No exception.

I think of some words and
The first to appear is
They
Not me, I'm not included
I'm somehow different
and in different I am better.

I know some people
They strive for a unique appearance.
As the worst thing could be forgotten.
I believe that. The worst thing is to
be forgotten.
That drives us to try.

Why tales of heroism
Tend to be the favorite tales
Why we study the villain
Why every story contains the fate of the
Earth.
When really,

No decision ever really mattered
but we all enjoy when we are flattered

Melbourne.

We moved from focus

We enjoyed ourselves.

We did tourist things.

We took lame photos in a mirror before we left.

We captured the moment.

We watched a few gentlemen play styrofoam cups.

We looked pretty.

 We read menus.

We tried on clothes that cost more than their worth.
We learnt about things we could have learnt from home.

We sung in interesting places.

We danced when we sung.

We loved. 

 We looked dumb.

 We went to museums.

 We saw art exhibitions. 

We stole ideas. 

 We looked more.

 We did this a bit.

We waited patiently.

I appreciated the people I could appreciate at home. 

And I'm happy to now know them.

#lyf

With a language so thick it rivals the silhouette of the new aged man
A world where all words are borrowed
Where even the unsaid has been said, said
So much it is re-said, written, appropriated, misappropriated
Photographed, then re-photographed as a caption painted on a
Piece of cardboard held by a homeless man. So deep
And meaningful, my sarcasm sickens me, as I
Mock the only aspects of human life that is left redeemable. Finally
You've seen something, but just because
Something is new to you, it has actually been
Explored, exported, exposed, and then expired, for lives
Of others have been dedicated to one tiny feature of what you just
Thought for the first time.

Following the knowledge of everything, the
Varsities of scientific knowledge, constantly revolutionizing
The world, the distance this century
Has gained over others before.

Why then haven't I grown? They have
Merged and circulated. And circulate and they
Keep on going, until we don't know the origins
Anymore. But like a circus tent missing the center support
Beam, will technology be our only saviour? Is
Technology our only originality of this time.

When irobot rises, I will become a
Believer, or whatever the second coming goes
Like. Not like I know. I am the
First generation raised on veggie tales as the
Only biblical teach.
Is it an idiom or just another idiot?
I can scarcely see my own
Feet, than trace my own beginnings. Sad, I was
Culturally raised to not see past my next meal, I cannot even
Plan for a future that could revolutionized even
My cat's next birthday.

There is so many things going on, but none
Of them Important. None of them worthy of any note.
We need to do more daily then help ourselves. We are
Meant to work our mindful jobs serving
Chaplin's huge machine, so someone can import
Themselves and relax by a white poolside
With children to grow up in a giant party that
Burns them out just before 30 with one nostril remaining, a
Powerful wardrobe and track record that Satan can pass
Shame on. So what is the point of that then.

Someone tell me, tell me anything tell me
Everything you have to say, even any thought that
Has flashed through that void of a space you have.
You think all this for so long anything to hit
Anything to inspire. Then smelling like corn
Wrapped in suede with a
Black scarf tightly holding a head in place
Sit down to occupy the seat next
To me. Tell me anything,
Just as long it isn't an Ironic Cliché.

Little Camper Man

Today I stole part of a child's assignment.
I'm not proud of myself.
Waltzing Matilda was the title,
of a diorama of an old box.
The inside was covered in bush trees
containing remanence of bush trees.

Some ladies praised it,
from their approval I knew I wanted it.
When the buses pulled in,
everyone pulled out, with all eyes off,
Mine remained on as I slipped in my shopping bag,
the little camper man.

I'm considering giving it to my mother for Christmas,
A thought, I'm even more ashamed of.

Nudes

We always used to share them
They made me laugh. You
would wait for everyone's bed
time. Then you would make
Your way out of clothes. Snap
up a moment. Mine forever.

I saw my mum yesterday.
Visited her, the first in four
years. She handed me an
old usb, containing all old
pictures I kept. Little anime
girls. Then glory-full, you.

My poor mother, to have
seen my shame. As you
stood out the back of a friends
covering nothing, playing
handball with no one.
Edited in high contrast
afternoon light, more my delight.

An Afternoon.

I don't want to.
I'm sorry I sat quiet,
But I didn't know how to break to you,
I didn't want to have sex.
I'm not like you,
I've a heart
I learnt promiscuity only made me feel uncomfortable.
You wouldn't know,
You think it is a mark of success
Mark of male-hood
You don't know life
You'll look back one day and wonder where you went wrong
I can see it now,
You're constantly wrong.
You are harboring someone you love in there,
Hoping one day she will come back.
I can't imagine how you do it.
But you still lie there stroking my bum.

I cringe at the thought, if I didn't hesitate.
I need trust myself more.
I shouldn't second guess me,
I am embarrassed for letting that incident come to pass.
Even if nothing happened.