I’m always back by breakfast
after I have dreamed the night away,
serenaded with the thoughts
now fossilized in history,
tarnished by regretful inaction
and the hope I may redo the broken promises
to myself, in order to find
a resolution. The darkness
though, offers little delicacy,
only charcoal residue, which paints the world
with decadency. There is no safety
or security to be had, however,
if it were possible, I would wish to become
hollow or stone, but to be camoflagued
with invisibility would be a substitute
my happiness would willingly accept.
I question the application of such stimulating imagery,
like that which falls upon my eyes
this night, the moment a gram of romanticism
flourishes within my unequaled passion.
Why is there never a chance to see
a beautiful woman more than once,
and why is there no opportunity
to relive the prospects of an adoring fantasy
over several evenings, but nightmares
are only ever too happy to return?
Being alive may be a gift
that nothing can be compared to, but it comes equipped
with the pains of treachery and betrayal,
and never can one request a rebirth
with the acquired knowledge from a former life,
in order to do everything right the first time
over. But dreams can offer friendship,
though even this is fleeting, when the regrets
of life push through the barricades of the mind,
and force themselves to be confronted
by the unconscious spirit.
If only the world found within those sleepy pastures
was equaled in the realm I regretfully return to,
I would never worry about the comfort
my heart does not abide. If I could sleep
forever, I may miss opportunities,
but then, the pain of the outside would never traumatize
these irises, nor the feelings which swell
behind them in the confines of my soul,
and perhaps this alone defines what beauty truly is.
It has been a while since I was blessed with an award, but this dry spell has officially ended. Recently, the quirkiest quirky girl ever (whose blog can be found at the following link: http://diaryofaquirkygirl.wordpress.com/) nominated me for the One Lovely Blog Award! Thank you Ma’am!
Now, apparently I am supposed to link to my nominator’s blog (check), show the award on my blog (check), nominate fifteen other bloggers (on my to do list), and additionally, I am meant to share seven riveting facts about myself…Well, in that case, sit back, and prepare to have your minds blown (not really).
Super Amazing Fact 1: I am quite the Anime fan, my favorites been Ghost in the Shell (I have a massive crush on the Major) (also, I recently pre-ordered Arise) and Appleseed (which I have the entire collection of, including the original 1989 version, the movie adaptions of the TV series, and the recent addition, Alpha). I also quite enjoy Patlabor, the Aquarion series, STR.A.IN, Star Wars Clone Wars, Shangri-La, and the animated adaptions of video games, including Halo Legends, Mass Effect Paragon Lost, Dead Space Downfall and Aftermath, and Dragon Age Dawn of the Seeker. I believe I enjoy animated features and shows because often many of the lead protagonists are comprised of very powerful female characters, who are not only capable of kicking ass, but are realistically portrayed.
On a side note, I also enjoy Red vs. Blue, and have the ten years of Red vs. Blue box set.
Super Amazing Fact 2: Presently, I am in my final semester of my Postgraduate Masters course. Part of me will be glad when this is officially over because the 15,000 word thesis is kicking me in places I don’t like being kicked. What I find most annoying, is that every time I speak with my adviser, there are brand new criticisms he wishes to bring to my attention; criticisms that were non-existent the last time, and so I need to take these into account and make further amendments. For instance, one week he would say how a paragraph is great, and the next time, that same unedited paragraph, is suddenly not worth keeping. I mean, come on Doc! Make up your mind already!
However, I am unsure where I wish to go from here; should I (if I have the required grades) go on to do my doctorate (which would assist me in becoming a tutor at university), or should I do a Master of Teaching (which would grant me the ability to teach at secondary schools)?
Super Amazing Fact 3: I recently changed internet providers. I have been using Optus for, well, years actually, and I have been impressed with the service thus far (on most occasions), however the 15 gigabyte a month plan I had was beginning to feel restrictive, and now I have access to unlimited internet for a cheaper price. This has especially come in handy with my copy of Destiny on Xbox One (at present I’m a level 24 Blade Dancer) . On that note, are there any bloggers online (who I happen to know) that play Destiny? When it comes to temporarily teaming up with random strangers, it might actually be nice to have some kind of history with the players.
Super Amazing Fact 4: When it comes to movies, I don’t have a particular genre preference – I will often try anything if it looks even moderately appealing. When it comes to reading on the other hand, I can very rarely stand contemporary fiction, especially the Australian variety, where often life in the country seems to be a major theme, which does nothing to impress me in the slightest. When writing my own material however, especially prose or novels, I have a tendency to enjoy developing science fiction oriented pieces, which is a problem in Australia when it comes to looking for a publisher. Although magazines like Aurealis accept submissions of speculative fiction, larger publishers rarely do, with many of the literary agents and/or publishers that ever did accept such work either going out of business, or since adjusting their preferences regarding the type of work they choose to endorse/publish.
Super Amazing Fact 5: I have an avid fascination with jewellery. Apart from a watch, I almost always have at least two other wrist bands on (one of which is my medic alert bracelet – wouldn’t want to forget that), and on top of this, I never leave home without a necklace. I have pierced ears, with two rings in my left and one in my right, which I often swap. On occasions when I go out (for instance, next week I’ll be attending a poetry reading in the city), I wear much larger designs, two of which are these massive skulls with bright red eyes.
Super Amazing Fact 6: I don’t have many male friends; most of my friends happen to be gals. Most guys I know outside of the net talk either about cars (the only time I care about cars is when the one I’m in stops working) or AFL (which I used to enjoy, and I even played football on occasion (not professionally of course), but, kicking an oddly shaped red ball from one side of the field to the next just doesn’t really do it for me). The reason I mention this, is because I have in the past become attracted to some of my friends; in fact, my last girlfriend was actually a best friend of mine. Obviously men and women can be friends, this is a proven fact, however for me, sometimes I think that perhaps a man wakes up one day and realizes the young lady he has been searching for has been beside him all along. I guess the point I’m making is that if you’re a young woman who happens to be a friend of mine, one day (unless you’re married), I might just happen to fall in love with you. You have been warned!
Super Amazing Fact 7: None of these super amazing facts have been really super amazing, and even I am thoroughly disappointed by that.
After the reveal of these super amazing facts, my mission goal is to nominate 15 other people. Okay then, without further ado (cliche’ I know), allow me to say – I have no intention of nominating anyone. I literally follow hundreds of people on WordPress! Am I really expected to pick 15 bloggers? What about the other few hundred lovely blogs that I don’t nominate? So, allow me to say, if you have a lovely blog and you happen to read this text, if you want the One Lovely Blog Award, it is yours! I don’t want to miss out on nominating someone who deserved the award, and I am certain if you are reading this, you are as deserving of it as anyone else.
Thank you for stopping by guys! And thank you again to the Quirky Girl for this nomination. Have a great day!
When waiting for love, like a bitter disorder,
the haunting loneliness cascades
across the temperate peaks of one’s imagination,
delivering a crushing blow
to all that was wishful affection.
Internally, in my dreams, I hear her whisper words
of much intensity, which drift, like sandpaper,
across the bruised perimeter of my heart,
and upon awakening, my arms
around an always invisible desire,
her name rolling across my tongue;
a name she never hears.
We write and we talk, and frequently
I am forced to pretend that what I feel is non-existent,
and by the time she and I have the courage
to be prescribed that adoring conversation,
the wait which filled the abyss between us
became too steep, and she has found
another, better heart, whereas I am left behind.
A reading of the poem can be found at the following link: http://youtu.be/zuHWdy4JrUo
If it were sensible to love you,
then everyone would do so,
and as I sit across from loneliness
in this kitchenette, I contemplate
how the table, much like my heart,
pivots on an angle.
To which would I be referring,
the blistered legs or decayed heart,
when I gently touch the texture
and wonder if its origins
are similar to my own?
Once proud and strong
in a wilderness of shrubbery and undergrowth,
now that which stood for centuries,
admiring the still changing world,
was crippled most severely
by a single blow.
I, who sits beside myself
acknowledges such strife,
a liquid beverage running like a busted tap
along the curvature of my face.
A salty droplet collapses
upon the table top, the misery
of both myself and the furniture,
which helps keep me upright,
becoming unanimously combined.
Where one mourns the loss of comradery,
exhibited from the fellow environmental beasts,
I cry anonymously for a woman,
struck down by an avalanche
of lightning fast pain.
Never will you return to the great beauty
I fell hopelessly in romance with,
and out of all the patron’s in life’s orchestra,
this fair princess of goodly will,
now isolated and distressed,
is the one tender soul who never did deserve
that which indefinitely ruins you.
If I were to die tomorrow,
would you tell my story,
and would you tell it well;
tell it truthfully? Or would
there be so little to say,
that only silence could fill
the empty void which makes
up my obituary? I held this life
in my hand on too many
an occasion, preventing
myself from ever cherishing
what I had while it was truly
my own, and by the end
when the final beat exited
this heart of mine, perhaps
it was not death I wished
for, but life instead. The irony
of such circumstance
could never be melted down
into a purposeful existence,
and though death was always
an acceptable choice,
by the end, it may well
have not been my own.
Destiny is inescapable,
as I might soon discover,
and if my life is to be proven
forfeit, might I have
the pleasurable luxury
of knowing I will be remembered,
along with all the rest.
Below is the link to a reading of this poem, along with the reading of ‘Shangri La’, a poem I recently published on this blog: http://youtu.be/O6TSAbTLrd0
…the way only a person so connected
to another can know them, deep down,
to the very core of life, you would never
love me, and like the sweltering fires
of uninterrupted silence, I would be left
beyond the care of your young, maiden
arms, to die alone in discontent, without
the touch of your feelings, or the knowledge
of what your love truly tastes like,
on these lips of mine. My life, like the death
awaiting me, near the conclusion
of this verse, cannot ever have a happy
ending, for the directionality chosen
by myself, does not lead to prosperous
salvation, nor to unending delights.
This choice is one which has been consumed
by the fingers of your mind, which point
away from me, and even if I were to strive
for greater pastures, and save my sickly soul,
my life, wrapped in a condiment,
applied by my own hand, and those of others,
would never wish to be ferried across the divide.
We are all products of the choices
we have made; the embodiment of our destinies
that deny us access to paths we cannot walk,
and how could I possibly feel anger
towards those who shake their fists at me,
when it was not them who made such choices,
but the peers who hold them back. Society
is the gravedigger of my smile,
that I have seldom seen in years,
and until I feel the rays of happiness,
slipping beneath the veil of cold deceit,
I will remain buried in this tomb
with all the others, who failed to acquire
the love of a decent friend or paramour.
When the darkest hour of the night dominates
the sky I used to see by day, I am left alone to
carry the thoughts of my own self-destruction
in my lonesome head. The corrosion of my
life, which shall be anything but bittersweet,
is launched towards me across the highway of
time, at speeds beyond incalculable, towards a
life I have barely begun to appreciate. Is it too
much to ask for a final kiss to grace these lips
of mine, before the final hour of my bleakest
end is thrown upon my death bed? Would the
lips of the angelic damsel I long so dearly for
even wish to lower her face towards mine, as
I lie unmoving beneath the duvet that will
shelter my damnation, or shall her judgement
be reserved and her lips pulled out of reach,
before the touch of flesh is even aligned?
Upon the bed of death, is not a man entitled
for one final wish before crossing over into
the light that illuminates the world beyond?
Should I not be allowed one final act of
gracefulness before the beauty of the world
is all but barred from me in the hour of my
unpredicted demise? Should this be the end
of daybreak; not the world’s, but mine, what
words will escape the lips of those who knew
me well? Will a wave of tragedy sweep people
from their feet, or shall a smile of satisfaction
be what caresses the moment I was timed out?
Will tears fall from the eyes of many, burdened
by much grief, or shall a slight shake of the
head be the only recognition sent my way?
What will be placed in my eulogy, and would I
like to hear its words, or shall there be none to
speak of, and no obituary or funeral too? Shall
I be so easily forgotten, and become less than an
inaudible whisper in the gathering darkness of
shadows and time, or will I live eternally, and be
granted immortality in hearts and prayers of
those who prevail with life? If these written
words contain a droplet of truth within their
printed ink, then such shall be the last creation
ever conceived by these hands of mine. What
legacy would I need to leave behind within this
work to prove with truthful honesty that I truly
did exist, and am not the result of fictitious
vanity? And if by chance I manage to convince
the hearts of many about the life I did once hold,
let it be known that the last of the romantics
died with me.
Pretentious perhaps is such an ideology, but in a
world which lacks the values of love everlasting,
perhaps I was simply grateful to have my existence
brought to an immediate close? Regardless of the
final thoughts which crawled across my mind, I
was able to feel for but a second what few people
ever find, and maybe, although I never became a
published author and married no celebrity;
although my friends numbered in the few and
those who loved me were almost non-existent;
although I was never rich and had no mansion to
speak of; although healthiness and exercise were
not continuous components of my repertoire,
after 24 years I knew what love truly was; how
many people can claim the same?
Tomorrow I’m going into hospital for another major operation. I wrote this particular piece with regards to how I have no idea what fate has in store for me.
Thank you for reading.
The group photo
is in fact not
a group photo
at all, for I,
a member of
said group am not
I was not however
occupied with plans that
were unbreakable, nor
was I the victim of an
Simply put, I had not
been considered for an
the first place, and
like the loner
that I am, I
stood apart from
the others as
the flash of the
the image of their
would not have been
stretched so thinly
across their features
if an involuntary
invite had been slipped
beneath my door.
Although, with this
writ, the title
‘group photo’ is
placed above the image,
upon the paper,
much like the smiling
faces that would in
fact be frowning
if I had shown
up that day. I
guess my not being
a part of the
group means that every
single person was
indeed present for
this event, even
though, deep down, every-
one knows this is a lie.
Hey guys! This particular piece is a short story I am working on for one of my university classes. It has been previously workshopped by both my tutor and fellow students alike and I would very much like to know your opinions. If you believe there are any editorial issues, grammatical errors or general sentence concerns, et al, please notify me and I will gladly take them all into consideration before I am to submit the finalised piece in three weeks time. Thank you!
People say that a person can eventually move on after losing someone they love. It has been ten years since I lost Katarina and I never have. Today is the anniversary of her death and I cannot help but reminisce on what could have been, for the day I lost my girlfriend, is the day that I too died, for I’d hardly say I’m alive when I feel so dead inside.
The rain was the heaviest I had ever seen. The headlights on our vehicle barely managed to reveal anything that night, the entire highway more like an endless tunnel than a road. The heating in the car could barely keep out the cold; our breath was coming out before us in clouds as the two of us shivered. Even my favourite dark brown leather jacket was unable to contain my warmth.
‘I can’t believe we chose this night to celebrate my birthday,’ sighed Katarina in her natural, high pitched accent. Because English was not her first language, she often spoke slowly to avoid mixing up her words. She wore the jet black jacket I had bought her two Christmases earlier. The collar was beginning to fray as she must have worn this a hundred times or more. Can’t believe she couldn’t wear something else on her special day. Her dark brown hair hung down to her shoulders, her naturally pink lips stood out on her ghostly white complexion, her brown eyes watching the rain droplets move across the windscreen.
God, I realise I must sound like a love struck teenager on her first date, but you must understand something. For us, every date was like our first because we would always discover something new, and every time we made love it was as though we had never explored our bodies before. Every second of our time together was divine, well, most of it.
‘It’s just a little rain, it’ll dry,’ I reassured her, pulling one hand away from the steering wheel and rubbing her freezing cold hands. I saw my reflection out from the corner of my eye in the rear-view mirror. My dark hair was tied back in a green hair tie, which, according to Katarina, perfectly matched my eyes. My lips were stained with dull red lipstick, whilst blue mascara lined my eyes. ‘You’d better button up Kat,’ I noted
She smiled back at me. ‘I’ll be fine. The cold has little effect on me.’
‘I hope you don’t expect me to care for you when you’re all sick and disgusting,’ I retorted.
‘Shut up,’ snorted Katrina. ‘I cared for you when you had pneumonia; took time off work and everything so I’d expect you to do the same for me.’ She folded her arms across her chest and looked out the window once more. ‘I only hope we get there before this storm gets any worse.’ Her eyes no longer sparkled like they so often did.
I could feel Katarina’s emotion as though it were my own. ‘We’ll get there eventually,’ I promised.
‘If anyone else said this I would be unsure,’ stated Katarina, turning to face me. ‘But because it’s you Aryah, I’d believe anything,’ she giggled. We stared into each other’s eyes, neither of us noticing the van veering onto the wrong side of the road until its blinding headlights collided with our own.
It is said that a person always remembers their first kiss, or, more accurately, the person who first kisses them. Funnily enough, I don’t, I only remember Katarina. Our first chance encounter was anything but normal: she stole my car.
At the time she had been working as a journalist and I as a public relations manager. I was hired to facilitate an agreement with two rival companies who wanted to merge into one. Apparently the idea of acquiring more money was enough for them to set their differences aside to work co-operatively towards mutual goals. Katarina had been asked by her boss to write an investigative article on the merger, but had unfortunately been denied access. For the best I would presume. I left the merger almost immediately after it began. I know, I know, how unprofessional of me! But I personally felt as though my talents had been squandered. I guess I was simply unable to listen to a gaggle of grown men strutting around talking shop. On the drive back to my hotel I received a phone call and only took my eyes off the road for a second when I hit something. I slowed down to retrieve my phone so I was glad that when the collision occurred, Katarina, the victim of my bad driving was not terribly injured. Apparently Katarina had never received her driver’s licence despite taking the test a few times and was forced instead to use alternate means of travel – in this case a bike – which unfortunately bore the brunt of my vehicle’s bonnet. I did try to apologise, I swear! However Katarina was in a state of shock and would not hear any of it. This led to frustration and eventually anger, which led to her kicking me in the shin. She just so happened to be wearing metal toe capped boots, so you can imagine the pain I was in; it was probably more than what I had inflicted upon her. After I fell to the ground she looked me up and down, jumped into my car and drove off. She did leave me the twisted carcass that was once her bike, which was awfully kind of her.
Luckily for me, her inability to drive led to her arrest. According to the patrol officer, he found it a touch odd when he recovered my purse and driver’s licence on her person, stating how I had apparently changed in ‘height, weight and appearance.’ Katarina had replied with ‘shit happens,’ and shrugged at his remark. She always was bold and her mouth almost always got her into trouble. I think it was this trait of hers that I first fell in love with. The officer, as strange as it might seem, decided to drop all charges, believing that we had paid each other back in full.
However, this chance meeting progressed into a friendship, which in turn became something else. This might have been because we couldn’t keep our hands to ourselves – probably because we were always fighting, and when we weren’t, well, we’ll get to that.
Katarina’s apartment at the time was in no way the definition of cleanliness; the floor was her wardrobe and the bed was her bathroom cupboard. We had decided to test our wits at a game of poker on this particular stormy night, and neither of us wanted to brave the weather to get a good night’s supper. However, the game seemed to be one sided. I was left in the bedroom to set out the cards across the bed, whilst Katarina was inside the bathroom, the door just open a crack, enough for me to see her shadow skirting the walls as she busily went about her post-shower business.
‘How long does it take to get ready?’ I shouted.
‘Patience Aryah!’ shot back Katarina in return. ‘You shouldn’t be so eager to charge headstrong into the fight. I always win you know.’
‘Do you now?’ I asked with a sly grin.
‘I am known for being quite vicious,’ she replied. ‘I take what I want and I always play for keeps.’
‘You sound as though you do this often,’ I commented.
‘Only when there is something worth fighting for,’ replied Katarina.
‘Is that why you are getting all pampered up in there?’ I asked. ‘Are you gearing up for battle, or do you have a hot date planned after this?’
‘Don’t know’ said Katarina in reply, ‘depends if she’s interested.’
Little did Katarina know I had already left the bed, quietly navigated the room and opened the bathroom door to find her standing before the mirror in her fluffy white towel, drenched with the water continuing to drip from her body. ‘Oh, she’s interested’ I replied as I wrapped my arms around her and planted my lips to hers as she did the same to mine.
A second later I had slipped the bath towel away from her body and let it fall to the tiles. Words could not begin to describe the flawless sight that befell my eyes and it would be an insult to even try.
It was not long after I had pushed Katarina up against the bathroom wall that she had pushed me back as well, forcing me once more into the bedroom where we found ourselves a couple of feet short of the bed, her clothes cushioning the fall as we fell on top of one another onto the floor, giggling as we did so.
Katarina pinned me to the ground before tearing ravenously at my clothes, a number of buttons coming loose in the process as my shirt was thrown to the side. With that, she came down upon me like a tidal wave, ever so slowly nibbling her way down my front, not daring to stop until she reached my clitoris. From where she lay her head, Katarina smiled up at me, before taking me into her mouth, a spasm of ecstasy rushing through my veins. Mind, heart, body; I was entirely hers and she mine, and nothing but the steel of an out of control vehicle would ever separate us from one another.
Pain was the first thing I felt upon waking in the hospital ICU, the flashbacks which had comforted me disappearing into the room. My arm was broken, my face badly bruised and my lips swollen from the airbag (deploying in front of me), a deep gash cut into the left side of my face from where my head connected with the side window. Only three of my ribs were fractured and yet all of them ached unanimously. The ramblings of the doctor meant nothing to me, for all I cared about, all I would ever care about, was lying a few rooms down from me.
I was allowed the privilege of seeing Katarina almost immediately. The walk to her room felt like an eternity and although Katarina looked nothing like I remembered, my feelings for her were unchanged.
She was lying back in bed, a great portion of her body having received terrible injuries during the crash. Her right leg was elevated and in a sling, being fractured in several places. Five of her ribs were broken, her left arm being wrenched from its socket whilst her right wrist, along with several fingers, were broken. Her face had been battered, a significant portion of her cheeks and nose being caved in from the smash. This of course was just the physical damage, the doctors warning me of the severe internal injuries.
At present it seemed that Katarina was in no position for any further surgery and the medicos were planning to wait for a good eighteen hours before they attempted any further procedures. Despite all this, Katarina was conscious, fighting the twilight that was creeping up around her.
‘Hey,’ she managed upon my entry as I grimaced when sitting down beside her. ‘I’m glad to see you were not badly injured.’
‘Tell that to the rest of me,’ I replied, attempting to keep up appearances as I ran my free hand through her hair. ‘The doctors say you are going to make a full recovery,’ I said as Katarina smiled weakly at me.
‘I’m a journalist, remember,’ she stated, her lips barely moving. ‘My job is to search for the truth; don’t start lying to me now.’
‘I’ll try to keep that in mind,’ I noted, maintaining eye contact as I did so, a tear running down my cheek.
‘Please,’ said Katarina. ‘I don’t want you to remember this as anything but a happy moment.’
‘How can that be when the woman that I love lies before me in critical condition?’ I asked. ‘Besides, how do you know that this is not a tear of joy? I was not lying when I told you that you may very well pull through, because there is still every chance. You are a fighter Katarina and I don’t want you to give up in the moment when you need to fight harder than you ever have before.’
‘You know as well as I that’s not true,’ replied Katarina out from the corner of her mouth.
‘Don’t talk like that,’ I sobbed, gripping her hand with mine as she winced from the pain, but continued to hold on regardless.
‘We’ve shared in a lot of adventures,’ she said with a smile as though recalling every one of them with those words. ‘But I won’t be coming with you this time.’
‘What?’ I spluttered as tears continued to well up in my eyes, yet Katarina continued to remain strong, although even she was having trouble trying to keep her emotions in check. ‘No,’ I retorted, ‘we-we stay together. I should have watched where I was driving. I was supposed to take care of you.’
‘No,’ replied Katarina with a sigh. ‘We were supposed to take care of each other. Don’t ever blame yourself and don’t stop living because of me. I’ve been strong enough for both of us, but now you must be strong enough for yourself.’ Katarina swallowed before continuing slowly once more. ‘Who knows, if there’s a bar up there or something I’ll save a seat for you and I’ll look down on you from time to time. You will never be alone and no matter what, I will always lo-’
In that moment, Katarina slipped into unconsciousness. She never spoke again. I remained with her until the monitors around us came to life with the sound of raucous beeping, and just like that she was gone.