The Deepening Fog

Tell me of this, the wheedle the warp, the beadle and snap, the warbling bird that sat above my head. I cricked my head and held it to the sky. The clouds were made of branches, crooked and beautiful. The ground was damp and dark, a mess of dead leaves. The light cut lines of dull grey through the air. I set off again, a weight in my boots that has seldom been there before, but neither a surprise to my heart. The cold was manageable as no wind scratched through the trunks of the trees. I held a simple pace, over hillock and round creek, the crystal light a deepened fog. I’d gone for at least an hour before I looked down at what I was wearing. A tattered suit and totally inappropriate shoes, a gun in my jacket pocket. I stopped and pulled it out, a black and frigid lump of metal, I had no idea how it had gotten there. But considering I had no idea how I had gotten where I was too, the heavy weapon in my possession was a small task at hand. S.H.

About A Girl

I want a girl who wears black t-shirts ... silver shoes and blue tights.
A girl who swears without swearing.
Who cries when she wants to and also when she doesn't.
Whose eyes turn the others away, and reel me in on home.
Who laughs when she shouldn't, and smiles when no one else will.
Who sings in the supermarket at the top of her voice.
Who runs from everything, but is afraid of nothing.

Go Home

Bah humbug and malice and trolls. Muddy skies and filthy streets. Still they change nothing, make only themselves feel better, and the Ones on the top of their towers continue to do what they want. Don‘t think you are changing anything. The Ones are there to do what they want, not what you desire. Even if they do let their tossed coins fall down on your favoured side, it is never because you were there, with your tousled hair and brightened eyes, but because they wanted to change or let themselves move that way. You can never sway the vote with such petty actions, no more than it is possible to reprogram a living entity with computerised thoughts. You cause may be worthy but your time is wasted. Go home, love your family, look after yourselves and rethink what you can do to really make a mark to the better, for us all, for us all.

Pudding Pie

He shook his head, like pudding pie, a jumbled sludge of softened crust and doughy centre, clear thought at the minute a figment. ‘No time for this,’ he thought, his mind too tired for words or thought or anything of use. Use. It was useless to think of how she had done this, what ‘this’ had been. He knew it was coming but still he had sat, atop a horse made of mashed potato, the tidal wave of gravy so ready to come. She'd rolled him, kicked him, thrown him all over and out. He wouldn't do it again, he wouldn't wait, this was something that did not need to be undone, but something to be built upon.

Metallica

It would be fair to say that there have not, of late, been many things that I have been thankful for. As time has and continues to go on, there are more and more things that I feel lucky to have in my life. One of those things I do feel greatly thankful for is Metallica. How grateful I feel to be alive in the time that they have been also. I love other bands as well, but there really is nothing like Metallica. When it comes to heavy bands, there are many others that are awesome, but if there was to be a shinny gold star placed and a silky blue ribbon awarded, when it comes to Metallica, nothing else matters. SH.

Cafe Sahara

How do you make chance encounters happen? Being by definition, chance, it would seem that it's not really possible. I, however, would like to take a more positive approach. Being in the right place at the right time is not something that is seemingly left to chance. For example, if you live in the Sahara your whole life, you are unlikely to run into Simon Pegg in an Islington cafe. This is simply because Islington isn't in the Sahara, it's in Islington. And as far as I know, nor are there any cafes in the Sahara at any case, although I would love to be proved wrong on this one. The idea of sipping a freshly brewed Earl Grey whilst trying to keep sand out of your sugar bowl is something that is strangely appealing to me.
But to chance, and the simple theory of mine that it may still be inherently random, but you can always increase your chances of making the odds a little fatter, like the returns line at Target after Christmas. This can be done, I hope, but putting yourself out there, in the proverbial line of fire, ready to catch the bullets in your teeth with a smile, wholly with the belief that the risk is more than worth the reward.
To say I believe it is one thing, but to clearly know how to do it it but another of life's questions that no one ever seems to save the answers to on their portable hard drive. But worry not, I shall blaze a trail of my own, make the steps and lay the plans, hedge the bets and continue to use worn out metaphors to explain why I want to take the fight to Chance, raise my sword in glory and take what's rightfully mine. Wish me luck, it can't possibly hurt. S.H.

Song Of The Day - KRAM

Silk Suits by KRAM. The legendary front man behind the kit. S.H.

Song Of The Day - Superheist

Bullet by Superheist. An old one, but a good one, by an Australian band that disappeared off the radars about ten years ago. Shame. S.H.

Song Of The Day - Dan Le Sac Vs Scroobius Pip

Thou Shalt Always Kill by Dan Le Sac Vs Scroobius Pip. I got put onto these guys a couple years ago by one of my students. He got a handful of gold stars that day I can tell you. The album version is better than this, but you get the picture. S.H.

Song Of The Day - Ben Folds & Nick Hornby

Levi Johnson's Blues by Ben Folds & Nick Hornby. Too good for words. S.H.

Song Of The Day - Driftless Pony Club

Legends of Archery by Driftless Pony Club. Short but sweet. S.H.

Song Of The Day - Girl In The Red Light

Kids Get Wasted by Girl In The Red Light.

How this song didn’t get to number one in Australia is beyond me. Enjoy. S.H.

Song Of The Day - Otep

March of the Martyrs by Otep. Turn it up.

S.H.

A Day in the Life

I received a correspondence back today from a short story competition I entered a while ago. I didn’t win it but made the ‘long list’ - whatever that may be. The feedback was wholly positive and contained such quotes as ‘there are excellent descriptive movements’ and ‘strangely exciting and believable’ so, hey. S.H.

Sail Away

I've been de-friended. One of my few followers has jumped ship; left the keel; deserted the crew; bailed out; hit the spits; cracked the wobbleys; left the ranch ... not too sure about that last one but the picture is crystal I'm sure. I can't work out who it was, which in itself is probably the reason, but hey, each is each. Tally ho, ta ta, farewell my internet friend, as you cast yourself back out into the raging wilds of the vast sea of online communications. May your life as a cast away end with you landing on the desert island that you seek the most. However, if you ever feel need to set sail in web that is as wide as the world, know that there will forever be a place among the crew that it balderdash, ever ready to welcome you back into the fold, like a shipwrecked companion once pulled of course by the shining light of treasure, but now with their matetys, home again on the seven billion seas. S.H.

I'm Not Gonna Cry

I'm not gonna cry today, I won't shed a tear,
even if some milk is spilt, I won't dilute my beer,
I won't use a tissue, my pillow will stay dry,
and I won't need a shoulder, 'cos I'm not gonna cry,
I'm not gonna snivel, and I'm not gonna sob,
Both my eyes will remain dry, and I won't have to dob them,
Move me with a tragedy, just go ahead and try,
Play me a tear jerker, but I'm not gonna cry.

I'm not going to weep today, I will not wet my cheek,
I'll count to ten and I'll hold it in, I'm not gonna leak,
And I'm not gonna loose it, though I may want to die,
They say it's good to let it out, but I'm not gonna cry,
I'm not gonna blub today, I'm not gonna bawl,
And I'm not gonna fall apart, even if you call me,
I could not cry for forty years, I was to tough a guy,
Now I can do it any time, but I'm not gonna cry.

I must have cried a million tears, at least ninety-six,
I cried me a river, and an ocean just for kicks,
Listen to the thunder, dark clouds fill the sky,
Well it looks like rain, and I hear a train, but I'm not gonna cry.

Yeah, well it looks like rain and I hear a train, but I'm not gonna cry.


Alas, this is not mine, but belongs to the great Mr Wainwright. Big respect goes to the man, the myth, the legend. S.H.

Thou Shalt Always Kill

Thou shalt not question Stephen Fry. SH

I Shall Be Released

And to business. Fettered utterances were the call of the day as most of it was spent reading. Either that or basking in the sun. Or gazing out at other things as they basked in the sun. The day was partly cloudy and mostly quiet. But only where I spent it, as I imagine a building site or the playground of the nearest McDonald's was probably anything but quiet. As one would imagine they would be on most days they were in active use. The afternoon past, a sunset appeared, and soon after nighttime ensued. It still continues as I speak, but for the most part the day has drawn itself to a muted, if not regular conclusion. Excitement did not really rear any of its heads for me, but dare I say it may well have done for several others. Most of these people I will never meet, so the height of their excitement on this day would seem to be interminably unhelpful. Except maybe as serving to brighten my outlook on the day that yes, good things do happen if you are only in the right place when they happen. I will await the proof of this dizzying theory with most eager open-mindedness. Probably. SH

The Summer

Salty skies, air like warm honey. A tethered breeze seems hardly enough to carry anything of worth my way, but still it cools the sand, cools the water, cools the earth. Withered tales crumble and break up above like fallen leaves of autumns long passed away. They turn to dust like decayed vines, no longer snaking their way around and into recesses they should have never found, now blown away by the breath of something new.

I realise this is utter drivel, but something has to fill up this cyberspace, so until I become involved in anything more interesting, this will have to do. SH

Of The Girl

I want a girl who wears black t-shirts ... silver shoes and blue stockings.
A girl who swears without swearing.
Who cries when she wants to and also when she doesn't.
Whose eyes turn the others away, and reel me in on home.
Who laughs when she shouldn't, and smiles when no one else will.
Who sings in the supermarket at the top of her voice.
Who runs from everything, but is afraid of nothing.
Who tells me the truth, even when I don't want her to.
Who knows it's only just rain.
Who walks like she means it.
Who forgives but doesn't forget.
Who bangs her head to every thick drum beat.
Who has a jacket made of red cotton.
Who speaks like a thunderstorm and sounds like a rainbow.
Who is just around the corner. SH

The Broken, Beat & Scarred

Leave your line of silk, your tawdry tale. Bereft the rest of us your lies, your sullied maze. Take the time and make it yours, keep your clock away from gaze. No eyes of mine could wish to see, nor care to look upon, or wist to be akin, to anything of your own entropy. SH

What Is He Thinking?

I find it hard to turn my mind off. The problem with this is that my mind usually controls most of what I do. Wherever I am I am usually thinking about something, and believe me, this is not always a healthy pursuit. It leads to the all too common 'over thinking'. Which in turn leads to the also all too common 'some more over thinking.'
If you have heard of or know of, anyone that has in their possession or is aware of how to get their hands on a button that not necessarily turns the mind off but more putts it on mute, then I would be more than obliged if you could pass on their contact details. Thank you and good evening. S.H.

You Don't Know Me (Yet)

Your tales are told with marble eyes, a whistled promise, the perfect sigh.
The day's away, the night is here, a crumpled hand, unwelcome tear.
The trees can fly, the birds can sit, there's nothing more, you're here, you're it.
Settled skies have never grown, I'm delicate like a glass gnome.
With silver shoes and patterned dress, you walk along and I'm a mess.
The cloth of time upon my face, I'll rip it up and make my chase. S.H.

Ta Douleur

Ta douleur, ta douleur, never do we bleet more than for the shackles that hold us to be lifted.
A common occurrence among many is to feel the worser for our wear. For some this sense is a justified, if not still unhelpful way of thinking. But for many of those that crow the call of the wounded beast hard done by, a heady lesson in deference would do all their hearts well.
Often it is unfair how some have some and some have some more. But while this state of affairs may cease to breed humility, it is all a statement of the past and the present. The future is there for the victor to evolve, the canny to manipulate. What is now can be shaped into what will be. And while a certain nothingness may house the scene in front of our eyes, it is the warmth that exists behind the trees that can be seen but not yet visited that will forever be all one will speak of and know. S.H.

Soldier's Poem

I saw the plastic soldier man today. Walking to and fro along the beachside path, dressed in uniform of baggy tracksuit and clear thin poncho. He marched a steady beat, step by step and heart to heart, thickened eyes gave me a careful look. We passed a second time, his form irresolute, and I left him on his way, moving off to make the world a better place, and smote any new rain drops that dared to splatter his transparent plastic poncho. S.H.

How To Explain

Concerning those ladies with the microphone and speaker in front of the jewellery or clothing shops. Are they aware that every one seems to be ignoring them? This one I saw today was all smiles and radio voice with the volume on eleven. Everyone in a six block radius could hear her, but they were trying desperately hard not to show it. Even the people that had their hair parted as they walked past the speaker blast held a resolutely passive facial expression, continuing on as if they had not just temporarily deafened.
The lady doing her thing today was outside an upscale jewellers. She was busting out the latest offers on top form, but had to unfortunately compete with the loudness of her trousers. It looked like she had stabbed a male peacock to death and then sewed the poor creature's tail feathers together, wrapping them around her legs and finally securing the whole lot in place with a Pritt Stik. It wasn't pretty. S.H.

Great Southern Land

The lightning is painting the night sky in flourishes, the air is warm and the insects are singing. Great Southern Land. S.H.

Today

The day today. Up, breakfast, Ellen, write, washing. Lunch, movie, write, read. Shopping mall, walk, music, paddle pop, Youtube, read, write. How was your day? S.H.

Carpe Diem Baby

Carpe diem, baby, carpe diem. S.H.

Chase That Feeling

It is said to be luck, a great gift to have a feeling so strong, a burning sense that you were placed on this fair brown land to do one specific thing. Maybe not only that one thing, but it sings certainly as the most prominent, the one act or vocation or doing that without it in your life would be a life ill-used, a time on earth wasted. This "feeling" is told to not only be special but rare. It's not something that one would necessarily get paid for, praised for carrying out or even be noticed by others, but all of this is irrelevant anyway. None of these are the reasons. You feel the urning to do it because the world would crumble if you did not. The skies would remain bleak and the vast horizon would never stop, and no way would you be able to cease your wandering.
To describe such a feeling is impossible to convey to those who do not share it's essential pull, it's numbing ache and filling swell. You know you have to do it. You just know. And until you do, or when you do not, you know nothing, and you may as well fall thought he clouds for a million years, because time means nothing when you are not spending it doing what you were born to do. S.H.