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Thought is an amazing thing, new material created by the brain,thats so unique and individual. My view.

Friday, 11 December 2009

Chronological fading


People often say your life is like a timeline; the significant events in your life you can look back on.

The same as a high school history lesson, only this time it's a reflection on yourself and everything youve done.

This timeline grows everyday.

But you can get a shock when you look back along the line

and realise yours is starting to take a path away from those you love, or loved most.

Those special people that enjoyed the journey with you, to get you where you are today.

Yet with every tomorro, the become a bigger part of your history than your present and future

...something you may never expected.

Wednesday, 25 November 2009

static doubt


Static
fragment of doubt form
and buzz
a persistant blue-bottle of the mind.

The screen flickers
from black
to white.
A weaving confusion;
maggot dance.
And questions to ask why.

Whit noise seeps in
oh, please dont change the picture.

you grasp the remote,
the outcome
a button press away.

The news is on at ten.

Tuesday, 24 November 2009

worded she


she’s a yellow oxymoron,
your newest iambic pentameter
a rhythm always seeking new paces
and words you don’t understand.


She’s the opening stanza
That cant make sense
until the rest have been read
And the deeper meaning discovered
In a moment of revelation.
Enjambment-

on every line.
this undescribable, underlined upturned
alitteration.
The confusing concept
that is she.

She’s the adjective that describes the everyday verbs
That would sit there plain and undefined.
And as loud as an onomatopoeia.
She’s the ink on the pages
That ran out from your fountain pen
And blotted
As you worded thought.


She’s between pages closed
A Fading Metaphore
Unread
Undiscovered.

Thursday, 19 November 2009

To walk


Poisoned, bound, dutied and tied,
held centred in this neighbourhood.
And all the grey these eyes can see,
Echoes in circles around this hard-cemented society.
Hum-drum and seen.

I pack a prepared misguidance
Stepping off this orange lit tarmac.
Refreshed.
And a chill,
As I watch my breath collide
with an open sky.

Sometimes its hard
to find your feet
When you still don’t know
Where they should be.
Push on glass.

Have I arrived
When I have no destination?
I brought these white shoes yesterday.

In the empty night
Roads become as endless as the dark.
I know the next town,
But the wonder still remains.

To disappear and not return
To where I always wanted to be.
Somewhere.
Itchy feet.

Fresh ground.
Fresh air and new sights
become my home, they give me faith;
Beauty can be seen,
And caught in a dew drop.
Hope.
In a world
of injustice and mutiny

Travel endlessly.
Or run,
Until the wind dies to a still.
That invisible force
Like time
We only fear because we cannot see or ever know.

Maybe I can learn to greet myself
Searching
For my reflection to break out
Open.
To rise and toast the feast.

sooner or later,
they’re going to ask
"where’s Molly?"
but ill be running along with the click clack of a train.

the peice


He looks
i’m drowning in this cardio-vascular moment
Fuzzy turquoise grey with puce swirls
He says it in chalked colours
a world of powder and bright dust
Displayed on a pavement
Tarmac for all to see


the colours spill
And run in the rain
Paint spots and inkblots merge and smudge
To create New colours


lines that slowly curve to the sky
And a confusion of brushes
As we paint like new professionals
Without a pallet


This accidental artwork that is ours
A one off original
That cannot be brought


So we stand and become the piece
Get to know its every motion
Beyond the surface texture
And belong

Sunday, 25 October 2009

34 Miles to go. "What hope?"


Facing “National embarrassment”, the French authorities have closed the squalid camp outside Calais known as “the jungle”. Seven years beforehand the Red cross centre in Sangatte was also closed in foolish hope it resulted in the numbers of migrants arriving in Calais would just dwindle away. The “pushback” has begun, clearing camps and sending home migrants or placing them in dessert prisons to endure torture and packaging the problem into prison cells far away from the public eye. We are sending out the message that “the route is closed” for visitors but those entitles to asylum may also be shut out too.

The “Jungle” became a self made sanctuary; a refuge for those that had nowhere to go. The filthy campsite was made up of pathetic makeshift tents and feeble mosques to pray for deliverance in. Living in this “flea infested squalor”, the migrants were still better off then when they were in their original countries. Have we overseen the reasons they decided to live in such transient conditions? It is not proof that these people are so desperate for salvation and a better, safer life that that would endure any risky journey if it gave them the slightest chance of belonging to a country even minutely better than theirs?

Charity Salaam volunteer Helene appears to understand both sides of the situation better than the French authorities. She asks “You can close ‘the jungle’, but look at these people, do you think they can just disappear?”. I am reminded of a quite from Al Gore (an inconvenient truth) “There are good people, who are in politics, in both major parties, who hold this at arms' length, because if they acknowledge it, if they recognize it, then the moral imperative to do big changes would be inescapable”. In July nearly 800 people were living at the camp, fearing “what happens to us when they take this away?” They plea “please” as the bulldozers come regardless. A question still echoes from the lips of every migrant, it lingers on the newly uninhabited soil “What hope, what hope for us?”

Nearby, “Africa house”, an Eritrean refugee squat holds 50 more asylum seekers. An abandoned wreckage with no water, electricity or refuge collection homes despairing people in stinking, filthy rooms. Do you think they want to live here? The house is more like a no-man’s land; in the middle of searching and belonging to a country. A purgatory between the lives they once had, and the ones they aspire towards.

The white cliffs of Dover are sometimes visible from France, an aim and vision of hope. Brittan is just 34km away and yet so unobtainable. “The UK is often whispers about in reverential tones as a crime-free, multi-cultural nirvana”, it appears to migrants as a tolerant and peaceful country which can provide them with safety, help and improved life. These people have dreams of becoming doctors, engineers and teachers. The deserve the opportunity to live.

Yet we do not display our compassion towards the asylum seekers that have manages acceptance into the UK. We shout racist remarks at them and demand they “go back to their own country” as they are “stealing” our benefits, jobs and healthcare. Haven’t they suffered enough? Do they not deserve the same treatment as us, the same help and opportunities? Is it any wonder they need healthcare after the physical and mental trauma they have experienced? We forget that two thirds of their £30 weekly allowance is in vouchers only and that returning home would be a death sentence for many. Their motive is not the UK’s benefit system, but hope. Whatever happened to equality? Perhaps we should help the countries these unfortunate people originated from. Until these places are amended, these “immigration problems” will continue”.

In 2000 the UK received the largest amount of asylum applications of any EU country and were called a “soft touch”, yet the number of asylum seekers who were recognised as genuine more than doubled to 72.5% between 1998 and 1999, which undermines the suggestions that most applications are “bogus“. Instead of rejecting migrants and denying them the life we take for granted we need to understand their situation and reasons for asylum. We’ve seen the news stories, read the facts and are somewhat aware of the problems their countries face. However, we can never comprehend or truly understand their sufferings as we have not experienced nor witnessed such horror, simply because we are lucky enough not to have to. As a result, we disconnect ourselves from reality and focus on ourselves, complaining about their presence; “they only cause a nuisance”.

We forget about the ordeals they had to face just to reach their present destination. Risking their lives to arrive at Calais because the lives they had beforehand were not worth living. African bodies are often found washed up on Mediterranean tourist beaches as a result of inflatable boats bursting which are used to smuggle people across the sea. Nick Griffin, chairman of the BMP, states “ frankly they need to sink several of these boats. They can throw them a life raft and they can go back to Libya” The migrants pleas go unheard, ignored; “we don’t need to go back to our own country”. They have become aliens, trespasses and permanent travellers. People that don’t belong, with nowhere to go.

102,870 cases are still pending asylum. What happens to those that are not recognised as genuine? Where do people go whilst their applications are still pending? By the end of the last decade, there were still 200,000 asylum applications still pending in EU countries, over half were in the UK. Hope comes to a standstill whilst the backlogging and application process commences.

A question is asked in unity; “what hope, what hope for us?”

And what help?

Tuesday, 25 August 2009

Journey up


A journey by car, check-in followed by a long wait and security checks before I board the plane. I walk down an aisle that a thousand feet have already walked down, full of expectations of holidays that await on foreign ground. People from different cultures, classes, counties and countries accompany me; a mass of variation. Each individual seeking out a glimpse of the world that they haven’t yet experienced. Canned people in a plane. Blue carpets and navy, leather seats greet my arrival. No smoking, seatbelts on, safety messages and air stewards.

I settle near a peephole window -lucky me. I casually look across the plane at the remaining passengers settle into those standardised seats, and then I overlook the dry, tarmac runway that’s awaits me. The air ripples with the heat. A dozen airport workers with florescent overcoats dart about like mosquitoes, making their final preparations. The luggage is stored, the people are seated and the vibrations from the engines are just starting to buzz under my feet. The silence on the plane is filled with anticipation and impatience.

Some grip onto their armrests whilst others close their eyes, unafraid as the airport rolls away. The trees begin to dart across my window and become alive. The plane picks up speed. I experience a bizarre and extraordinary floating sensation of the butterflies as I shoot up diagonally, facing forward to the sun and onwards. The plane begins to climb and The Earth shrinks. It slowly distances itself from me, falling away. No bricks, no people, no houses, no streets, no land. The floor becomes a miniscule concept I used to be a part of, I live in the air now.

I am in a metal canister, a capsule soaring in this infinite sky. The plane’s presence hardly noticed like a fly darting through the rooms of a vacant house. This plane cannot cover or fill such an empty space, it is simply an inferior object barely affecting the air it flies through. Only two screens of round plastic with a gap in between separate me from the kingdom of white smoke. It is such a unique solid landscape of sky, with clouds that become stepping stones. I glide in a carriage of flying people, miles high and looking down at everything I knew, With not a thought of the jagged rocks and dry stone beneath. A new world of clouds and space.

So detached, so far from injustice and arrogance. I have risen above the wars, poverty, violence and falling trees that groan as they are ripped from the soil below. I can no longer hear the blaze of guns or the cries of children seeking out aid. I soar in misty tranquillity and peace. There is silence and freedom in the water vapour. Dancing and reflecting the sun. The light hit’s the metal crust of the plan and it becomes an illuminated shell.

I am but an alien, a floating traveller who passed land long ago. I am a guardian, an angel looking down at the sorrow grown on soil, with sympathy for those on foot. I have left everything below.

An air steward pushes a grey trolley along the aisle, bearing an assortment of snacks and beverages. I buy a coke. The frothy bubbles jump in my mouth, like a bouncing group of helium balloons just cut loose. Like clouds. Clouds like light sea foam, just blue and white simplicity. This world a playground for any artists that wish to sculpture the fog. I swallow and smile as I continue to fly far up. Onwards into the sun. Mist and light blind me. I look out of the window one final time, the blue surroundings darken to space and reach stars.

Sunday, 16 August 2009

Get away Poem


-to me, home is somewhere that takes your breath away. I belong abroad. Somewhere beautiful,unique and amazing.Doing new things,meeting new people and seeing as much as I
can. The wold is an extrodinary place.
Enlightened by every journey.



Dance through Clouds
And Look at the Earth beneath.
Saviour the Sun.
Only the Seat of a plane separates inside
From the Kingdom of Drifting White Smoke.


Gripping Rocks that Reach the Ground
And Touch Sky.
And only now am I Breathing.
Touch the Real ,Warm Earth.


Notice air on Skin
And the World below Bursting open
I Smile When I’m free.
Soaring and
Standing only on a Mountain top.


Flowing, Waters full of Life
And this is when I’m Living.
I leave home with no intention of Return.


There is so much to see
And do.
I drift contently as I go.
Meeting the world That I don’t know.

Wednesday, 15 July 2009

The Ultimate Impact.











Our pasts become the foundations for our futures. As soon as we are born, our experiences on Earth begin to shape us, and make us into the people we grow up to be. Psychologists as early as Freud have proven that childhood affects adulthood. We are alive and we grow, our brains absorbing in everything around us and every miniscule piece of information we gain affecting who we are. We become who we are from what we know, and what we see; shaping our beliefs and standards on all the experience we have obtained and making sense of present situations from what we’ve already learnt. Our personalities thrive on our lives, as we become individual people, each with our own perspectives on the world we have came to know. We grow from the world, but what are our children being exposed to? Take a look at the world are future generations are being brought up in.


Everything that happens affects us, even a simple children’s TV show can have such a vast negative outcome. Tom and Jerry, a classical comic cartoon of a cat and mouse forever at war displays to our children a range of violent acts. Our children’s channels are full of violence and fighting, some could even be deemed disturbing. Yet we see such programmes as harmless cartoons, not realising that we are brining our children up with violence and understanding what effect this may have on them. Why do we allow our children to learn violence at such a young age? Young boys especially take a licking to weaponry, explosions, gore, violence and villains. They often think of these topics as “cool” which is considered “normal” for all boys to watch and enjoy. Is this what we want our children to base their lives on? Entertainment through violence? Imagine how this can affect them as a person, let alone their current life and adulthood. Production companies therefore make more violent programmes, often increasing the levels of violence to appeal to their bloodthirsty audience in order to gain views.

Children learn that these violent shows are considered enjoyable to watch, and so they sit on their sofas and learn to relish in the bloodshed on the screens. Do I appear too uptight and unrealistic? Perhaps you should watch the level of violence displayed and count the amount of unsuitable material is broadcasted to your vulnerable children. Similar to the butterfly effect ,(a butterfly flaps its wings in one part of the world, a hurricane is created in another) these minuscule things our children see everyday are absorbed into their brains and self conscious’s which could affect them later on. Today they watch violence, maybe one day they will be on the news due to theirs. Seeds are planted.
Children are raised and indoctrinated as soon as they are old enough to understand. Supposedly many Palestinian children are taught to hate Jews, in order to glorify “jihad” (holy war), violence, death and child martyrdom almost from birth, as an essential part of their culture and destiny. This is just one mere example of harmful views being opposed on children. Good and evil are a point of view. Children are being taught violence, racism and wrongdoings from the start of their lives. A popular phrase is “these are the children of the future”. Do we really want them to see the world through disappointed eyes, full of fear, hate and bitterness? The fruit rots before it can ripen.
Some children gain a negative perspective on the world and have to struggle and suffer each day on earth. According to UNICEF, 25,000 children die each day due to poverty. Around 27-28 percent of all children in developing countries are estimated to be underweight or stunted. Their lives are at peril and stunted before they’ve even had the chance to thrive. They learn the world is cruel and full of selfish injustice. For the 1.9 billion children from the developing world, there are: 640 million without adequate shelter (1 in 3), 400 million with no access to safe water (1 in 5) and 270 million with no access to health services (1 in 7). 10.6 million died in 2003 before they reached the age of 5 (same as children population in France, Germany, Greece and Italy.) 1.4 million die each year from lack of access to safe drinking water and adequate sanitation. 2.2 million children die each year because they are not immunized. Nobody should live like this, children come into the world to die or enter a life that can be viewed as not worth living.

What lives are these for people so precious? Of the 50 million refugees and displaced people in the world, at an estimate half are children. War is the primary factor in the creation of child refugees. In the last decade, war has killed more than 2 million children, wounded another 6 million, and orphaned approximately 1 million. Children also flee their homes because they fear various forms of abuse such as rape, sexual slavery, and child labour.

In the Philippines, UNICEF estimated that there are 60,000 child prostitutes and many of the 200 brothels in the notorious Angeles City offer children for sex. The median age for entering into prostitution among all children interviewed was 13 years. An estimated 211 million children between the ages of 5 and 14 are working around the world, according to the International Labour Organization. Of these, 120 million children are working full time to help support their impoverished families forced child laborers work in conditions that have no resemblance to a free employment relationship. They receive little or no pay and have no control over their daily lives. They are often forced to work beyond their physical capacity and under conditions that seriously threaten their health, safety and development. In many cases their most basic rights, such as freedom of movement and expression, are suppressed. They are subject to physical and verbal abuse. Even in cases where they are not physically confined to their workplace, their situation may be so emotionally traumatizing and isolating that once drawn into forced labour they are unable to conceive of a way to escape. Imagine the impact on youth forced into a lifestyle they never deserved. They have learnt poor behaviour before constructive morals and so may base their values and behaviour on the previous.
So many children suffer at such an early age, they deserve so much more. The prevalence of childhood neglect ranged from 3.2% in New Hampshire, United States, to 10% in Montreal, Quebec, Canada, 19.4% in Singapore, and 36.4% in Pusan, Korea. Abused children can be severely abused mentally as well as physically. Some even becoming abusers themselves as they have learnt this behaviour form their parents.Around the world, children are singled out for recruitment by both armed forces and armed opposition groups, and exploited as combatants. Approximately 250,000 children under the age of 18 are thought to be fighting in conflicts around the world, and hundreds of thousands more are members of armed forces who could be sent into combat at any time. Although most child soldiers are between 15 and 18 years old, significant recruitment starts at the age of 10 and the use of even younger children has been recorded. Children who are too young to marry, finish school, start their own families or even fully understand war, are given guns and the pressures of life and death.
However, could exposing our children to the harsh realities of life give them a realistic perspective? It could teach children that we need change and justice, and motivate them to aim to create a better future. For example, in the 20th centenary, we switched from Oliver Twist/Jane Eyre-style tyrannical abusive treatment of children to one in which children are cared for and even indulged. Could this be due to the children not wanting to treat their own offspring in such an abusive manner, thus creating a child-rearing revolution? It could still be argued that children are too young to comprehend and cope with such evils of the world and that their innocence should be maintained for as long as possible before gently introducing them to world dilemmas.
Childhood is an amazing experience of growth and personal development. Why do we have to taint such amazing beauty? We welcome our future generations into a world full of hardship and wrongdoing and teach them the same values that caused these problems in the first place. What a fantastic first impression! We are striving for change in an oppressive world, but how can anything change if we keep child upbringing the same? Such a warm welcome greets those entering the world. How can we expose our children to such evil before they learn the good? What’s more important than the start of life?

Monday, 13 July 2009

fashion victims caught up in the media's spotlights.


We are the real fashion victims, defenceless and permanently exposed to adverts that lower our self-esteem and create “problems” with the way we look to sell us their “solutions”. Our appearances judged and ridiculed by an unseen board of judges who “know” what “beautiful” looks like. Everyone is a contestant in this everyday beauty pageant we call our everyday lives. What good does beauty do?

From the moment we wake we are brainwashed and demoted to an ordinary and insignificant member of this world of vanity. We eat our breakfasts, with the option of choosing the low fat” special K” cornflakes. The box has an immaculate woman on the front with a desirable figure every woman is meant to aim for in order to be seen as beautiful and sexy. As we saviour our bland and demoralising meal,we read the newspapers or perhaps a magazine; our eyes captivating hundreds of images of the ideal appearance. After realising that our own bodies are pale in comparison, we make sure our hair is perfectly straightened before even comprehending the outfit we shall wear or how to have our makeup. At the mirror we compare our visage and wrinkles to the hundreds of other woman we have already seen today before trying to conceal as many flaws as we can. We sit in shame at our unworthiness. Before we leave we begin trying on various outfits and failing to look as toned or slim as we wish. We “make do” and put on the garments that look the best on ourselves but are just not good enough. We surrender and leave the house knowing we are not as radiant as the many people we see on the TV and realise that our wrinkles are only deepening. We travel to work passing hundreds of advertisements on the way, another reminder of our imperfections we didn’t know we has until they were pointed out to us. And the day has begun as bitter as the Coffey and as vain as the billboards intend.

There is a saying that flaws shall forever remain beautiful. A freckled face is unique and spectacular, a head of curly hair is lively and full of volume and isn’t a laughter line just character to a smiling face? Yet a person with deep extraordinary eyes can replace them with coloured contacts, because apparently blue eyes are better than brown. How fickle. Our own perception on beauty has been distorted and we are the products of a manipulating business world that makes us loathe our unique and rapturous selves for the simple, cold aim of making a profit.

We have entered the 21st century, a time for outstanding technology and science to progress beyond the belief of those who lives a hundred years ago. We know far more about cosmetic technology and so can create improved products that are far more efficient. Our lipsticks stay on for longer and make our lips physically bigger whilst our waterproof foundations conceal any freckle or blemish the eye can see. Even the most minor alterations can be achieved with products such as eye whiteners, nail files, cuticle creams and spot sticks. Our bodies can also be altered with cosmetic surgery to help us with our stomachs which are slightly larger than we wish or breasts which aren’t quite the perfect size and shape. These many million methods of self improvement are mass produced and packaged onto store shelves, promising to help us become immaculate. Would we have accepted and loved ourselves if we had no option for such a drastic change?
We are also bombarded with millions of product advertisements for hair treatment, diet pills, makeup and skincare products, the list appears almost infinite. These ready made “solutions” constantly thrust towards us that are said to demolish or conceal our imperfections and thus aiding our newly gained insecurities or low self esteem until we recognise yet another flaw upon ourselves. it’s a never thirst for impeccable faultlessness.
We cover spots up with foundation. Foundation that clogs pores and created more spots to cover. In turn we purchase more foundation and now in addition, some spot treatments. We camouflage our wrinkles with a mixture of creams and lotions, which in turn only fill the dents and widen them.We are making ourselves ugly by wearing makeup, and then cover up these flaws with more purchases. We have lost logic to our need for beauty. And how many teenagers suffer from eating disorders or low self esteem? The Impact of societies’ vanity has became overwhelming. We create our own imperfections.
Actors with glossy hair and gleaming teeth entertain us in the evenings. Their fashionable clothes and incredible faces are flaunted in front of us on these tall, small-wasted women. Its impossible not to compare yourselves to these God-like beings. However, we are unfortunately naive. Not only are these image icons picked out and have their entire outside metamorphosed by a team of the best image consultants, they are then filmed and airbrushed until they appear so perfect they no longer resemble the naturally appealing humans they once were. These alien, pour-less faces stare back at us and make us feel unworthy. Of course we cannot compare to something so artificial and unreal.
Do we not also reinforce this vain and critical lifestyle? We are permanent commentators on appearance. We notice everything, from greasy hair to un-plucked eyebrows and relish in pointing these tiny defects to the others around us. We relish another’s downfall as it means we are surrounded by others facing the same image tribulations. And when somebody reaches our high standards? We merely feel jealous or lowlier. We have became hypocritical arrogant beings, self-obsessed and searching others with a keen eye.

We are left, desperately reaching for a false, unobtainable beauty, with nothing but our products and minuscule respect for ourselves. As the love for ourselves rapidly diminishes, the business world thrives on our insecurities and the money we have aimlessly spent in this cycle. Money that in no doubt, will fund the next product launch or advertising campaign. And what shall we do about this? I don’t know, but I need to carry out my skincare routine before I get my beauty sleep.

Friday, 26 June 2009

हाउ तो लाइव your life


I have a poster of the dissertra on the wall next to my bed, I want to try to read it almost everynight and learn it by heart, It may be slightly religious (when Im not religious at all), but I still think its something we should all live by.


Go calmly among the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons.~

Speak your truth quietly and clearly, and listen to others, even the dull and ignorant; they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are troubling to the spirit.~

If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.~

~Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in you own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.~

~Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery.But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everwhere life is full of heroism.~

~Especially, do not feign affection.Neither be distrustful about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.~

~Take kindly the counsel of the years gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.But do not distress yourself with imaginings.

Many fears are born of fitigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.~

~You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and stars; you have a right to be here.

And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.~

~Therefor be at peace wih God,whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations, in this noisy confusion of life, keep peace with your soul.~

~With all it's shame, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.

Be careful and strive to be happy

Reality theories. Ignorance is bliss!


I like the theory that you could be a mad man, floating through space, and the world you know, is all in your head. (Although I have no Idea whoes theory that is- my Dad says it alot).


And the Brain in a vat theory by Hilary Putnam, where again, for all you know, your brain could actually be in a vat of nutrients beign kept alive, and the nereve endings are connected to a scientific computer that sends you electrive impluses to make you think that everything is normal, and you are living in the "real" everyday world that you know of. When infact you are just a brain, with your reality compleatly, artificially simulated.


A newborn child does not learn object permanance untill it is 9 months, meaning it does not recgnise that its mother still exists when she is out of sight. But then again, maybe she dosnt. For all you know just like a computer game, once youve walked on from your house, it dissappears.
How do you know it truly still exists, for all you know, it may only "re-exist" once you have walked back to it. You could of course use a webcam to film your hosue so you know its still there, but how do you know for certain the images on the webcam are correct and real?


And whilse im here, platos cave theory talks about people being shackled to a cave, and only seeing shadows and voices. That is the only word they know of, to them that is their world and their life and that is all there is
Like this is the only word we know of, when there could be so, much more. As an example, Russel's hypothesis is that there is an inperceptiblly small, immaterial, or spriritual teapot orbiting the moon. For all we know, this could be true.


Theories like that, make you question everything, even your own existance really.

And all cant really be proven or disproven. How do you know other people exist, or even if they seen the word how you see it? Unless you become another person, how can you be sure they're not a figmant of your imagination, a character created by you, the authour of your own reality.
- Maybe compared to everyone else, your eyes see the word in techni-coulor and in high contrast, you think everyone can see coulors the same as you do, you dont question its abnormal, and as you cannot see from anyone elses eyes, how can you prove me wrong?

So my theory is that we should therefore just enjoy our precieved realities however distorted and false they may actually be :D
Enjoy your dillusions everyone. Ignorance is bliss!

Wednesday, 17 June 2009

Home


I'll be the wooden beams
that bend and arch
under rooftops.
And hold the red, raw bricks
up to the sky
for you.

Rough and dense, thick concrete and steel foundations
based on rich soil
that hold the earth.
A shell fufilled with blessing.

Open windows
can show us our world
and we can gaze
at the moon
from the solid garden gate.

We walk through air
and tread on carpets
passing photographs on strong walls,
that tell a story
of where we are
and how we got here.

Nothing else is home.

Copyright ©2009 Molly Smith

- if ya dont get it, its symbolism yall

Hollow mother


-To smother seeds that were gracefully shooting. And roots that only searched for the ground.

I dream of the cry
that was ment to follow
your, first breath.
New life cradeld in burly hands.

To smell fresh skin.
Alive, untouched
talcum powder- white
delicately reaching, to become, and grow.

To stroke pure cheeks
and watch young eyes first open
-seeing
-and breathing
- and living.
with hands so small they're surreal.

----------

But ,awaken
cold and still.
Green, red, rot
then black.

Silent blood and bitten- bruises
an empty womb
- love tomb
impacted by fists.

A hollow mother
and you, A THIEF.
That spilt life
onto the tiles
of a dead bathroom floor.
end.

Copyright ©2009 Molly Smith

love thyself.


The time will come
when faulty lenses break
delusions clense
and the foggy green mask
peels off it's distortions.

You welcome your reflection again.
a prodical, naked, stranger
the lover you once knew
by heart.

With open arms
you embrace yourself
and nourish the hunger
you never fufilled before.

Discarded diet pills
and a feast,
on yourself.
The pod cracks
and splits.

Breaking out,
open.
Skin is stroked
with loving fingertips.
to look without fear
at the body that is yours.

Standing
and enjoying the view
when straight lips
relearn a smile.

Copyright ©2009 Molly Smith

Sunday, 17 May 2009

Beautiful Reality

*photo not my own for once, it was from the postsecret art project by Frank warren.


A fearful reflection distorted by your own deception and confusion.
You feel somewhat like a shape shifter due to the familiar obese and repulsive reflection that greets you daily sometimes flicker and transform into a skeletal stranger staring back at you and catching you so off guard this morning. Now you don’t know how you look, you cant even trust your own reflection. Is the mirror lying or are you so deluded that your eating disorder has warped your eyesight and self perception? And you feel it start to smother you, pinning back your shoulders and choaking itself down your throat until it opens your head and steps inside to control your thoughts. You become fearful of your unstable abnormality.

Your life distracted by your image and how you appear to everyone else. The constant squeeze of hunger and sour shivers becomes reliable to you. Those dancing turquoise and lilac spots that spin one more like Christmas lights in front of your eyes as you plunge into another dizzy, light-headed moment. You feel a weak but detached relief from the solid judgemental reality of society.

The sight of your bones becomes beautiful. You feel a glimmer of pleasure as you trace the protruding ribs and sharp hip bones with a pointed finger, that is until you notice the glutinous , sickening sight of your large jelly-like stomach and regain the self loathing and disgust that lurches over you throughout the day. Your never satisfied. There’s always some fat, detestable aspect of yourself you need to starve off.

In result your left with two hunger; the void in your stomach craving for food and the furious hunger to change the way you look so you feel good about yourself. Your only wish is to have a passable body that your comfortable and happy with. This desperate need to love yourself and hunger washes over you as you jealously watch others eat contently whilst you sit there , tired and famished and disgusted. Your so isolated, and its never been so lonely.

Getting dressed has always been a daily hassle. You spend hours searching for clothes you wont feel enormous in, only to be defeated and wear the same frumpy outfit you had on yesterday. As you step outside your house, you wish you didn’t have to go out so nobody would see how horrible you look. You know you’ll only spend the whole evening pulling at your clothes and feeling so self conscious and worthless. You have the urge to hold a knife and carve yourself the figure you desire from this misfit shell of a body your confined to. How can anybody love you, when you look like this?

What’s happened to you? You stand, a beast on bathroom scales. So alone and ugly. The secret anorexic mind is concealed and hidden between four white-washed walls , with a small rectangular glazed window near the ceiling, locked wooden door and an empty, cold bathtub. A rusty cupboard with one door hanging off its steal hinges boxes the stashed variety of laxatives and diet pills. White bottles of hope and security that support you more than anything else. The care free, confident person you remember has metamorphosed into a vile, insecure wreck you don’t recognise.

The years of undesirably painful violence and tormenting bullying he inflicted on you has dug into your mind and germinated to form a small part of this dark , deep hate towards yourself. An overwhelming shameful anger clenches hold of you as you recall every blow like a film you’ve played too many times before. Now you wish you had stopped him, and protected the foolish vulnerable child you were. How could he do that to you? Look what he’s done to you! - its not just marks he left behind. You let every spiteful word become a part of you, and now you still carry them with you, words dragging behind and slowing you down. He who you forgave but resent at both the same time. The passionate and yet destructive hands you can still sometimes feel scratching away at your skin. He took away his bittersweet love and replaced it with a rotten slow poison you cant forget the taste of. He’s broken your life and he’s not even in it anymore.

And in the centre of this room stands the mirror that consumes you. Standing straight along the still wall as you realise,
this is all that’s left of the person you used to be.

pass on- song

ive got too comfortable here, Ive got too used to this life I know,
University sounds like everything ive always dreamed of with so much to do, so many friends, travling and stepping forward and creating myself the future I want to have.
Ive always said I dont feel like i belong here, this town is so uncaring, nobody has ambition and the place is so opressive and restricted. Ive always wanted to get out of here and live somewhere happy and with kinder people.
-only im too scared I wont be happy there and ill be lonley because I wont fit in and make friends. I worry my life wont be as good as the one I have now.
And how can I leave behind the most important people in my life? Like my best friend and soulmate Konor who ive known for years, or Darren, the one person who knows me best and im so close to. I wouldnt be half the person I am now if it wasnt for these 2 people. Let alone my fmaily and everyone else I know.
I feel like theres an expirary date on the time I have left and I feel so pressured to grow up and move on. I dont feel old enough for this, It used to seem years away but now its only one.
I guess im afraid of stepping forward into something so unknown to me
so here it is. pass on. The song...

Like a fire, I watch time burning out
And I don’t feel ready to snub the ashes out
As we camp under stars with old embers in the sky
Watching moments pass the world by
In a forest of evergreen
A forest of evergreen.
We close our eyes and try not to fall asleep.

I don’t feel ready to move on
But I’m snatching at seconds that have already gone
And childhoods’ away and done
Why cant I grow up and do what I always wanted?

We know one day were gonna’ have to get up and grow
But there’s a world of fear in what we don’t know
And the hardest part is the goodbye and letting go.
How can I say goodbye to you?

I push against time that’s running out
Trying to savour the last of this life ill be without
Im holding onto a world moving about
How can we leave it all for something new?

Like a fire, I watch time burning out
And I don’t feel ready to snub the ashes out
As we camp under stars with old embers in the sky
Watching moments pass the world by
In a forest of evergreen
A forest of evergreen.
We close our eyes and try not to fall asleep.

I don’t feel ready to move on
But I’m snatching at seconds that have already gone
And childhoods’ away and done.
Why cant I grow up and do what ive always wanted?

I wish I had more time to spend
As I set off alone to a place without friends.
And ill be missing you and trying to pretend
That you’re here when I read the letters you send.
How can I leave what we have behind?

Life blows away like the chalk drawings
we used to create on pavements ill never see again.
And i’m not ready to leave and go.
Last Year seemed so long ago.


Evergreen poem.

Lets have a party in a forest-with the lamps hung in the sky.
And a tree with all the tents in-and a kite that we can fly.
it wont matter if we disappear-or dance in dewy greens.
they hold our treehouse party-in the flower of their dreams.

and as long as theres a cloud-we dip our fingers in the dream.
if only things could stay the same.
yea I like them evergreen.

or a carvan in wales-with a torch and a bikeshed.
as long as the air spins a tune-we'll dance till we are dead.

we Can sit with open fires-singing nothing with guitars.
or lay back on our rooftops-searching diamonds in the stars.
It dosnt matter where we are-we can hold hands in the dark.
I wonder if a dozen friends-can truly find a way apart?

and as long as theres a cloud-we dip our fingers in the dream.
if only things could stay the same
I liked them evergreen.

Copyright ©2009 Molly Smith


Monday, 4 May 2009

A true Definition (Love.)


Love is too glorified, and exagerated and decietful. Ask a 10 year old what love is, or how heartace feels and they will tell you the sterotpyical view we have created.Love's been made into an object by valentimes cards ,cliche roses, common photographs and "I love you's" which is meant to express these chaotic emotions but will never do the rollacoster justice..
Love is a funny thing. You expect it to be easy and perfect. You expect it to be a world that runs smotheley, full of roses and laughs and warm kisses and perfect moments that you find only in movies.No relationship is ever perfect, and love is certainly not whats its made out to be.
You expect her to always say what you want to hear, and to get along with you perfectly, and to always have somethign to say, to make you feel great and always know exactly how you feel, or exactly how to react to you. And gettign along with eatch other's friends perfectly Or knowing exactly where your futures will end up and having the best sex in the world everynight. You expect her to calm you down when your angry or to come after you when you turn away. You look at her like a perfect being on a pedalstool -this beautiful creature, that lucky you have all to yourself.You expect so much that you feel entirely, and utterly defeated when something doesn't exactly match up with all your plans, not being able to comprehend the situation.
But that's the thing. Love isn't a plan, its not a perfect desitny and its never certain. It doesn't have a clear beginning and it definatly has no end or visible finish line to those deeply in it.Love happens everywhere, it can be seen as a gillmer of hope from a society that can sometimes appear so hateful and uncompassionate. it is so incredibly messy and confusing. People around you can't comprehend why you do the things you do, or why you fight so hard for something that seems to cause you so much pain and problems, because simply, they can't see. They can't see the invisible ring of insanity that surrounds you when you're in love and they will never fully know or understand exactly how you feel.
Love is inconvenient and painful and devastating at times, but we can't live without it. We are born with the capability of love and we cannot deny it. It teatches us about ourselves, and helps make us who we are today. Every relationship gives us a unique experaince, that we share with someone who will forever be a part of ourselves.
What you don't learn is how hard love is. How much work it takes and how much time or effort and strength you put in a relationship. Sometimes, to watch it break away and end. How much it can hurt you. How much of ourselves we have to put into it. How it isn't worth it until we are complete and utter idiots about it. And how we will always look back at it, and long for another chance to saviour the moments we share with the people we love.
Love isn't her calming you down when you shout. It's her yelling, just as loud, just as hard, and just as angry right back at you, right in your face to keep you alive and feeling and to keep you grounded. It isn't her bringing you roses everyday or doing nice things that make your relationship appear more presentable, its about the way you feel and how you both want to do whatever it takes to make eatch other happy. Its not always talkign non stop for hours, because sometimes the comfortable silence is all you need. Its not about having sex everynight, its about connecting with someone physically and emotionally and sharing a bond. Its not about being perfect or lookign great, its about seeing the other persons flaws and wekanesses and loving them,for the true person they are. thats real, honest, true , strong love. You are exposed, vulerable and open to any pain that comes with it.It's after a long fight, that drains the life and bones right out of you both, and yet her showing up at your door the next morning anyway and carrying on. Its about feeling safe, and confident, and wanting to have a future together. It's not her saying all the right things or knowing exactly how to handle you, noone can. So no, it's not her caressing your hair , always makign you smile and telling you everything is going to be alright. It's her standing there, admitting she's just as scared as you are and going through things together.
You have to remember that with love, you're not the only one involved, and theyre sittign right next to you in this rollarcoster. and noone but you will ever know the ride. You put your life, your heart and yourself into the palms of another persons hands and say, "here. Do what you will. Mash it into mince meat. Or forget I ever handed it to you. As long as you have it".Love makes us crazy. It distortes our perceptions and changes our realities and it erases all the lines that we shouldn't cross. Because love isn't about fencing ourselves in; feeling safe, feeling sure about the future and knowing how to act, what to do and what to say. It's about scaring the shit out of every nerve in our body, but pushing forward anyway because you want to.Because all the fighting and all the tears, hardships and all the uncertainty is worth it.
There is a world of a difference between feeling 'happy' and feeling whole. And theres a diffrence between this image of love, and the real thing. And once you find you love someone, and expose yourself to them, nothing will ever replace them, and no other relationship will ever be the same. Any moment, doing anything will be brilliant, just because its shared with them. And once youve met them, you wont be able to picture your life without them.

The true meaning of obesity, noone gives a fuck.



26,500-30,000 children die each day due to poverty. They die quietly in some of the poorest villages on earth, far removed from the scrutiny and the conscience of the world. Being meek and weak in life makes these dying multitudes even more invisible in death. Millions of painful deaths caused by disease, starvation and other forms of suffering we never have to encounter.


We hold life in our burly hands, cradling it as and shoots upwards searching for the light, only to starve it from life and provisions. We seal both hands around it, suffocating it from existence. The magnificence dies as if it never existed at all. We discard seeds into the bin carelessly and purposely wilt a selection for our own amusement, sowing them to execution with our very own hands. Because it doesn’t matter, there are plenty riper packets. It’s the common social case of survival of the fittest; only the self-centered with a heart of gluttony survive.


Or are those brought into the world victims too? The rare exception that care usually failing in their desperate attempts to defeat the biting masses and change the cruelty that exists. Overcome by the density of problems and the size of the opposition. There are strength in numbers and the challenger is brutal. Some revolve to the other side as their attempts to correct misery to good seem pitiful and useless against the dark. Another child another criminal, another victim or another viewer unable to contribute and fight. Tribulations multiplying like sickness and the infection far spread, is there a cure?


World agriculture produces 17 percent more calories per person today than it did 30 years ago, despite a 70 percent population increase. This is enough to provide everyone in the world with at least 2,720 kilocalories (kcal) per person each day. We have enough food for everyone and yet 4000 people starve each hour, victims of our arrogant ‘oblivious’ denial. Apparently equality exists, equality meaning we all have equal roles and rights. Do we not all deserve the same amount of food? Are we not all worthy enough to live?


The distribution of provisions is not equal due to snatching hands stealing any compassion away from the innocent plates that are searching for aid. We stuff more lies into our heads, in self belief we are kind and helpful. The true meaning of obesity; a portion of lies served up with every mouthful of food we cram into our repulsive faces. Obesity to the honest extent, eat until you vomit whilst the dead lie beneath your feet with lifeless-outstretched hands. Your deciding what is worthy, and what deserves to suffer. I hope you feel like God.


Blood smothers the forks in our plump hands, the run off rotting onto our wallets. Scream and die. There is no hell. Filth. We are the lowliest evil accomplishable, the bottom less pit of malice and superciliousness. Each thoughtless person a devil that tortures and inflicts unbelievable cruelty on any defenseless being caught up in our human nature.The target set at the 1996 World Food Summit was to halve the number of undernourished people by 2015 from their number in 1990-92. The estimated number of undernourished people in developing countries was 824 million in 1990-92. In 2000-02, the number had declined only slightly to 820 million. So, overall, the world is not making progress toward the world food summit goal, although there has been progress in Asia, and Latin America and the Caribbean we could be doing so much more.


When we stumble upon a charity box at a supermarket we occasionally toss in a few coins walking onwards with our products and the self satisfaction that we’ve ‘done our bit’, deceiving ourselves that we are empathic. Is this purely ignorance or rejection? We are aware of the injustice to some extent and yet are motionless in our actions to do anything at all about it. We are not the ones suffering, nor do we know them personally, is this why we allow it to continue? isn’t that evidence of our complete selfish ways? How would you rather spend your money, on presents for you, or to help those in need? 10.6 million Died in 2003 before they reached the age of 5, the number appears meaningless unless it was our child. We blame the government, natural disasters, anything to rid us of the guilt. The truth being that united we could cleanse the Earth of moral evil, but we don’t attempt to. If we shared all the money in the world there would be no poverty. Billionaires have too much to spend whilst half the world, nearly three billion people, lives on less than two dollars a day. We generate more pain worsening the situation and we do not amalgamate.


My torment is that I am currently self involved, complaining about the existing problems and not contributing enough as I sit typing in the comfort of my home. Even I don’t know the extent of the affliction. You will read this and go on regardless to my every word, enjoying your day whilst whole countries are crying out to us. Less than one per cent of what the world spent every year on weapons was needed to put every child into school by the year 2000 and yet it didn’t happen. Lay down your guns and egotistical self-indulgence, isn’t it about time we opened our eyes and actually did something about the agony that surrounds us? We are the ones that are fortunate, how can we let so many remain in pain? Their everyday a trial of will and survival.


Molly Elizabeth,Helen Smith

In Our Nature.


My words; expressed or rather written in an almost original manner. Words that are thought, agreed and Communicated by many “original” Humans. My vaguely leftist doctrine of beliefs already felt and known by others.I live by man, the products man has made, the products man has found and used and I live by the life of men, like all people somewhat do. I adhere to a set of standards, my tongue rooting out the tastes of society, flavours savouring in the mind. The Images my eyes capture; like a thousand silver cameras with the fastest shutter speeds and highest definition created, the thoughts that flow through my mind; racing the velocity of streams, the series of events and situations toil on my mind and grow into me. They embed in my mind, clasping hold of who I am with a steely griping hand that tightens day by day. Does the brain not delete and discard material coincided unimportant as so not to overload? Is it me that decided what is relevant to remember? Surly I have kept some extraneous material that has become a part of me. If I had absorbed anything different, would I be who I am now and what I am? My every breath captivating influence.


Diving face forward into a media-documented lifestyle, misfortune and fashions displayed or rather inflicted on vulnerable audiences. Solutions sold as the problems are generated, yes you have wrinkles and you’re defenseless against marketing and your lowered self-esteem. It’s the same as our antiquated past, nothing truly innovative or uniquely imaginative. Do I express myself by my appearance, or display the social groups I belong to, my ranking, my culture? Each designer garment displayed on a body, mass produced by strangers that know our personal desires in appearance.My hair cascades onto my shoulders, perfectly straightened, cut and dyed raw brown and blood-stained purple. This frames a clipped side bow and a pale face with a pierced blushing lip and prominent eyes outlined in black liner and emerald green shadow. Below the visage hangs plaited wool of anxious yellow, spring greens and skin pinks. Around my neck a silver charm casually lingers, a miniscule Buddhist tied onto the colored bonds. A dusky red and faded white cheeked shirt flares under the one button done up, swallowing up the banana and pasta top underneath. Worn trousers and a silver studded belt peep out beneath chains brushing against my leg. Torn hems reveal black Airwalks, softened by running, everyday steps, my favorite pair. My style changes slowly each day, progressing with age, time and everybody else. I fit in with the group. Don’t stick your nose up at me!


Individually affected. At a young age I realized we become who we are from experience and the world’s persuasions. This makes personalities develop, and even some physical features appear. We would mount to the people we are differently at just one household away, becoming another person. We are growing at society’s fingertips, but whose hands do we belong to? Additionally, I decided that objects or the materials that make them can never be owned or belong to man, they are the world’s. Ownership is not only passed on but we did not create the original ingredients, only collected what was there. Taking and deciding our right to “own”. My habitat is a jungle of materialistic objects, each salesman and thief another predator. I chose my belongings and paid for the right to obtain them, I was given my preferences and culture. Our technology rises, inventions forming from previous ideas. I am not doubtful that brains, alongside machinery has progressed, but have established from what already existed, nothing in a market of its own.Do we used words such as unique, singular and unusual correctly when we are all affected, pushed, pulled, ruled over and affected by man? Man is no one. How does everyone set these regulations that guide everything we do? An unseen panel of judges watch our every move, every person contributing to the panel’s decision. When man was made, he fitted in with men. Did god create an average, what other varieties would we have otherwise? Some say man made God, so there is a superior others will follow and obey rather than themselves. The One that Laws society, as there is no greater to overrule. Man elects others to govern, rule decide and lead us forward. Man decides what happened to men, man the plural of men, when men are all diverse.


I pick up a smooth stone, solidly decorated with ice. The floor translated and yearning, the environment now distorted. Scuttling, olive-black ants loose a landmark upon their sensory maps, affected by my actions. A passing man wears a sludge-green coat, patched, a size too small. His sturdy soles brushing the pavement and scraping the rugged surface, his journey just slightly affected if the stone is placed elsewhere. Those that become affected by my actions affect others as their actions may differ if they had not been involved with me. Victims of effect collect and grow like water. The impact of my actions spread like disease until everyone is affected, as does change in society, we live on one multiple chains of events, actions changing everyone. The bucket is full.



Nerves pound inside my throat, spilling out and pricking my skin into sweats. My fringe sticks to my tepid forehead and bleeds into my eyes. Bright light catches me like a rabbit on the highway. Blindingly, my feet set into cement as they stiffen forward. I gather myself onstage in costume to the murmur and muffled cough of the audience. My lips equipped for a sticky parting, the box in my head issuing thoughts to operate into speech. Colors and faces a mixed paste wound together. Lines are set, the performance accepted, written by heart and known all along. Expecting hands of expression worn with rings of man to allow a sharing of heard voices. Would applause sound any other way or does DNA decide these rules society casts upon them? I preform and bow. The lights dim, revealing a glowing filament which exists amongst bright glare.

end.


Molly Elizabeth,Helen SmithCopyright ©2007 Molly Hlizabeth, helen Smith