. I smiled as the green men inside my head sang this song. "Wouldn't it be good if all life's messes were as easy to clean up, as a storm in a tea cup."


I am not one for many words. I just say a few words from my heart and call it art. I don't find many answer but raise more questions that I had at the start. I don't know what word next will pop out of my head. I can't remember what I just said, a minute ago. I don't know what I will next say. Just another cocktail of letters mixed with insanity. To make a new cliche for this cliche riddled humanity. Just another sentence of bulk bull shit to have an educated editor edit it, to the point that it is no longer my words at all. But his ideals under my name. This is what they call the power word game. "Play by our rules or don't play at all." said... The man in a blue suit with a University degree. What makes him the judge and jury? What makes him a more experience person of life than me? Has he ever seen the darker seedier side of our city? Has he ever seen a prostitute die of a so called overdose? If I had the chance to have my say. People might need and want more information than they are now given. If I told the world what a mess we have made it. Then I might win this Power Word Game. Then maybe someone would change things. Then again maybe not.


I think I've been bit by the love bug. Hey babe can't you see, you're the only one for me. Hey baby don't you know I will always love you. In the back of my beetle. So lets go. We'll be making love in the back of my beetle. Babe don't put on the brakes too soon. I'll take you to the stars, to the heavens, to the midnight moon. My engine is hot and my heart is in tune. Get set to ride more than a sand dune. Come and test out the suspension and the new back seat. Burn up some rubber as we burn down the street. A hundred miles an hour while the car is still in park. Showing you my darker side while it is still dark. In motion but we are motionless. Tomorrow I will have a lot to confess. Why go straight home from the pub? Go very wild in my Veebub. We'll be making love in the back of my beetle.

Civil War

There's a civil war in this town.

A fight between rich and poor.

The slave will not serve his master any more.

Neither will the soldier kill his brother.

Or defile his sister or throw out of her home, his mother.

So from a place faraway they send more military men.

This rebellion those in power must stem.

So as to ensure that their comfortable little lives are... secure.

And they tell the world that they are keeping their country...

clean and pure.

So in defence the other side does fight.

Sure two wrongs don't make a right.

But when there is love, money and power is involved.

Everything is grey, there is no black and white.

There is civil war in the streets tonight.

Show time

Hey it's show time.

Hey babe show me... Show me what you can do.

Show me why I should still love you .

Show me what we can really be.

Show me what you want from me.

Don't you know I've seen you,

At your show and tell. And now I've got to go.

You say that I should stay.

So give me an expose.

It might have always been show time.

But I'm sure my passion for you,

Has caused me to be blind.

I feel like a circus animal inside my mind.

So throw down your whip and strip off that leather.

You thought you had in me your control.

You thought you were so clever.

Show me if you care.

Show me if your there. Show me, please do.

Show me that I am more than another...

Creature in your people zoo.

Show me... Cause I want to show you that I love you.

Waiting for her call.

I gave this girl the other day, my phone number. And ever since I've been immobilised with anticipation. Waiting for her to ring like she said she would. I haven't been able to do a thing. I could be going out to the pub with me mates. Or going to a nightclub with some sheila. But instead I'm here all alone. Waiting for her to phone. Not even listening to the radio or watching the T.V., incase she rings and I don't hear it. Waiting for her to call me. But I guess it'll never be. Waiting by this invention of Mr Graham Bell to put me through the full circle of an impatient person's hell. I've been waiting by this computer age communicator for a week. By now I need a shower and are dying for a leak. She must have a hide, she must have some cheek to promise one thing and do another. Well good bye my telephone lover. But wait is that a ring I hear. What music to my ear. Stop, hold the line, about **** time. She says she has been busy and that good night kiss I gave her made her dizzy. She wants us to meet again. And this time she wants us to be all alone. Good! her nephew is such a pain. I'm sure ourselves we can entertain. I hope he really is her nephew not her son. Oh no, I could not wish that on anyone. Instant family, instant commitment. To jail I would rather be sent, then to settle down. What if she just want a father for this self destructive slimy slug. Glug. Now I'm wishing she never rang. And I'm hoping she does not take seriously that song I sang at the karaoke machine. Now I wish I never gave her my number. All I wanted was a little accompanied slumber. But I need to watch she does not encumber my freedom. Maybe I can pretend I'm sick. Then leave this easy to find you kind of town. But then again why would she lie. I put myself over as a happy go lucky sort of guy. But how come if she is not the one, I've been sitting here all alone waiting for her to phone. I'm just a little nervous. I don't know why. Oh look it's almost eight. I'm meeting her in town at 9:30. I better not be late. So I must go and get ready, bye.


Here we go again, like pigs in the slaughter pen. We squeal and kick. We scream. We volunteered ourselves for this slaughter. And now our blood flows like water. But we never thought this would be so cruel and so obvious. We never knew that when we bleed... we would make such a stomach churning mess. Never imagined that death could be this painful. Why is life so slainful? Life is cheaper than the bloodmoney they hold in their left hand. Life is cheaper than an acre of land. Life is cheaper than a sack of sugar. Life is cheaper than a jar honey. Life is so corruptibly cheap. How can you at night close your eyes in sleep? How can you, in step with this dance of madness, keep? Your memory must be very shallow. And your horrid hatred run ever so deep. And when the war is over, it has just begun for some. For there is a secret price we pay for each loaded gun. The fear we feel in our hearts, while we sit in the place we call home. Until we stop fighting with each other, we will never feel safe when we are alone. Until we refuse to take up arms. And we stop being pigs in the slaughterpen. We will be free then and only then.


Whatever turns you on. Whatever gives you pleasure. Whatever makes you reach the heights of ecstacy. Whatever you do for thrills, I don't care. Just let me do what I like to. Freedom of choice with freedom from harm. Has that old world sort of charm. Respect others rights to be who they are. And exercise your right to be yourself. But don't go to far, trying to prove the point. You will never be accepted by one and all. But it does not pay to be overly concerned about what others do. If it does not hurt anyone else, then it does really doesn't involve me or you. Too many people try to force their views on everyone else. When they're not sure of what they believe them self. Each person must decide what they want out of life, without fearing the cutting words of a critics knife. So what if they don't agree with your view. Only person you need to agree with is you. Whatever makes you feel good. Whatever keeps you going, in this miserably lonely world. Whatever you think fills your heart's gaps until you can fix them like you know you should. Whatever turns you on.

Habitual Heartache.

Tonight she prepares for her habitual heartache. Cause as she says "love never lasts long, for me." Getting ready for another wasted night of kept back kisses and penniless promises. Knowing in her heart that... the words spoken by him were as shallow as an unknown man's grave. And just as lifeless. But she still hurts deep inside when... in the morning she is once more alone. In this empty shack she calls home. Just her... and two dogs. One, a purebred fox terrier and the other a real mixed bag of lollies. Part blue cattle, part pig dog, part german shepherd and so on. And 100% brave son of a bitch. As her only company. Every Saturday, she goes to the local pub takes home another handsome stranger. Putting herself and her heart in danger of being broken. Sure she has never been hit by any of her Roaming Romeos. But the blows below the belt sometimes hurt more than a fast fist ever would. She keeps hoping that one day... one of these desert sailors... will live up to his promises. Take her away from this deserted dustbowl to somewhere, anywhere better than here. Eternally stuck on this highway of hopelessness, her greatest fear. Trying to get a ticket to ride, the only way she knows how. She has taken in strangers for years. Just as she takes them in now. A few she is glad to see go, but most when they leave, drive into her heart and soul a stake. But again... tonight she prepares for her habitual heartache.

In possession of...

This all once was yours, this all once was mine. But this world now belongs to money and time. No one has the time to talk, unless you are willing speak as we run. It is too slow if we walk. No time to relax and be myself and just have a little fun. I need to get from A to B then B to Z. Need to get there cheaply and quickly. Advertisement on a billboard is telling me I need stuff I can't afford. Then good old inflation eats up any payrise. So $10 more a week is more a burden then a nice surprize. So I work twice as hard to get half as much. Life today is such... a getting nowhere sort of thing. I wonder what disaster tomorrow might bring. To give the multinationals another reason to put up the price. And the governments propaganda in which they use as an excuse, for us needing to make all this sacrifice. Technology was spoused to give us more time not take more of it away. We were promised a shorter working day. Not longer hours for those who work and smaller budgets for those who don't. The more anyone promises to give me anything, the more I know that they won't. Peace and security is what we thought we could all gain. But instead of finding the antidote, we have caused more pain. Bringing science to the rescue to save the world from our own pollution. But it creates more problems instead of finding the solution. This all once was yours, this all once was mine. But this world now belongs to money and time. And I say "let them have it..."


Don't judge this book by it's cover.

Don't compare me to another.

Black on white, white on black.

You call me a lot of things when...

I'm out of ear shot.

And turn my back.

Colourful and illustrated or dull and plain.

Preconceived ideas of the muddied mind and broiled brain. Words too long, sounds too short.

Meanings twisted and contort.

Smells like a rose, looks like a wort,

tastes like a mix of pineapple juice and port.

First impressions are often wrong...

even though they are always strong.

Cliches of yesterdays.

Judgement of upon us via your eyes.

The seen is never to reveal the hidden and disguised.

Visual vandalism of individualism.

What is realism?

Don't look at only the outside...

cause comparisons will only isolate and divide.

Don't judge this book by it's cover.


Lonely hearted woman, lonely hearted man.

Two lonely hearts meet to be lonely never again.

The flame of passion burns in there hearts.

Smiles, winks and glances all play their parts.

They belong to each other till death does separate.

Now they have found a partner.

Now they have found a mate.

Now emptiness is gone from their life.

Soon they will be husband and wife.

Then come the children, four maybe more.

Then she, mother and wife, realizes she wasn't lonely at all.

Now he, father and husband, has to work till late.

He wonders if this is really love or just fate.

Then the children leave.

The bond is stronger than ever before.

As each day passes, they love each other more and more.

Then one lonely night,

For the last time they both together lie.

And in their bed still embraced they die.


Five falling stars in the sky, tonight.

Each one falling like a silver tear.

Each one a bright joyful wish for the New Year.

Like the tears of happiness, running down your cheek.

You will cry when you find the paramount paradise you seek.

Heavy Load

People rushing around like ants, carrying a heavy load of luggage. Full of things that they mainly don't use and don't need. But they can't stand to leave behind. Like the do everything and nothing can opener that doesn't even open cans.

Highway Nought

I'm screaming down the highway.

Going nowhere fast.

Leaving behind the future.

Leaving behind the past.

I'm on Highway Nought.

No one else knows it's there.

It's my sought of freeway.

Heading for Nothing Port.

Flying down Highway Nought.

Sadness is left behind,

Happiness is bought,

On Highway Nought.

Highway Zero is the place to go to escape.

Going down the highway to nowhere.

If I don't get there,

I really don't care.

Counting down till there's nothing left.

Feeling the increase of speed, as to a higher gear I shift.

It's the loneliest highway known.

No other car in sight.

I'm on my own, you won't find it on a map.

No it's not like that.

The more you look for it, the less likely you will find.

There's no directions signed.

To find it, you just need to leave your cares behind.

You don't need a car.

You don't need a bus.

Don't need a road train.

You need to clear your mind.

You can go cruising for a hour or a day.

It's the coolest, hipest, fastest freeway.

There's no other road to compare.

You just have to be there.

Screaming down the highway.

On Highway Nought.

Seven candles

Tonight I light seven candles.

For the seven wars.

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