Tag: society

thoughts

~ Home Alone ~

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~ Home Alone ~

“Braving the battleground of normal life was never easy whenever I came back from a long trip. I found I was constantly in conflict with everything around me. Where people wanted a house full of things, I aspired to fit my possessions into a backpack; where people saved up for a new car, I saved up for a plane ticket. Often the alienation from everything was overwhelming. Whenever it all became too much, I retreated into the shelter of my own mind. Sitting there alone I would look out and watch people falling. I watched them falling onto sofas. I watched them falling into careers and fashions. I watched them falling into mortgages, marriages and high-street shopping lines. Everywhere I looked, people fell. It was raining normality and there was nothing I could do.”

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

thoughts

~ Reclaiming Your Heart And Mind ~

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 ~ Reclaiming Your Heart And Mind ~

“From the moment you can understand words, you are enrolled and controlled by a culture that teaches us that we are all marginal and that life is ordinary. But venture outside their control for a short while, and you sober up from the illusions. Life is not a formulaic journey to the grave down a grey highway of bills, television and weekend drinking. There is more. Despite what those men in suits say, there is more. I implore you to have faith in your own individual direct experience. I implore you to step out beyond the comfort zone, follow your bliss and wander into the glorious wilderness of the unknown. You may get messy hair, dirty feet and a broken heart – but on your deathbed you will be able to look back and say the thing that matters most: “I lived my life to the full”.

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

thoughts

~ Starved ~

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~ Starved ~

“After another day at work, I came home and faced the man in the mirror. The reflection showed a tired stranger. His face was pale and his eyes timid. I could see the visible effects another week of drudgery had done to me. In an instant I felt the weight of this concrete world pull me down stronger than ever. I wanted out but in a society which left you starving for freedom on every street corner, where else was there to turn? It seemed like either you starved from hunger in the gutter, or you starved from monotony and routine in the offices and suburbs. From where else could you fulfil yourself? From where else could you nourish yourself on the flesh of existence? The bars and clubs offered a temporary escape, but ultimately left you further in the pit the next day. The shops and malls offered momentary material pleasure, but ultimately left you empty and decaying on the inside. If you kept your eyes open then those grey streets told a sad story. A great famine was upon us and you only had to look into the eyes of the commuters on those rush-hour trains to see how bad the situation had gotten – to see that we had become over-civilised and under-fed with the fruits of life. Whatever ‘growing up’ and ‘finding your place’ in this strange society meant, I was certain that I was a galaxy or two away from it.”

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poetry

~ Post-College Rebellion ~

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~ Post-College Rebellion ~

So I finally arrived but the businessmen say the journey has just begun;
twenty years of transitional education to be bottom facing the gun.
With a loss of direction I lament the system and nation;
for what use is this knowledge – without imagination?

And I got that post-college rebellion rushing through my veins,
spewing out my mouth and flowing down the drain.
I got that post-college rebellion bleeding from my eyes,
dripping onto newspapers as I read the daily lies.
I got that post-college rebellion weakening my knees,
got me hiking with a backpack in the mountains overseas;
post-college rebellion and I look up to the skies and plea:
is there more to life than this – is there something more for me?

‘cause I know there are forces out there that want to put me in a box,
to kneel down faithfully and kiss the finger of the man;
to place me into a cubicle where nobody ever knocks,
and dress up nicely – a component of society with a plan.

Yeah maybe one day I’ll be more conservative,
and chase the money and the power, and build a castle to live.
But now I gotta do the things that fan the flames of my desire,
the ones that kill this twitch inside and set my soul on fire.

That’s why I got post-college rebellion burning up my skin,
igniting my anxiety and turning my flesh thin.
I got that post-college rebellion choking me like dust,
got me spitting out the mediocrity of this decaying social rust.
I got that post-college rebellion wandering into the wild;
got me sleeping on the floor and playing like a child;
post-college rebellion and I look up to the stars and plea:

is there more to life than this – is there something more for me?

thoughts

~ In The Madhouse ~

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~ 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 ~

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~ 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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short stories

~ The Voice Of Insanity ~

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~ The Voice of Insanity ~

“Back again from the road, looking out at that grey, grey world. That concrete world. That mechanical world. At another crossroad of life, once again it seemed like I had all but two choices: to join the herd, surrender myself to the system and let the normality of everyday life slowly suffocate my soul, or to just let go further and go more and more insane. It was true that by now I was sure I was in some strange minority of the human race. Sure, I had done all the personality tests and tried to psychologically analyse myself, but it really wasn’t necessary. The fact that I was allergic to every cultural task, to every bit of small-talk – to every social expectation and tradition that surrounded me – meant there was absolutely no chance for me to ever fit into my surrounding society. The searing pain I felt at even the smallest task of convention told me that trying to be a part of that world would probably leave me as a future suicide case. I didn’t want that to happen, and I wasn’t going to let that happen. A haunting voice whispered inside my ear and told me to keep on going on my path – to keep on wandering towards some sort of personal salvation and nirvana out there in the wild. Perhaps it was the sinister voice of madness trying to lure me over to the other side of sanity, but at times it seemed that voice was the best friend I had – the only one to reliably guide me through the dark swamps and forests I so often found myself in.

It was funny when I thought more about it – those voices you followed; those voices that guided you; those paths you walked. When I also looked at my idols – the writers, philosophers, adventurers and artists – and thought about their story, it seemed like they too had followed that same voice through the wilderness. Perhaps that’s why those souls had appealed to me from such a young age. In many ways they were just like me. In a species that requires individuals to conform and lose their adventurous spirit and creativity in order to uphold the mechanical system of society, the ones who are possessed by the need to express themselves and perpetually explore their inner and outer worlds were destined to lose their minds among the static masses. When walking those concrete streets and facing out at the grey absurdity of it all, I understood why they chose instead to go insane. It made sense why they chose to sit in dark rooms and write until their fingers bled, to try every drug and meditation under the sun, to climb the mountains, to live in camper-vans, to play the blues – to create great works of art and then blow their brains out with a shotgun. This is what had to be done; for some this was the only way to save oneself from the pain of a scripted life, to escape the automatic life on the cultural conveyor-belt – to fiercely protect the wild soul inside of them from being captured and killed by the mundane requirements of everyday civilian life.

Yeah, maybe they were madmen, or masochists, or simply deluded – and maybe I was too – but for me they were the only people I truly understood in the core of my heart. No matter how many years passed me by, I still couldn’t stomach or accept the life society expected me to live. And coming back again from the road once more, it was clear that I probably never would. My basic realisation each morning was always the same: I was a conscious, living organism riding a spinning rock through a universe full of exploding stars, black holes, and infinite horizons. The possibilities to life should have been endless, but mostly you we were subjected to a life of routine and monotony and trivia. Why was it like this? Was it all some kind of cruel prank? Maybe I had I got off at the wrong stop, or the gods had made a mix-up in the planetary warehouse when sending me here?

Whatever the case, it was clear that the only thing for me to now do was to keep on following that voice through the misty wilderness. For me this is what had to be done; for me this was the answer. I was to continue on my path. I was to abandon myself to art and adventure. I was to keep on following that voice through the wild. And yes, maybe it would lead to me madness, but I simply no longer cared. For some that place of madness is the last refuge of freedom from the machine. For some that place is the only realm in which the free spirit can survive. For some – in a world where sanity meant a life of slow suffocation – going insane is the gasp of fresh air that keeps them alive.”

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

thoughts

~ The Poachers Of Life ~

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 ~ The Poachers Of Life ~

“I always found it interesting how we all united in contempt whenever there was a story about poachers in the news or on the television. Nothing was more disturbing than seeing a wild animal tamed, thrown in a cage, shot or hacked down for their personal treasures. But so often we were blind to the fact that the same thing happened to us. While migrating across the plains of life, so many of us were captured and thrown into the cages of fear, doubt, dogma and a constant chase of security. So many of us chose to live lives that were safe and acceptable, rather than living the life we truly wanted. The danger was relentless and the poachers approached from many angles. They didn’t always have guns and spears – but instead they were the people putting their hands on our shoulders and telling us to forget about our dreams and passions. Sometimes the poachers were the advertisers, the politicians, the teachers, the parents. Sometimes the poachers were those closest to us; some negative voices ridiculing and dragging us down. Sometimes it was even yourself – the man or woman staring back at you from the mirror – who was the greatest poacher of all.”

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

thoughts

~ An Invisible Prison ~

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~ 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 ~

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~ 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)