Unbridled rage like rising tide
Uncage the beast, in time I bide
Shadow boxing with my imagined foe
Into the ring, with fears in tow
That first hit still resonates
In my dream, relive that day
Replay, rewind and reassess
Dreaming of a chance to best
That cowardly foe
But the past is steadfast and unassailable
A way to change it unavailable
So resignation is only logical
Resigned to fate, though it is horrible
A fixed state of defeat
All one can do is prepare
Practise one’s art and hope its fair
Next time the animal within
Is called upon to strike at him
At first, the feeling is shock
A nothingness, absence of cognisance
As if my Self has been ripped
Through the back of my skull
Rising like mercury
A crescendo of horror
Undone by my own
This is what I felt when I smashed my Corolla into a barrier in Diamond Creek last week. This is the third prang I’ve had, and all were side-ons with gutters and the like after losing traction on slippery roads. The worst thing is that this was my new car; an investment of faith on my parents behalf, faith that I could turn my shit around. Misplaced, obviously.
Fuck My Life
He stands poised to plunge into some unknown from which there can be no escape. It is like a singularity; all matter and light is swallowed whole by this void. He see’s this reality, this other reality, as something to be explored, to be realised spectacularly. It is a culmination of his life’s work. He is ready for this.
He pulls the trigger. The air crackles with heat, sound and light, but only briefly. Again. Five shots he fires into his victim’s chest. It tears gaping holes, flaying the skin and spraying sinew on the ground. The vessel, now devoid of life, crumbles and falls into its own essence. A bloody mess remains. No life. No soul.
The smoking gun is quickly re-holstered. 9 millimetres is all it takes to extinguish a life in mere moments. 9 millimetres of hot lead piercing the skin. Embedding itself in vital organs. Pain, fury and death rolled into one swift action riding on a force so great that the bullet is imperceptible on its flight path. Only when it comes to rest in the soft flesh of its target can one appreciate the devastating force of That.Last.Round.
We now live in the Information age, and this is a scary prospect for those whose trade relies on the spread of Mis-Information to keep the wool over our eyes and “protect” us from the truth. In reality, those in power pray on the ignorance and fear of the ill-informed; those who are well informed are a threat to the established order of things. This is a vast topic that I cannot even begin to scratch the surface of in my current state so instead I’ll focus on one minutiae of the global resistance to the distortion of reality. Continue reading
I really don’t know why but I’m obsessed with making colourful compositions with Photoshop. Tweaking a few settings can yield amazing results and you can take any existing image and make it into something brand new.
I am fascinated with psychedelic visuals; the mesmerising effect of flowing textures, liquid entities that are barely perceptible yet crystal clear swelling and dissipating, coalescing into recognisable icons that bear profound meaning and mystery. A seemingly random and mundane feature, like specks of dirt on a wall, can recomombulate into Aztec symbols and the faces of Gods. I’ve experienced closed eye visuals of the nature depicted below.
This was a quick knock-up using Adobe Photoshop – I used about three photos taken with my iPhone and used blending options liberally to achieve the nice contrast you can see. Featured in the photo are my Nike runners, a picture of Vlad trying on an Adidas jacket and another layer which is almost imperceptible in the final product of two people on a tram with mouth agape.