darkest of nights (another performance piece)

the world,
is a dark, dark place.
i kid you not, i'm having difficulty
separating shrub's hair from midnight's cape, i tell you
all i have is smell ; and the magnificent perfume
       of wood and pine
marking their territory on rightful roots,
       in the air in the air
it reeks of decomposed day in the air ; gumtree squirt ink to my nostril
silence to my ear ; the blackest of nights.

;) I'm not crazy, I promise xx

Dear Myra,
please don't be mad at me

I was only pondering my thoughts on waters so calm I wished not to tread
but to dip in one toe at a time, enough to taste the thirst /
It's a shame the pond reflects such a sailboat on black seas above... half a moon is never much fun without the other half /

I have taken malicious bounds through delicious fields of green with grass as tall as a cat's fur on end; but even my own cries die down like hopeful embers on ash /

but you..Dear Myra, I will never forget the gist of your cry ; it has been laid out bluntly and beautifully like a tiger's death turned to rug of fur to cushion most peculiar stance /

I am your audience /
I am your jester in courts of approval ;
I am the Messiah produced by passion who fed rich crowd
with simple ideas / you are the last I will love

PERFORMANCE WAS A BLAST.

I was dreading this night more than a child retreating to bed after watching an Amityville horror...but...it went amazingly smooth!

Well. That escalated quickly.

I came to class at approximately 3:27p.m. to unwind and rehearse my poem before the 6:30p.m. start of the Naked Voices of Pacific Literature start. Sonia arrived at the same time, and we went off together to chill, exchange synonyms describing our angst and stress of memorizing every word, and to just simply...chill. I think it's vitally important to spend a significant duration of time around people you trust, get along with very well and love before a presentation or show. You can offer each other support as well as loosen the mood a little and maybe take your minds off of it for a short period with a good therapy called Gossip, HotPeopleDiscussions and Giggle Fit. I saw someone today; not sure if it was my imagination but I don't like the bitch. I didn't let it spoil my evening, though!

As for the show itself... wow!
Every poet who performed was brimming with passion and made a very good job with presenting themselves and their words. Thanks to my sister Dana and her son Jeremy for turning up -Jeremy was actually quiet for once, I wonder how many fictional lollies she promised him- and thanks to all the members of the public who showed up to engage in our work. I'm really proud of my classmates and others who performed; the night went very smoothly but to me seemed far too short. I'm rather complicated, though; because on my way out, a man approached me. I forgot what his name was, because I was rushing to meet my sister down the hall (she can be very impatient especially when there is an overly-talkative child at her ankles). This dude was impressed by my mental health issue poem and invited me to the Thirsty Dog off K Road next Tuesday night. He said something about a Mental Health organization being present for that event but again, I barely heard him. I should have gotten his details... damn it. I'll just go to TD on Tuesday and see if I can catch him there. Such a compliment to be approached like that! I'm glad he appreciated my piece. As for the rest of you - well done! You all did superb. It was a lovely night, and I can't wait for the next performance on Saturday. Hopefully I'll get to present at least 2 more... so people don't think I'm just a nutty little girl ;)

I HAVE THE POWER hahahaaaaaa

This is the... third time I've snapped. Was it the third, second or fourth? I've lost count... it's 448am and I am loopier than a train trying to follow a bendy racetrack.
Tossed and turned for five hours; one itch became a whole body twitch, wondering where the spider is and how I can kill it. Wondering if it wasn't a spider after all, but a moth or a cockroach or a persistent clan of ants...
    What would she think? She watches me anyway, begs me to spew curtained rage but I can't. Because I'm the one in power with calmed intensity, licensed fuel behind firepowered words. My father; he is an arsehole. A putang ina mo, salamat. He kicked my baby, so I told him if I ever caught him again I would lodge my foot so far up his anal passage he would forget who he was and what year it is. Horsepower to the arse. He told Mum; and Mum laughed because she knows its true. She would not care about a lost shoe partner. That is one piece of evidence I would gladly leave behind after a kind deed.
He's slamming the microwave, teasing plastic, rummaging through unneeded bottles of pills in the medicine cabinet and laughing like a manatee in great pain; and my eyes are as rigid and aware as a magpie guarding her nest.
I rang Mum before. We laughed, I smoked, she half-worked and we tantalized each other with the idea of a great cup of coffee to start the already-born day. Putang ina mo's vindictive behaviour echoes through the house like magnet shame. Shame on his part because he knows I have the power, and he is in the wrong. He got mad, because Mum told him not to kick the cats. And now he's trying to pay me back...I fancy a walk. The air is as crisp as freshly squeezed lemonade; many people wake up at this hour because its a good time to walk or work out. I do fancy a walk... I've become infatuated with the angle of light across asphalt and dozing lawns. It's quite cool, too; I wouldn't mind being painted in the scent of morning breath. I really have gone loopy. Loopier than Jack Nicholson on The Shining, loopier than a drunk and lost flock of seagulls trying to use their beaks as compasses.

...

Am I hearing the struggle of a strangle victim, the chorus of werewolves, the howl of my dogs or a signal that it's time to rest my crazy cracker eyes?

...

"You see, we all die; it's just some die sooner than others. That's nature. But if nature decides to give more power to others than some, so be it." - Ian Brady



[Couldn't have said it better myself, Mr. Brady. If not for your disregard of the riskiness of involving an unworthy party in your favourite pastime, I might consider you wiser than I already think.]

One, two, three, four, five, six...

Dear me and a sixth of my soul,

It has come to my attention that some of the most wisest and rational people who have ever lived are serial killers. Maybe I have different personalities because I do not believe in change; evolution, sure, but not a complete alternation in one's soul. You see... there is no pain. Pain is defined by confusion of a situation, and the natural instinct to mold it into something better. Well, my dear, I have taken "pain" and society's shit bricks, and used both elements to build a considerably strong fort around myself. I will not be screwed around by peers or insignificant tangents of disagreement to my nature.
I will admit this only once: some killers were cocky enough to slip up -including disregard of advanced forensic science, motive behind killing a particular person, discarded evidence and pattern on modus-operandi- which does in fact contradict my idea of their superior intelligence; but the philosophy behind their beliefs can hardly be argued against. Unless the opposing dictator considers all sides of the story. Even so... there will always be an audience suited to your idea of life. One colony will see half of the moon, while the another sees the other half. Once in a blue moon will they see the entire circumference at the same time; but for now, it will remain a drifting sailboat on a black sea. In this world, there is no room for unsupported and claimed fact; only OPINION. And wherever judgment sprouts, immaturity and insecurity will follow. There are a lot of things I hate and one of them is when someone takes to showing extreme distaste towards my poetry... poetry, in my honest idea, is defined by language and emotion. It cannot be altered to suit another's pompous expectations. I never did quite get the concept of unsupported mockery... it only backfires the opposing race with scars of insecurity and sometimes undisguised jealousy. Accusing another of plagiarism without evidence of research proving that claim, is also immature and reveals delusional insecurity.
Often I like to think of demons and angels as higher replicas of the people of our generation; there are always opposing races representing the concepts of good and evil, and often these will be distorted to an extent to make an argument stronger. Cruel desires do in fact, blind us to the simple things. Usually, with experience, comes the knowledge that it is in fact the "good" side that resorts to brainwashing and materialization, while the "evil" side keeps it natural and raw. Often also, the evil are considered wrongdoers because they follow simply what is in their nature to do; if labeling weren't born...

I'll bet no one will ever read this. If I spurted my brainstorm of sectioning my idea of life in public, would anyone listen? Probably not... my voice is as faint as a child's cry be beneath the dirt of Saddleworth Moors.

More collaborations with Barb.

Things are coming along perfectly. We agree on everything discussed between us, and we're open to more suggestions either of us mention; the template designs we both considered together, too, is an exciting little project to work on. We have everything we need and know what we want, we just need to print/record/put things together.
I think it's a blessing we both forgot our materials today, because what we needed was a raw discussion on the agenda and assignment. We sifted through each theme within the assignment, and discussed what would fit best, the template itself to represent each theme and how many poems should go under it.
Barbara has invited me back to hers (or I can record my section on my laptop) to record the material for our CD's content and her son Liam is going to walk us through to how we're going to edit it. I think it's a good idea, recording a bit about ourselves then following through with poetry recitals so that examiners have a choice of audio or written form to look at...or listen to.
Since the assignment jacket is a DVD case, we're going to have to edit our poetry to a size of A5 or smaller to fit the booklets that go inside. Barbara's going to e-mail me the exact measurements so I can get to editing mine on Microsoft Word to that size and the template choices for each title page; then I will send them to her and she will send hers to me. Together, we'll revise each others poetry and meet soon afterwards. We were both thinking, too, of meeting up on a Friday -SOMEWHERE WHERE THERE'S COFFEE- to discuss, compare and put together ideas and contents.
Whilst working together with Barb today, another good idea sprouted. For each of the four themes (Life, Love, Lust and Leave) we decided we would relate to the four seasons; in both visual and mood format. So maybe some sort of suggestive flower border, or a simple petal image on each separating title page? We're not too sure, but we're in a good space at the moment.
This is proceeding perfectly and according to plan. Muhahaha. *rubs hands together in a suggestive, evil yet proud manner.*

collaboration with Barb

Barbara and I spoke briefly on Facebook earlier.
It seems our collaboration is coming together (it was beforehand, but even better now) because we know what style of poetry we both want to submit and somehow relate to each others. I'm currently working on styling the front and back cover of the case jacket we will be presenting our work with: that requires a simple caricature of both Barbara and me, as well as the main headings we discussed together would fit the theme perfectly. Barb sent me a picture on Gmail that she believes would go in good, too.
I'm also working on the writer's statements/interview questions that we both reckon might go well inside the case in CD format as an opening to both of our personalities and how we see the world, etc. Overall I think it's a very fun, different yet interesting assignment and I'm glad to be working with Barb. :)

...

I'm sick of subjecting myself to uncredited slavery; so angry my eyes sting with the effort of holding back my rage, but I dare not blink in case I miss the opportunity...

I don't care

I hang my bare tits out the window at midnight.
I did it tonight because my dog was barking and because I was pissed off. I think there was a rapist or a burglar trying to break into my neighbour's house and I don't care.



The neighbours, they tell me and my mother that they were robbed of their antique gold jewelry a while back, and that's why they installed the wooden gate across the width of their driveway. Tonight the wooden gate is wide open, and my dog is standing at the fence that separates the properties barking her head off.
I tell her to shut the fuck up. I think I see shadows, but I always see things and that's how I know now not to trust anyone. My tits are still hanging out the window. What if my sister sees? I really, really, really don't care. If she is ashamed of breasts, I will gladly cut hers off for her and sell them as thin chicken cutlets at the supermarket.
My neighbours don't usually leave their gate open because, well, the point of installing it in the first place makes it not make sense. Still, I hang my tits out the window because I like laughing at the shadows. I learned to stop hiding and that makes me giggle. What if the pedophiles and robbers see? I don't care.
My father, from the other side of the house, also yells out to the dog to shut the fuck up (in Tagalog) which she does for two whole seconds before starting up again. My sister storms out of her room and says something to someone but I'm not really listening. That little bitch and her attitude are not of my concern.
I've put my robe back on because her attitude actually does irritate me. I ask her if she's okay, and she answers back in a snotty teenage fashion. Spoiled bitch, that one is.

The burglars left when I came outside to smoke.
Water drinks the space in my stomach where my stomach is supposed to consume my food which I barely consume. My throat is as dry as my spit on summer's asphalt. I shit more than I eat and dare I say, I don't care?
Does a list of people arranged in a particular way within a family environment depict an opinion reflecting towards me, a subliminal message or a product of random selection due to favouritism or basis of personal judgment?
If it is none of the above, it means the world is dead and I don't care, because I am too.
Wow, these ropes won't constrict my arms forever. It'll be just like the old days, where I lost my cool which was replaced by scorching adrenaline as I beat someone up with no control. Usually it was my little sister or pathetic father.
It was like being in a dream with numbness and never-ending anger that fuels every blow. You see only white, and a blur of their face which turns into six faces and eventually none as they bolt out of your sight and you snap out of it. You kiss the wall goodnight, and you take to your room to paint your eyes with skin.
It's the middle of the day; but now it's midnight. And somehow, the urge is a lot stronger than it used to be. I don't care, so I'll let it be.

Feijoas

there's a paedophile feijoa here, and he's disguising himself as a friendly gay boy with cross-dressing tendencies. Yeah right buddy, I can see that blue and black checkered shirt and that oily pubic-like-hair as dark as Indian ink. Don't pretend you want coffee, because you don't.

Fuck this. I am performing my s. poem and that is that.
GOOD DAY.

huh

Most of the time I don't feel anything anymore.
What used to shock me has become significant to my idea of 'exciting'. I like things I didn't used to like or maybe I liked them all along but didn't come out until now, and the things I used to like have dulled down to a faint curiosity, and by those things I mean rainbows, money, family, well-being, the welfare of others and unicorns cantering on cotton candy borders.
Sometimes at random, I will feel a burst of foreign emotion that later reveals itself; then I'm shocked that I actually feel it and that I remember it. And before I can decipher it's triggering, it's gone. It doesn't matter anyway because if it did, I would feel like that more frequently. It's like my empathy is trying to surface but is held down by rigor-mortise of decaying used-to-wanna-fit-in.  Screw that, I like this tugboat a lot more.
The water is calm. Want to surf?
Hessie used Surf!
A wild Tentacruelworld appeared!

Numb, numb, numb, dead, numb, tired, exhausted, hyperactive, happy as FUCK, then dead again. Reincarnated almost, dead, dead, dead, numb, dead, pissed off as FUCK, then dead, then depressed then dead and numb, and talking only to Myra.

A wild Emotion appeared!
Hessie used Teleport.
Hessie fled from the battle.

Hessie used Rare Trust.
Hessie grew to Level Nothing...?


Tonight I giggled all the way home, even though I was lying in bed the whole time but I literally smelled the magnetic evening on asphalt, could see the sun's passing wave as the moon stomped it down behind the trees in the distance.
I giggled because there is a band called The Child Molesters; and there's nothing you can do about it. I'm sure their music is good if you just listen, and not judge.
...

Yes...my argument for the night.

It has come to my mind that one can often confuse 'persistence' and 'general boredom and neglect', and that includes both myself and society but now, no longer including me. Of course, these terms can be explored in different senses but you will soon learn the main objective of my argument.
A promiscuous-looking girl (and I am not fit to judge, but when one bursts their breasts out on the internet and claims they are of a perfect mother's position whilst calling other women whores and "dum slags"...) claims her children are of the product of rape. I did laugh, because she managed to spurt out her entire life story just about, upon reading a simple comment of mine in regards to her announcement that her children had woken from rest.
"Ewwwww kids."
She sent her online boyfriend after me, whom I eventually proved to be quite spineless and lacking the amount of knowledge required to remain open-minded to both sides of the story. This boy was also shockingly illiterate and knew no form of English other than "fuck you" "your low". Terrible grammar too, I must add, but this is merely a demonstration example to follow my main point here.
By a friend, the whore in question was dubbed "persistent" because she repeatedly claims my mother will be raped and killed... that is a clear contradiction in her earlier argument that rape and death is nothing to joke of and/or be fascinated about. This is how she reacts to Myra.
Now... persistence suggests that the determined person in question has even an ounce of intelligence to support their cause. The girl has proven she lacked this, so I would much rather label it 'general neglect and obvious boredom'.

I am persistent and therefore fascinated with research surrounding brutal crime in general, Myra's profile and the events shaping her history. I don't take too kindly when one will judge with pure hostility after viewing a photo for five seconds for the first time, and with the absence of competence to read even a single article outlining the subject. Perhaps, referring to her unnecessary outbursts of an alleged "gang bang" and "mistreatment of her ex boyfriend" would suggest she is jealous of the attention Myra gets even after her death, due to curiosity of the media and general public? I have gone into extensive research surrounding Myra's history for years now, and there is no reason we cannot call her one of her own -if not, a more passionate member. Crowd-peddling is a disease; it will turn a lot of people into obnoxious and incompetent idiots. I do, however, believe intelligence is a good basis for remaining -at all times- open-minded to all activity and behavioural traits. Anyone can do it, it's very simple. There is no excuse. I don't think a surgeon would appreciate it if half the world turned against him and called him a sadist because his job is to cut anaesthesia-fuelled people open and fiddle with their insides.
We all have a purpose for our beings, it just takes time to confront. People who turn to counter-assault complete with suggestive contradiction and narrow minded behaviour, well, only prove themselves to be as I said earlier neglected on a general basis and have nothing more constructive to entice themselves to. There's no point in arguing that fact because, ninety-nine percent of the time, what you see is what you get. Some minds can be toggled to a safer area that they eventually open to you on a polite level, but most of the time they will have their curtains drawn at all times.
Be careful who you trust.

performance poetry

Why oh why do I keep changing my performance poetry piece.... I feel real bad but Grace told me I have to perform something I feel good about and I believe that Hunger of the Seed is definitely one of them. I've decided to do two poems; it will be that one and maybe Muddy Doors.

lessons with Sue, Orr just plain fun!

NOW I finally get the purpose of giving a name -that of a famous person dead or alive- to Sue earlier on. Sonia mentioned something of a creative interview, but today I was given a worksheet which I missed out on from Monday that explained everything.
I'm surprised Sue actually researched these people - particularly Myra Hindley! Oh Myra, you make my heart melt. Anyway, there were two options. One was imagining I were in an interview with Myra and having the advantage of making her do whatever I want, and the second was to pretend that Ian (Myra's partner) received a written letter from her shortly after her death. I think the latter is an a lot more exciting prospect to work on as it opens all fictional doors for me, as I'm currently working on a novel based on Myra's life as if she were to actually be released from prison rather than dying there.
I'm actually pretty excited to be working on this piece. Sue said like our other works, there will be a minimum of three hundred words but no limit which is totally fine! I'm just honoured to be allowed to write about Miss Hindley.

Peace for now!

oh dear me.

The following people are to remain as anonymous and guinea pigs for the purpose of my experiment of topic, and to preserve whatever friendships I may still have.




I don't think I'm going too far, or being irrational. Who are you to judge me by my own opinion? We all know perfection exists only in fairy tales and fantasies of whirlwinded minds of duplicated carcasses, so here we go:


[Anon1] seems to be having trouble accepting the fact that one of his very good friends -unfortunately now an enemy- has called him a paedophile because he is thirty-nine years old and made sexual advances toward me as a joke. Note the 'as a joke'.


[Anon2: The accuser in question] is a good friend of mine: a fifty year-old lesbian woman who, although egotistical and one of the biggest ageists I have ever met, cannot seem to grip the consequences of falling to the prey of an abuser in the past which causes her to jump to conclusions to the extreme when most unnecessary, resulting in the loss of a good friendship.


[I] I am caught in the damned crossfire of it all. I normally don't bitch about people on these things, but blogs are commonly used to generate thought and this is what I am doing. At least I put events to good use. This is my opinion:

Even if it had come to be or was even possible to begin with, a thirty-nine year old engaging in a sexual relation with a twenty year old is not of paedophilic status; A paedophile, by my own knowledge and the general idea of it processed by mainstream mouth and mind, is a person who engages in such acts with someone lower than the legal age for sex and I am four and almost five years past that boundary. In my HONEST opinion, however, I don't think the label 'paedophile' is necessary at all. It brings too many frowns and outcries and totally obscures the natural instinct of certain characters among us. 


If [Anon1] is perfectly innocent in his claim that he was "kidding around", does his defensiveness really serve its purpose, or does it hold some kind of secret agenda that he wishes not to reveal? I'm kind of leaning toward the latter here; as he, at his age, should be far too mature to hold a grudge against such meaningless terms. It's been months now, come on guys.


Obviously [Anon2] has confronted some sort of similar circumstance earlier on in her life, but that's no reason to go labeling when unneeded; especially if it explodes with a perfectly good friendship slipping down the drain. Those two used to be so close...
I think, although she believes she is old, smart, clever and beyond anyone's knowledge, she still has a lot of shit to deal with: emotionally, psychologically and mentally. The poor bat has no idea that she is just like the rest of us (God forbid).



This is funny. [Anon1] claims that sex with an underage child is nasty, illegal and down right wrong.

Now, I bend only toward being open-minded especially about these things. It is not my place to decide whether this is wrong or right. I don't indulge in this behaviour as such, but I like to go deeper than the surface.
I said to him: I don't understand what the big deal is. If one can target that of someone much older than them and get away with it, then why is another disowned for targeting younger folk?
He again proceeds to explain the illegality of it; something I don't quite understand. The natural instinct should override a government-made rule, shouldn't it? Again I say, I am open to both sides here. What good is a discussion if I draw the curtains? Animals were on this planet long before people even knew how to wipe their arses. I don't think it's fair to argue someone's character and shame them for the way they were born and what irks their curiosity or fascination. It should be left alone the same way very few heterosexuals respect homosexuals, but politely draw the line at closer contact.
I still think mentally I am older than both [Anon1] and [Anon2]. They're like children in a playpen arguing about who's going to get a cookie first and why. They will forever bounce back and forth with their irrational ravings, despite the fact that they are no longer aware of the good friendship they had now gone between them.
[Anon1] tells me to stop, he says he doesn't want to lose me as a friend also.
"*****," I say. "As far as I'm concerned, we are merely exchanging opinions and I quite enjoy it rather than oppose of it. I'm not sure if you're aware but compared to the overused concept of asking how someone is and what they are up to, this is a lot more refreshing. I'm not so immature I will kick a shit over nothing and completely disregard the fact that everyone will always have their opinion and that fact alone cannot be changed. In my opinion, however, people should be treated as equals and in disregard as to what they are into or not into. Because it is the concept of 'changing someone is wrong' that people frequently subliminate, and going against that fact alone is wrong in itself."
He doesn't listen; he prefers the typical name-calling approach. It looks like the playpen is slowly encasing him to a coffin, but at least he respects my opinions enough not to flip like poor [Anon2] did. 
[Anon2], however, is also lost in a fantasy. Being older means knowing more; and that includes ranting about the six horses you own and how wonderful it is to be American.

here we go.

Plants with blades too sharp to the edge; wrecks piled to manured nuisances and overlapping groans and twitch with easy seep. So, so terrible but simple to overcome.


Today with Grace, we performed our poetry again. This time I chose a different poem, something non-personal and something I am deeply passionate about. No one really cares for the environment anymore and I am no fucking environmentalist but is it too much to ask to ask the government to stop building meaningless crap on top of what should be preserved? I am not against technology altogether but, well, sooner or later New Zealand is going to lose its "green" reputation.

Anyway, back to class.
I got good feedback this time; it's pretty much a given that I've got to work on my body language, gestures etc because it's the very first time I ever presented this poem, but apparently my voice works and there were no problems with my word content which is good. I'll practice it enough that I memorize it but I've decided it might be a good idea to hold a baby doll wrapped in a blanket whilst I'm performing this piece. It's a metaphor to connect the dying life of nature, to the dying hope of a child born to a world it thinks will be perfect; that's why I plan to throw the baby away -literally- at the end of my performance. I'm not too sure if it will work, but I can only try.
It makes me laugh.


- - - - -


Barbara and I skyped at 2155 hours. Again we discussed the content of our presentation, and what should work, connect and go into it. I think we've got a pretty good head on it now. I was positive about our collaboration from the very first time we discussed it outside over a cigarette (well, I smoked but she didn't). I'm feeling very positive about it.

it still makes me laugh.

“We serial killers are your sons, we are your husbands, we are everywhere. And there will be more of your children dead tomorrow.”

—

Ted Bundy

napaka-totoo, Brady, salamat!

“The concept of hell and endless torment is popular with those who believe they aren't headed there.”
    - Ian Brady

drink it up like period, you know it's true.

"The human heart itself is of a generic fairytale of society, if not real. If real, it can at least hold things other than love; but love, in many senses of the word, is defined by what makes it beat faster."
  - From me, to society sewage.

Converted to Hindleism.

crime and stereotypes make a good ranting topic

No one has the right to judge, unless such is proven as legitimately correct and agreed to by the entire world, and not a claim by a crowd of ignorant onlookers since the entire world and all it's people revolves around opinion overriding fact; as long as we live, fact will always be obscured in different ways - many of them giving too little or too much credit than needed. All we can do is compare ideas and hope it doesn't result in an unnecessarily chemistry-like reaction of defensiveness and pure immaturity.


See, there's one thing I don't understand: A boy says to me today online, "you're not like other chicks, are you?" Must each gender group be customized to one characteristic, based on lazy observation? We're all different, it's just that people frazzle that fact by what I like to call crowd-peddling, in other words clones of society.


Myra was on the news the other night. My mum gives me the "how do you glorify a convicted pedophile and child killer?" inquiry.
- I then correct her, pointing out that there is a wide difference between glorifying someone and taking a vast interest in their profile and the surrounding events. I cannot confirm nor deny these allegations against me; all anyone should know is that I do my own private criminal profiling in the safety of my own bedroom, so as to gather my own facts, increase my knowledge in different areas and simply all out of interest.


Crime: Any offense, serious wrongdoing or sin.This definition, and according to other sources, is derived from not a natural matter but a government-manufactured rule.


But then again... can you really call something someone is passionate about a crime? There is no good or bad in this world because as I said earlier, different opinions override fact. What is considered a daily ritual with the average person is considered disgusting and/or distasteful by another. There's no shame either, in siding with someone because you agree with their outlook in relating circumstances. I know that 'crime' also revolves around legality, general welfare and all that crap, but isn't there a saying somewhere that everyone should be accepted for who they are? That, in my personal opinion, includes their accompanying wishes of happiness - don't make me point out that the term 'happiness' can be described in different senses by different people.
Thus, it's evident the entire definition of adjectives describing something as good and bad are complete rubbish unless one side of it is agreed to by 100% of the world; we shouldn't let such fraudulent terms confuse and brainwash us. It's a shame many figures of the current generation act so quickly to draw the curtains across their fragile minds.
I say go for it; do what you love and be proud of it.
We're supposed to get as much out of life as we can because we never know what's around the corner: Death? An unexpected opportunity to engage in a hobby, or simply another face to slap and move on from.

significant item just got real.

Thank you Sue,

for the in-depth and very kind feedback on my 'significant item' assignment. This was an enjoyable subject to write about, as I didn't think I'd be scoping my memory at all anytime soon except to explain my outrageous demeanor. Turns out it was just that, and more so about my past and the architectural definition of the house I used to live in, in Manurewa.  It was interesting too; I recovered things from my mind I didn't think I would obtain ever again. It helped, too, that I was listening to music I was raised with as I wrote this particular piece: Stuff like Michael Jackson, Doris Day -definitely-, The Beatles and more I can't be bothered remembering at the moment. I still listen to these artists, they bring out the brighter side of my past and allow me to escape reality for a bliss few minutes.

Back to poetry for a short while now, before I start cooking.

performance poetry - WAKE UP

So,
ever since the beginning of the year started, I have been dreading performing my poetry.

Yesterday when Grace Taylor took our class for the first time and presented to us her first-ever performance poem, I think myself and the class began to loosen to the idea. We went around in a circle and introduced ourselves briefly; she seemed very interested and asked responsive questions to indicate her curiosity.

After that, she proceeded to show us some good poets on Youtube performing their pieces; then we discussed what was good and bad about each show. It was good to analyze different aspects of body language, voice tone, stance, and confidence. Grace is really cool, she has a very open and kickback attitude that allows the people around her to slip into a relaxed and humorous state. She's quite inspiring, too; for I wrote a poem I'd like to perform, during the lesson.

Grace also gave us tips on how we can boost our confidence and ways of performing in a style that suits us. She even suggested that Sonia and I do some artwork for the performance night which I'd be honoured to partake in, even better alongside my best friend.  Overall, I think it was a refreshing, constructive and very enjoyable lesson. It feels as though a huge burden of having to perform has been lifted, and all I have to look forward to is the excitement of presenting my thoughts on stage for eager ears. 

feelin' great

A class beginning with a short-lived art exercise on the whiteboard, then progressing into discussions of writing processes, writer's block and writing techniques and genres in general is a great way to finalize my day which made me feel better about myself, my writing and my environment.

I love class!

Today I finally got in touch with Barbara in terms of group work and how we're going to present and record our work. It was good, we came up with several positive ideas on how we can collaborate our poetry and attitudes to make something great. Tonight I'm going to scroll through my poetry collection that I wrote during the year to see what might fit nicely into the exercise, as she is going to do, then email her a list of the works in question. Speaking of poetry, a little nervous about the Naked Voices performance but also feeling positive adrenaline to feed the momentum to perform.

Again, I love class!