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.

Don't Think Twice, It's Alright

Lately my mind has been walking through places it shouldn't. And across sharp ground with no shoes on too. Reckless? Definitely. Wise? Probably not. Necessary? Indeed. Will any of it prove to be fortuitous? Only time will tell the tale worthy of explaining all the questions. Let's hope this time I listen to the answers when they are given. S.H.

Moving Right Along

Time for an actual blog post. I've been engaged in the tiresome act of attempting to sort out life's various little mishaps. Also working on a number of short story submissions. Along with working on another longer, or perhaps to be more accurately described as 'full length' story as well. Observing some of the world's growing population of simpletons. And trying to remain as even as possible about the whole kit and caboodle. That is all ... at present. S.H.

Walking On The Moon

What do we do but to wander. Why do we wander but to do. S.H.

Truth

Love knows not rank nor river bank, nor street bank nor days dank. Love knows not place nor virtue, not age nor curfew. Love is careless for place nor power, heedless of scantly shack nor gleaming tower. S.H.

Blow Up The Pokies

To further your musical education. S.H.

Seether

For the unenlightened among you. S.H.