Expressing my isms.

What are we if not individuals?


I strive for an original idea, the ability to break free from the group mentality.

So I sit down and dedicate, some time, end up replicate-ing the lines that I must have read in a previous lifetime.

What happens then seems unavoidable, I stop making sense.

As a writer this anomaly makes me extremely tense.


All I want to do is offer you something new.

But throughout my ramblings all I find are things I’ve read before.

This fact leaves, me dejected, tired, bored.

So I pick up a notebook and scribble furiously new and exciting words:

Giflamby, rompooftemom, nukkanukkanoo.

They may not make any sense but at least they are true.


May was wasted on me, where writing is concerned. Experiences and work, on the other hand weren’t in short supply.

I find myself sitting on the couch again, the boobtube threatening to suck me in. You work, do something social and when you get home you are tired. Writing seems a daunting task. Weekend comes and you are faced with more social obligations, some of them in spectacular places, some of them too good to forget but too packed to remember in any detail. Yeah, May was a write-off but June can still be saved. Setting myself some writing projects is the name of the game. Break free from May, into June.

The first time I experience freedom was when I asked if my mom would give me a lift to my friend’s house and she replied with a casual, “Take your bike.” I suddenly realised I could go places on my own. Of course there were limits, don’t go across the main roads and stuff like that. Naturally I still had to let them know where I was going, but I was free.

This freedom became limited though when I went to high schol in the town next door to ours. Suddenly I had to rely on my parents again to get me places. There were many moments of freedom, many that I wasted as well by rebelling against what i felt were restrictions on my fun. Everyone always saw me as a relaxed guy, even though I felt more caged in than chilled out.

My first taste of freedom came again in my first year of university when I got a car. We packed that baby full. I quickly had a cheap CD player and some pretty decent speakers rigged up and the next few years flew by. I winged about living at home. But for the most part I did what wanted and lived the student life to the fullest. Unfortunately my first car got written off, but i soon had a new one. It was one of those rare moments where something was so totally not your fault that the insurance actually pays out in spades. I could stay free.

The next real taste of freedom I got was when finally in my fifth year in university, doing my Post Grad in Education I moved into my own flat.I hated the course. But I bit the bullet and pushed through with the course. The bar I worked at was near my flat. I had a great flatmate and I was sort of standing on my own two feet.

After University I moved to Taiwan with my girlfriend. We have been here for three years now and are loving every minute. The over whelming freedom you feel living away from home is initially in an intense battle with the realisation that you are now dependent on your own lazy ass. So you get off it and you find a job. Mobile freedom in this country means a scooter/moped/motorcycle, various forms of two-wheeled traffic surfers. A scooter gets you where you need to go and takes a bigger load than you’d expect. On our 125cc’s we’ve trekked over mountains, through typhoons and right around the island. They move, but as you stay longer you slowly start to feel trapped by them. I miss a car, I miss going away on weekends and stacking the boot full, I want to buy a long board and take it with me to places and shred down hills, I think I might get a car.

I think we don’t ever feel free. If we did we might stop striving for better things. Better experiences, a better job, a better lifestyle, better education, personal improvement in general. I guess we should be thankful for all our shackles so that we may have the opportunity to break free from them.


Today only!
On parade,
What’s with this horrid stage?
And once again,
human control
Its daily toll.


Floating in a sea of disillusion,
atop a tiny island.
There I stand.
The heat rising around me.
The ocean rolling less and less.
How will I escape from this mess?


a suave name; sort of.
Exotic some might say.
X-Rays was his game.
Mad science a hobby.
His greatest success became
his greatest folly.
But to him,
the destruction of the Earth
was but a side note.

Sunday Repose – Swan Song

A tear opened up in the darkness,

light and warped images blurred his vision.

The small craft he was in bucking from the

gravitational pull coming from the incision.

His mind was racing, thoughts contesting

what had brought him to this decision?

With the sound of a gigantic collision

an enemy ship tore forth from the tear.

And he,

lonely and out of his mind

answered its aggressiveness in kind.

Cannons blazing he rode into oblivion.


I’m Zuess and I’m a rapper, foh drizzle.
I make it rain with my water hose nizzle.
Many people thought it was angel pizzle,
raining down on earth’s cradle, cribble.
Now watch me make my lightning strike,
I’m Zuess, puny humans take a hike!


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