poetry

~ In Too Deep ~

~ In Too Deep ~

I walk this urban jungle
and I see people so lost
wandering through life
desperate and depraved
clinging onto lottery tickets
and shopping bags
and briefcases
and beer bottles
looking for the way out

I see people so lost
stuck in a movie they never asked to star in
working for causes they don’t believe in
trapped in lives they never imagined
a life where the tramp and the lawyer
wear the same frown

I see souls starving and dying
behind counters
behind desks
behind smartphones
behind steering wheels
mothers, fathers,
teachers
bus drivers

people so lost
in too deep 
drowning in traffic jams
while turning the radio louder
and louder
to escape the reality

that kills us all

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thoughts

~ In The Madhouse ~

~ In The Madhouse ~

“There I stood on that city sidewalk once again: haunted and disturbed, my mind stained with Monday morning madness as the weight of this concrete world pressed down upon me. All around me the human race persevered on like normal. The traffic jams slowly stuttered by; the shoppers trudged on with their plastic bags; the cranes of doom loomed over me constructing our grey future. The insanity was relentless. We were a species stumbling recklessly toward the future. The rainforests fell as the skyscrapers rose; the rich bought $5000 suits as the homeless begged for money; the sociopaths flourished while the most intelligent sat in therapist offices paying for the right not to go insane. When you opened your eyes and really looked at it you could see something wasn’t quite right; something had gone wrong. In our undying quest for the good life we had become confused, deranged – dangerous. We had lost ourselves to illusions of success and future and wealth. But what good were those things when the air was poisoned? When the streets were littered with the homeless? When the buildings burnt down violently because the development agency skipped on fireproof materials to save money? The chaos of it all tormented me. It left me isolated on streets of thousands. Often I worried about ending up in the madhouse – but then I looked around and realised I was already in it.”

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poetry

~ The Asylum ~

~ The Asylum ~

Hey kid. Good day!
Let me help you on your way.
There’s something I’m required to say,
before you check in for your stay.

First: welcome to the asylum,
where we will clothe you with illusion;
welcome to this madhouse,
where you are fed with pure delusion;
we will help you go insane,
just like your fathers and your mothers;
just follow these basic rules,
so you can go crazy with the others!

1) Get paid; get laid – produce more members of the state
2) Buy gear; live in fear – choose the politics of hate
3) Choose a religion; find division – no need for any proof
4) Wear a mask; lie if they ask – become the enemy of truth
5) Follow fashion; ignore your passion – conformity is the best
6) No variety; feel anxiety – avoid the judgement of the rest
7) Adore tomorrow; save and borrow – the future is the king
8) Don’t be content; get it spent – this present moment is sickening

Yeah welcome to the asylum,
within the walls of ego division;
make yourself right at home;
your cell comes with a television;
please remember it is forbidden,
to possess the nature of your self;
but make sure you have money,
for your bank balance is your health!

Phew; okay.
Now that’s cleared up, we can get you all checked in.
I think your cell is located just down here on the left.
You like the colour grey, right?
Oh yeah; just one last thing before I forget..

Smiley faces and celebrity worship!
As the rulers put you through your paces!
Smiley faces and abandoned dreams!
As your mind rots in office spaces!

Smiley faces and smog pollution!
As you’re chatting about the weather!
Smiley faces and no solution!
As you all go crazy together!

Forever! Together!
Forever! Together!

…..

Have fun, kid.

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thoughts

~ An Invisible Prison ~

~ An Invisible Prison ~

“The blocks flew open and suddenly I entered into a race I didn’t even ask to be a part of. My immediate thought was of escape, but everywhere I turned it seemed the coordinators were there to usher me back onto the track of the rat race. I looked and looked for the alternative but it was near impossible to find. The people who called themselves alternative wore hippy clothes and tattoos, but were still tied down with careers and cars and televisions and credit cards. The track was hard to leave and even if you wanted to – the warnings were there. The homeless people on the side of the street. The mental asylums. The prisons. The cemeteries. Abandoning the arena of normality may have sounded grand in my head, but the reality was that it a dangerous and even deadly affair. Many a man or woman has hit the bottom after leaving the state-owned racing track towards death. Such an undertaking was not something one did lightheartedly. But on the other hand, what about the others who found the gold in the wilderness? What about the Kerouacs, the Dylans, the Edmund Hillarys? The wilderness of the world had many dangers, but the static life of the suburbs that awaited me seemed like a death sentence. Anything seemed better than being silently imprisoned in an invisible prison which no one else could see. How could you explain the pain of a prison which many people aspired for? The pain of a prison where the fridge was full but the soul empty? The pain of a prison which came with a shiny automobile, a high credit-rating, and a HD television?”

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(taken from my book ‘The Thoughts From The Wild’ available here)

thoughts

~ The Contract Of Normality ~

~ The Contract Of Normality ~

“The more I went through life, the more it seemed that signatures were life’s way of reeling you into a life of normality. The dotted lines were always there waiting. Whenever you started a job, you signed that dotted line. Whenever you rented an apartment, you signed that dotted line. Phones, cable TV, cars, internet and even marriage – that line was always waiting to hook you in and keep you fixed in one place. The way I saw it, all of those individual things essentially constituted an entire contract of normality which was offered to each and every one of us. The contract of normality much have been the most signed piece of paper in the world. The big question simply was: to sign or not to sign? Signing yourself over to a normal life had its perks after all. You were guaranteed of lifetime supply of steady small-talk and fitting in amongst the crowd. You got a TV, a car, a few weeks’ vacation each year and even a pension to fall back on. Your days and weeks may have had some surprises, but more or less you had your life schedule sorted on a spreadsheet right up until your funeral. It was a solid deal – a tempting one – as proven by its popularity. But did I want to sign? Life was safe and straight-forward if you put your name on that dotted line, but where was the thrill? Where were the surprises? Where were the moments where you weren’t sure whether you were going to reach the mountain top or fall into the abyss?

The more I thought about it, the more it seemed that signing the dotted line meant I was giving away all the excitement and adventure. So whenever the contract of normality was put in front of my face, I simply put the pen down and walked away from the table. Sure, I may have been residing myself to a life of unpredictability, discomfort and lack of security, but the journey into the wild was just simply too much fun to hand it all over to a life defined by rules and regulations.”

(taken from my book ‘The Thoughts From The Wild’ available here)

poetry

~ The National Dance ~

~ The National Dance ~

Consume and be consumed; in a national dance of plastic bags.
Grab your paper and head to the high-street.
Flock together and shuffle your feet.
There’s windows to shop and prices to beat!

Sing.

“Fulfilment is but one shop away; one more purchase to make it to the next day!”

And sway.

“Follow the fashion everyday; and do the things that the billboards say!”

Spend and become spent; in a national dance of plastic bags.
Load up your credit cards and forget about the debt.
Sniff off the places where the bargains are kept .
Rave out your frenzy, it’s not closing time yet!

Sing.

“Fulfilment is but one shop away; one more purchase to make it to the next day!”

And sway.

“Follow the fashion everyday; and do the things that the billboards say!”

Dance. Dance. Dance.
Buy. Buy. Buy.

This is your vice; your army, your war
This is your dance; your song and your floor.

Dance. Dance. Dance.
Buy. Buy. Buy.

This is your stage; come sun or cold rain;
This is your movement; to shake out your pain.

Dance. Dance. Dance.
Buy. Buy. Buy.

And this is your tribe; your family of spend
This is your war dance; for every weekend.

Dance. Dance. Dance.
Buy. Buy. Buy.

Consume and be consumed.
Consume and be consumed.

Consume and be consumed.

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thoughts

~ The Hidden Cuts ~

~ The Hidden Cuts ~

“Back on those grey sidewalks I tumbled into a new week. With my mind ravaged by a hangover, I looked up and faced my fellow species once more. Once again, there they all were: everyone wearing well-ironed clothes, adorning impeccable makeup, walking with polished shoes and driving shiny cars. This image was the market-approved billboard image of society, but if you looked closely, you could see masses of human-beings drowning under the surface. On the smiling face of the consultant, sat the bloodshot eyes of stress and tiredness; in the movement of the elderly man at the bar, you could see the trembling hand of the alcoholic; on the forearm of the girl serving you coffee, you could see the self-harm scars of despair. This culture was telling us that everything was great, or that it could be great with just a bit more money, but if you opened your eyes and paid close attention, you could see between the cracks; you could see a hidden suffering which couldn’t be cured by any promotion, paycheck, or fancy new dress. That suffering was the true toll this society had taken on the soul of the humans it had consumed. That suffering was the secret pain that nobody dare spoke about. That suffering was the inconvenient truth – the self-harm scars of emptiness and frustration and desolation – which had to be hid.”

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