October 15, 2009

The sweetest song, the saddest song.

srsly, though, forget about C++ being my bitch.

Welcome back to the CJ Curry Experience. Big shout outs to the one person who reads my blog: you know who you are.

Poems! They all speak to us, they all tell stories, they all want us to listen to them just so that we can feel better about our shitty little existence and sympathise with the characters having even shitter existences. From the mouths of prats in turtlenecks and beatniks at open-mics - with some exceptions (good old William - we used to call him "Spearey" back in the day) - they say everything whilst writing nothing. Enjoy mine.

(Incidentally, I fall under the "prats in turtlenecks" category, even though I don't own a single turtleneck. If you don't fall under either category, too bad. You're an exception.)



I hold you close
and I feel
a warm summer breeze on my neck
the soft touch of feathers on my back
silky smooth hair against my hand
and I hear
your gentle breathing,
soft and light
and relaxing
and I see
nothing but you,
your eyes, your hair, your face
the essence of my life
and I smell
your scent on your neck
it comforts me and mellows me
it is like no other in the world
I hold you close
and I can't let go

Afterthought: Ten points for guessing what my inspiration was. That's right - it was my computer.


At first, it is white
With maybe a blue tinge too
A beautiful sight

Then it is orange
But still nice and visible
Romantic to watch

Slowly it turns red
Getting harder to see now
Many eyes are strained

Deep against the night
It gets darker and darker
Slowly fades away

Finally, it's black
It is now no longer new
But quite out of sight

You can't see it now
The air, thick with smog and fumes
Our lungs will be next

Afterthought: not a pleasant thought, is it?


Creeping darkness
'Cross my eyes
Fall unconscious
Vivid pictures
In my mind
Alarm bell would be
So unkind

Afterthought: I could do with another one of those lucid dream things...


i think it was the petrichor -
the smell of rain after a long dry spell -
that woke me up.

i had left the window open
the light on
my curtains twitched open.

it was nearing the end of a nice, cool, fresh day.
light, fluffy clouds,
sunlight threatening to break through at any moment.
a soft breeze, making the curtains flap and flutter.

i lifted my head from my keyboard.

i saw, on the monitor, my assignment.
an hour ago, it had been intelligible.
now, a steady stream of 'x's filled the screen.

and suddenly,
gone were the smell
the sight
the warm glow i had felt

the assignment's due in two hours
and it's only half done

i hope that "xxxxxxxxxx" counts as one word
because there's no way i can finish this on time

well, better get going...

Afterthought: Based on a true story. I less-than-three petrichor.


i've lost track of the days
they come slowly
leave quickly

time is... a luxury
we can't afford it
we save it when we can
we plan it carefully

we all want more time
the time gods have better ideas

and they sentence us to an eternity
of procrastination
of too many tasks
of plans going awry
and - this is the best part, say the gods -
of time never flowing the way
we want it to

who can sleep soundly
knowing they have deadlines?

who can relax themselves
with assignments nagging at them?

who can go on a holiday
when there's too much to do at home?

and suddenly, it's neither slow enough
nor fast enough...

Afterthought: ...which is part of C++ not being my bitch.

**To those already familiar with this one, yes, I have included it elsewhere in a different format. I modified it slightly - and badly - but still, I like it.

Incidentally, have a happy "Fuck You" Friday!

Credits (listed in order of appearance)
CJ Curry               Vance Musgrove
The Blog Mikah Freeman
CJ's Computer Julian Hamilton
Moon Kim Moyes
Lungs Nick Littlemore
The 'X' Key Peter Mayes
The Time Gods Garry Cobain
Publicity Brian Dougans
Drunken Idiots C/- Mike Stroud
Personal Trainer Evan Mast
Foley Mixer Warren Fischer
Scriptwriter Casey Spooner
Special Thanks Ben Watt
Producer Tracey Thorn

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