Monday, 29 August 2011


There's very little to be said
About what goes on inside my head.
What cannot be seen or heard to shout
Is not what I want spread about
It's there, and it's mine, and I want it.
No, you can't have it.

A song, a dance, a mysterious glance
I'll keep you guessing, my mind undressing.
But for every layer you take off
You'll soon learn it's not enough
My thoughts are my own, my precious
You can't have them—so stuff it.

And yet, for lack of curiosity,
I'll feed you more, just to see
If I can get some small reaction
So I can give you some rejection
If you don't want them—
I don't either.

Friday, 26 August 2011


Just finished the 2008 film Juno, starring Jason Bateman, Jennifer Garner, Michael Cera, and, as the title character, Ellen Page. It was a funny film, crudities aside. It was even less callous morally than a lot of films these days. But what did it actually say? What was the point of it? I'm going to spoil it, more or less, for those of you who haven't seen it. Read on if you don't care.

Juno is going to have a baby. She's 16 years old. Her dad and step-mom are shocked and horrified at the news. She wants to have it taken care of—abortion. But when she goes to get it done, she can't seem to manage it. She finds a couple who want a baby and would like to adopt hers, decides she likes them, and forms a relationship with them only to discover the husband is leaving his wife and might, possibly, consider Juno as a replacement. Juno has the baby, hooks up with her one night stand from school, and sings some songs as we see the child, after he's born, given to the now single mother of the adoptive parents Juno was interested in.

There's moments the film could have said something about abortion, or premarital sex, or steady relationships being a necessary and healthy part of a good family, or the evils of divorce, or the fact that God created people to be parents together—a husband, a wife; a mother, a father. That's the way it should work, and that's what should be endorsed by correctly-thinking people.

But take the moment the film answers the question of abortion: there are positives and negatives to getting an abortion, and with practised ease the story shoves the familiar idea that whatever you want to do is fine, it doesn't matter one way or the other—oh, and you should believe in yourself or something. Right. One opportunity wasted.

Thousands of opportunities come up to discuss premarital sex; most of them are taken—but it's never a subject taken on any other grounds than that it should be expected and, while it can have unfortunate consequences, it's no big deal really. After all, that's what condoms are for, and that's what we really need: berry flavoured protection. If we just had that, it'd be no big deal. A moral question, a big moral question, and it's ignored as heavily as the first.

But what about marriage in general? In some ways, the film speaks most strongly about this, more than any others. And that's not a good thing. The seemingly happy and perfect relationship between the attractive couple wanting to adopt is shattered in a senseless act of story-murder, and without reason or precedent, we are slapped in the face with the destruction of the lives of characters we've come to understand and expect differently from. There's no opportunity to fix what's happened; there's very little emotion involved whatsoever, in fact. It's just that people who don't love each other any more should get divorced, or are permitted to, and that's life. Right? There is one statement made, by Juno, that people who were in love once can be in love again, and that Mark needs to suck it up and stick around. But even this statement is given from a skewed perspective.

The film had a storyline filled with potential truth or falsehood. Instead, the only thing that it's actually saying is, it's all good—premarital sex, maybe even waiting; abortion, if that's what's right for you, and if not, give it up for adoption; he doesn't like the idea of being a father? well, he can get a divorce, that's cool, and she'll raise the kid, that's cool; oh, and I'll shack up with my friend turned boyfriend, cause that's true love, and that proves that people can stick together and relationships can last.

But the fact is, the books, films, motivational speeches, and friendly advice that is written, portrayed, or spoken have as much to say as Juno did. And as crudely. Absolutely nothing. Words, words, words. Hamlet would be as unhappy in our day as he was with his own. Be yourself, trust in yourself, believe in yourself, have faith, in yourself, or in belief itself, or in spirituality—hang on, what? There's no substance. It's words, designed to make us feel better about ourselves, designed to cover up the feelings of guilt we may deserve to wear, or the idea that maybe there's something else that matters, something that isn't people or earth gods—something, someone, rather, who's in charge and says that it does matter, actually, what you do, who you are, how you act. Someone who says, "I created you. Do as you're told."

No one wants to know that, unless they already know it, though. And I know that. I expect it. But if you're afraid to come out and say something one way or the other, if you won't stand up for your belief, right or sinfully wrong, then you might as well say nothing at all.

Thursday, 25 August 2011

Heedless, the Fool

Heedless, the fool, who knows his folly
And will not look back to stop.
Headlong toward the brink he runs
So unafraid of death.

Heading for a lover's dark demise
Knowing well the many lies
Are wisps of truth dressed in black ties.
So he runs, as his heart cries.

Reckless, foolish, brave, the fool
Makes fleet footsteps toward the gate
Loving what cannot be loved
Choosing the wrath of care than the pain of hate.

Wednesday, 24 August 2011

Cryptocity is a Word Unto Itself

How can you know
A feeling is genuine?
How do you know
That it's real?

What do you make
Of a first impression?
And how do you keep
The heart still?

A wandering organ
To put it quite crassly;
A vessel of blood
Very wild.

It does what it wills
And never obeys me
A bastardised son:
My brain child.

Thursday, 11 August 2011

I miss the sweet sound of grass in the springtime
And the scent a smile has, just before it fades.

I look for the sweet perfume a flower has,
But I cannot find it—only an empty pit.

Nothing for me there, nothing for me here.
And so I walk away, thinking on the past.