Tuesday, November 22, 2005

For Hayley.

This is a poem I wrote for Hayley as a birthday present, I typed it up neatly on Tabby then drew a picture for the front.
Meaning of life.
A loop of events in a blur of obscurity,
Without meaning,
Nothing more than carbon set into functions,
Existence as a sequence watched from a distance,
No interaction.
A tie solid and filled with purpose,
Does not cause this spinning rock to falter,
But draws you out from seclusion of carbon casting.
Seen only as a small jestjure but alters,
Shifts (perspective) one being. Moulds their definition.
Look at these links they belong to no chain,
See how they originate from the chest,
Strung in a web,
We're all tangled together
Caught up in each other,
When you observe these threads,
you find meaning.
*
Deep rooted dependency.
Friendship Stability Love Sanity.
*
Hayley has this beautiful way of making everything simple. She uncomplicates things and forces them into sense. She is a stable and loyal, I rely on her to keep me sane. When my heads coiled up in thoughts which have their own logic she comes and shows how irrational they are. She puts up with my obsessions and will happily come round at strange times to calm me down. She went away for a week and without her there I got so messed up that I grabbed onto a thought which implanted itself firmly into what I saw around me and into my thinking. I was scared which meant I couldn't sleep. She leaves for a week then comes back to find me sleep deprived and weary of men in bowler hats. That alone shows how important she is.
When she's here there is sense, I am secure. In the petal of the middle rose on my tattoo there is an 'H'.
BOOGIE
*Pissing Google blogging system won't let me place spaces where I want them. Alright, alright I'll use stars. Happy now?

posted by Boogie @ 4:38 PM 2 comments

Saturday, November 19, 2005

Sour sixteen skin soiled.

Interesting last few days. I got new shoes and a tattoo. Im controlling manic evil laughter due to the fact I stopped myself placing a exclamation mark at the end of that sentence.
True Im hungover it hasn't been the best day ever. But I have a tattoo! Two of my friends Hayley and Kyle had theirs done first however its not peer pressure or anything stupid like that. I've always wanted one and mine isn't flash oh no its custom. I designed it myself. Actually its more like its designed itself. I was sitting in the living room watching Saturday morning TV. Suddenly a design literally flashed before my eyes. "That's it!!" I blurted out.
"What's is?" My mum answered suspiously.
It stayed and refused to disappear. Thoroughly fucked I drew it out, it twisted in creation differing slightly from the original vision. Distanced somehow from the whole thing I watched its paper birth then I found my way into the tattoo shop. The tattooists kind of take the piss but it actually helps you relax a bit and for some reason one of them kept calling me Slim. The man who did it was actually pretty nice despite tricking me into saying that my roses where cabbages. Dammit.
It was a bit disconcerting that the tattooist asked me if I was sure when I told him I wanted it above my ankle. I had numbing cream on but it didn't cover the whole area. Hayley informed me that it didn't hurt that much, yes the pain is bearable and easier to cope with than peircing but still it hurts! Of course my tattoo is more complicated bigger and in a more painful place than anyone I know (obvious bragging) which exsplains why it hurt more than some other people with tattoos told me it would. The numbing cream stopped the pain at first so I didn't feel anything, then he moved onto do the swirls. Such innocent swirls the cause of such pain. Hayley's hand had-well I thought- the life squeezed out of it.
Hayley: You are really weak.
Me: I always was bad at PE- shitshitshitshhiiiiitttt
Hayley: Stop biting your arm.
A particularly bad swirl and I would pull out my hair bite my thumb or arm. I had even messier hair and bite marks all over me by the time he finished. The fact the numbing cream wore off didn't amuse me much either.
The shoes tie (Aha ha tie shoe lace. Not that the shoes have laces) in due to the fact I have to wear them until my tattoo heals (another shoe pun) because my faithful booties will rub it. The rest of the day has been spent running up to people I know in town and telling them the news.
My Mum and older brother never need find out, I've confided in Pootle my little bro whom I trust. He gave me a disgraced look;
Pootle: As the closest thing to a adult in this situation I think I should say that you are silly.
That kid always had a annoying amount of sense.
BOOGIE.

posted by Boogie @ 8:52 PM 2 comments

Sunday, November 06, 2005

Shadows smell of malice.

I brought a leather jacket. It's similar to my brothers old one which is a tribute to his years as a teenage pot smoking, metal head. Except its got more buckles and it's smaller and lighter, still a bit big for me on the arms though because its a men's jacket.
We have a Shining thing going on. Im beginning to think that the person (it feels to me like a man) who owned it before me murdered someone, or was killed. There's a few places where its lost its colour and one small rip. Where did it earn those jacket scars? It's really giving me the creeps I can't have it in my bedroom while Im asleep encase whispers ideas into my ear. A leather jacket isn't like any other sort of clothing, it's sort of like a person in that it sucks up what happens around it and who wears it. Ask anyone who owns a proper leather jacket with buckles and zips, its a monument to certain times and events, even if you grow out of it you don't throw it away.
It gives me a feeling which I don't like. The smell brings on dajarvous and the ambiance of some of my childhood memories. It gives out the atmosphere of some of my dreams; dark with an air or urgency like living in those few moments before the world turns upside down. Lingering on the edge before you tumble completely over it. Since I brought it the presence of a man has been hanging around the parameters of my sub-conscience. The first time I met him was in a dream, I was looking out of the windows in the front room when he walked past. He slashed at the fabric of the dream itself. The blurring and merging quality of my dreams came to a halt when they met him. The pink and orange sky behind him, the swirling houses they seemed faint and pathetic compared to his figure. He wore a black cloak and a bowler hat both deeply black and unusually solid. Turning, the walls obstructing us dissolved and he looked right through; I knew he saw right into me.
Ever since I brought that jacket the man entered my conscience, slipping in behind the reel of thoughts like a shadow.
Perhaps I should get my Mother to bless it with that portable blessing kit she has (no joke). At the least it would make it smell of that nice woody oil she uses. Actually what am I saying? It's always a bad idea to include my Mother in my life for the main reason it gives me that same sickly sensation I get when I watch musicals. Fear makes you consider strange things.
BOOGIE

posted by Boogie @ 9:44 PM 0 comments