Time takes but also passes.

CHKDSK

Everything comes to a silenced halt
As words of reconciliation are heard.
'Heard', a word similar to 'hurt' with certain pronunciation,
The reason one would come to reconcile.
'Forgive and forget'-
They used to say this in church on Sunday mornings
Along with 'Repent; Turn unto the light'.

Many people never see much light,
They walk with their heads held high,
Sunglasses covering their faces, and move on what they hear.

Hearsay,
Rumour,
Gossip.

One and the same -  A mistake from whichever angle you look at it.
Mistakes as they sprawl across papers in exams,
Or form in the uterus out boredom, enibriety.
Sober to drunk;
Cause and effect;
A basic scientific equation.
Nucleosynthesis,
The Big Bang.
Bang, bang.
'Hitting, shooting, war, hunting, all the arts of hurting'
But is the pain real?
What is emotion but a mere feeling?
Abstract.
Surreality.

La Haine.

Wrote this on the 12th April,
V.

More old poetry.

It's 11pm and, 9th espresso streaming through my veins, I still fail to concentrate on the storyboards which lay before me or, rather, lack thereof. Tonight's center of procrastination, my old blog. I decided to skim through and post another old poem from it so as to waste time. Wrote the underlying back in 2010. This is it:

I walked along this morning,
Behind the tanker of despair,
Where eventually it led me,
Down to its hideous layer.

One by one it will take us,
To this dark and gloomy place;
It will rob us of our feelings,
And scare us with its face.
It will leave us feeling empty,
Alone and without hope.

No one will ever find us,
Or throw us down a rope.


Not too fond of this one as it feels incomplete, but alas it is what it is.


Later,
V.

Lady Madonna

Below is a poem I had written during A' Levels. Had posted it on an older blog but thought I'd share it on this one too.


Upon entering there's a seat.
A smile waiting next to it.
A few words;
-I'm tired. It's too early-
Finally the main entrance.
Everyone stares. Everyone listens.
Pens in Hands. Papers on desks.
Then the alienation.
The silence.
A small nudge of elbows. Right on left.
And vice versa.
The slapping of books on tables.
The turning of pages.
Flick. Flick. Flick.
Thirteen.
Highlighters screech over words.
But underneath it all; the awkwardness.
A silence from both ends.
Its over.
The chair is pushed towards the desk.
And then a cold shoulder.
An empty right.
A hollowness inside.
A sinking.
Then some false pretense.
Some thinking. In solitude.
A flight of stairs leading up but walked down.
And then some more.
Blue walls. Minimal decor.
The shelves.
Philosophy. Religion. Science.
Language- Art.
Sheets laying dead on eachother.
Black on white. The facts.
A seat by itself. Surrounded by many.
The whispering.
The cold, piercing silence.

An after-effect.
Action - Reaction.
Or a lack from both ends.
Maybe it's just the morning.
The cold outside.
The wind stabbing cores of inanimates.
And animates too.
To animate.
Animation.
Animated.
Mate.
Mating.
That's what the book was about.
Added some oppression.
Freedom to and freedom from.
Hollowness.
Emptiness.
Feelinglessness.
In turn that too is a feeling.
The feeling of not feeling.
A shared glimpse upon passing.
Dead sentiments which lay buried in the mud.
Nolite te bastardes carborundorum.
But it still happened.
Carpe diem.
But the day died too.
Dulce et decorum est.
But only if it's real.
And then another glimpse.
Another set of eyes.
The butterflies.
But, alas, it is winter.
The cold. The rain. The shoulder.
Dulce et decorum est.
But is it real?
The legs march on.
A stuttering of shoes.
The stuttering rifle's rapide rattle.
But is weaponary truly necessary?
Parallell lines on a paper. Short. 3mm.
Followed by a closing parenthesis.

And then a clock.
Tick Tock.
But the tock stops.
And then an end.
A concluding line.
A termination of flow.
-It's late. I must go-


Kudos if you read it all. References going out to M. Atwood and W. Owen, whose writings were the main inspiration for this.


Torii out,
V.

Day 13- Back to the End, Onward to the Beginning.

After two months of abstaining from adding anything to this blog, by negligence not choice, I believe it's time I do. As always this blog serves me as a procrastinatory catharsis, in that I should be finishing off a script due Friday and instead I'm on here- searching for ways to let my time go to the dogs.

Speaking about dogs, I want a kitten. Here's my final attempt at convincing my mum to let me get one:

Isn't that the cutest thing you've ever seen? 

 Probably not if you're not a fan of cats. My dog was much cuter than this when I first found him, but anyhow. I want a kitten. Cat in miniature, what ever.

Well, back to the main point of this. Today all MCAST ADI students get back to school and, being one myself, so do I. First lesson of the second half of the second semester - 2.2.1 - is advertising. Not really that interesting at all, and considering the thought of a 1 hour ride to and from Mosta for the sake of a 2 hour lecture, I would say that stoked is the least thing I am. At least, tomorrow we've got our editing class which, au contraire to the aforementioned, I await with great 'Antici --Pation'. If you didn't get that last reference, I suggest you turn your laptop on and watch The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

I leave you with a picture of what, back in the 70s, was a highly controversial film. 

Au revoire,
V.