Sunday, October 30, 2011

Do Not Be Afraid *bullshit cough*

"Do not be afraid" the angel said. 
Then handed Mary an AK47, 
a pack of bullets
and a steak for the dogs. 

"Do not be afraid" the angel said. 
Then beat Zechariah unconscious, 
and mute. 
So he didn't have to endure
9 months of pregnancy, 
30-odd years of parenting,
and the hideous conclusion
of his son's bloody death. 

"Do not be afraid" the angel said. 
Then gave Sarah an open womb, 
a good laugh, 
and the right to rape a slave girl. 

"Do not be afraid" the angel said. 
Then pulled Gideon out of his hole, 
gave him a pep talk
and let him loose
with a band of thirsty murderers. 

"Do not be afraid" the angel says. 
And the strangest consequences always follow. 

"Do not be afraid,
for I am with you says the Lord". 
Well you would know, 
this was all your idea in the first place. 

Do not be afraid, 
because like following orders
when you're a Private,
with a particularly thick-necked, vocal Sergeant, 
there is an incentive. 

But it's more than just 
a desire to avoid
a punishment 
created to make best use of
old toothbrushes
and polished concrete floors. 

It's a chance, 
an invitation. 
To be part of something better, 
bigger, weirder, scarier, more exciting and confusing
than anything we could devise,
if you gave us a million keyboards and a million monkeys. 

We've stepped into the mad-house with you. 
On a mad-cap mission
to a mad-dening world.

So we will be afraid. 

Which is why you have to keep repeating yourself. 

Please do. 


Saturday, October 22, 2011

To The Cyclist Who Swore At Me

I'm really sorry I bummed you out,
so badly you had to call me a f&%#ing idiot.

Hot sun,
crowded cars,
morning traffic.

I thought there'd be more gap
between me and the next car,
and less gap
between you and me,
one human being and another.

That space instead
would be filled,
with understanding,
and a shared grimace at the traffic.

But you exaggerated the space between
and filled it with hate.
Presumably on the assumption
that you were simply retaliating
to the same attitude from me,
with equal and therefore naturally justified force.

You lived like it's an eye for an eye world.
And I'm trying not to.
But I fail all the time.

So I cried.
Hot tears,
running down and filling my sunglasses.

I hadn't cried like that for a while.

The melting sunscreen stung my eyes,
perhaps the natural justice you looked for.


Monday, October 17, 2011

Bless the wind

Why have I so often interpreted
frustration, disquiet and anger,
as lack of confidence,

When a bird pushes
her fine, frail fledgling,
from the patiently feathered nest,
she would feel I presume,
even if just in a
"pure evolutionary sense",
just at the
"biological instinct" level,
a terror and reluctance
at the sheer impossibility of her task.

The child she has nurtured,
fed with her own vomit,
now has to be kicked out
into the wide, wild world.
To test her strength against
fell winds,
rabid dogs,
and that heartless bitch, gravity.

She doubts not her flesh and blood,
but the universe she will descend into.
Rapidly, painfully,
expecting doubt, trial and despair,
and only the survival of the fittest.
Unless your wind opens her wings,
uplifts her,
carries her off,
on warm currents,
to a safe and happy haven.

Bless your wind.

Monday, October 10, 2011

on B's birthday

We few, we medicated few, 
dedicated to the fight for survival. 

We few, we suicidal few, 
who ponder death as others choose their salad. 

We few, we desperate few,
who don't admit it, because we don't want to be dramatic. 

A self-censoring response,
to minimalise or marginalise our pain. 
It feels so out of place, 
so difficult to be taken seriously, 
until we 'do something about it'. 

"Do you have a plan,
to harm yourself or others?"

Covered for insurance purposes. 

I'm a quick strategic thinker, 
I could develop a plan
to turn my nightmare visions into reality. 

But I don't. 

Because I don't need to. 

You sit on the lid, 
keeping that darkness inside the box. 
Not unleashing it on me. 

But I understand when the few, 
the medicated/un-medicated, 
decimated, hopelessly hopeful few do. 

We ask, 
do not hurt or betray us. 

Take our shattered hearts
and give us new, clean, whole ones. 


Wednesday, October 5, 2011



I am so sick to death 
of disputes
false evidences
boring church services
limited ministries
petty people
facebook slurs
thoughtless repetition
thoughtless repetition
thoughtless repetition
thoughtless repetition
thoughtless repetition
stupid graspings after power
and crappy songs!

I despise myself
and the part I play
in this 

I hate the church!

And I know that for that 
I deserve to die...

Don't you hate it too

Just sometimes, 
when we're all being nasty to each other?

Just sometimes, 
when a pointless argument
wounds everyone in sight, 
needless collateral damage
to already dented egos?

Just sometimes, 
when we spend all our money, 
all our money, 
all our money,
on new paint and new programs?

I don't think you hate us
when we're just struggling to love each other.

When we've realised we could say hello,
go around and watch the footy,
maybe have a conversation in real life
instead of via email.

When do you hate us?