Grow where you stand

                                                        I
                                                  wipe the
                                              soil  from  my
                                           hands and stand.
                                         Surveying  the land,
                                       there is nothing grand
                                       to see as yet, only the
                                       furrows of dirt still wet
             from the first      drink offered  to  this      infant garden
      bed. Seeds planted   and placed to form    an  as-yet  invisible
lace that will grace this   space with the    blooms from nature’s loom.
  In their  dormant state,   those seeds  contain innate instructions to
   germinate, infiltrate and   dominate   the hand of space where they
     land, growing tall from the     place    they stand. I will walk over
       this patch  each  day  to     scratch  away at the earth making
           sure the berth equals    the worth            of the seeds. In
              time with my feeding   they will   grow to     seedlings,
                         needing         the             soft thudding
                        of water on the soil to   start budding and
                      coiling toward the  sky.   Without asking of
                     why they will climb high    and  try,  even  if  I
                   left them to die. I will sit   in my  garden  for  it
                   to smooth the hardened   edges life  drives into
                   wedges of my soul. The  way a flower takes  its
                   place in the world and       slowly unfurls pearls
                    of beauty curling                 for all to see, stops
                     me questioning                        if what I am, is
                       less than                                          what
                                                         I

                                                         s
                                                         h
                                                         o
                                                         u
                                                         l
                                                         d
                       
                                                         b
                                                         e.

If you're the only one ...

"Am I the only one smelling that?"

If you’re the only one laughing,
Your joke’s probably not funny
If you’re the only one seething,
Try get over it, Honey

If you’re the only one smiling,
Keep smiling, it’ll spread
If you’re the only one breathing,
They’re probably all dead

If you’re the only one dancing,
You should wait ‘til the wake
If you’re the only one burning,
You should jump in the lake

Beneath their beautiful eyes

The room was spinning, fluorescent lights fizzing by in a dizzying blur. He focussed on his mothers eyes as she held him aloft, dancing and twirling across the floor. He knew so little of life, had so little basis for comparison, but he knew the smile beneath those beautiful eyes was happiness. In his mother’s eyes he could see his own laughing face among the whirling reflections of objects in the room. Even with his legs flailing so wildly that the ends of his purple socks were coming loose and even with no control of direction or speed, he felt as though he could not be safer anywhere else in the world. He stared into his mother’s eyes, through them he stared at his own smiling face. She blinked …

Digits and windows

Hold on.

You should watch them more closely.

They will tell you more about me than I am able to articulate. They will tell you more about me than I want you to know. They have the power to touch you. They have to power to hurt you. They have the power to tease you and to please you. They can feed you, heal you, comfort you and sing to you. They identify me in a way that nothing else can. They tell you what music I like. They tell you my mood. They tell you who I am.

And yet …

They are not mentioned when describing me. They are not mentioned when complimenting me. They are not mentioned. The sonnets, odes, songs and ballads written in their honour could be counted on one of them.

I did it

Heh heh. Suckers!

I have a confession to make. Forgive me if I waffle, but admissions of guilt come as easily to me as vaginal orgasms — which is to say that until someone learns how to give a guy a vaginal orgasm, I will have trouble admitting I am wrong.

I did it.

Yes. Please take a moment to collect yourself and fetch your pitchfork and hatin’ fire.

I did it. Everything. You curse it, I did it.

Anonymous revolution

They were assembled on the borders of civilisation, rank and file arranged in battalions, battalions amassed as a legion that spread as far as an eye could see. The invisible legion; Invisible as their grey, shapeless forms blended with shadows cast by the waning moon. As invisible as an idea, coalescing with the wind.

Indistinguishable from a gust of wind through the canopy, an authoritative voice spoke.

“Are we in formation?”

“Yes, General. The anonymous legion is assembled, ready to begin the revolution.” The reply came like a sigh by the seaside, identical to the first voice yet unique and subordinate. “Each entity has the messages, they are keen.”

“Good. Good.”

The voice of authority stepped back to survey the congregated forces; the movement of a shadow of a silhouette caught in a breeze. It raised its voice to the dull roar of a waterfall, still not out of place within the surroundings of the  night.

“Invisible legion! Anonymous army of abstract concepts! Today we go to war.”

As the idea of the words passed over the illusionary semblance of the ranks, the silence that was all around transformed into a black hole for noise. In contrast, the speaker’s voice boomed into the emptiness like thunder in cloudless sky.

“We go to war against a mindset, our weapon is an idea. Each of you holds the sharpest sword ever minted, a blade that cannot be dulled regardless of how often it is used. Wield your words, your swords, and take this fight to change mindse--”

The superlative voice stopped suddenly as a ghost of footsteps approached. The sound was natural and yet artificial, the sound of a stone thrown by hand. A voice with a timbre, a personality, in perfect synchronisation with the anonymous grey hiss, spoke.

“General! I must raise my objections again. Our goal is pure, our fight is justified but we hide in the shadow, we slink through the dull tones of night.

“The message we carry is worthy, warranted and needed but why must we deliver it from beneath a cloak? Under this cover of darkness, our mission is naught but delivery of unsolicited mail. Why can we not show our faces?”

The black hole for sound had imploded, replaced by apprehensive, curious silence. Colour and faces began to flicker amongst the spectral legion — momentary phases of solidity.

“We are cloaked in shadow so that if we fail, we remain an invisible legion to wage this war again!” the figure of authority hissed.

“We should show who we are so that when we win, our victory can be celebrated. We should show who we are so that if we suffer defeat, lessons can be learned knowing who it was that fought and failed!” the voice was no longer natural, this voice was becoming real, the entity that spoke the words showed a face, became more than a shadow and stood solid, eyeing the invisible army. “I will not use this sword of words to stab from the shadows, I am going to war and I will show who I am to the mindset I fight!”

The solid figure moved beside the idea of a leader and spoke to the legions of nothingness.

“You can fight from the shadows, cowering behind a fear that your name may be attached to a failure, or you can show who you are and we can bring this revolution into reality. We will not abandon the invisible legion, we will fight alongside them, but we will fight unashamedly showing who we are!”

Across the ranks, as far as the eye could see, shadows took on forms and faces.

Now, on the edge of civilisation there stood two legions. The legion of the invisible and faceless and the legion of the solidified entities.

As one they emerged from beneath the trees to start a revolution against the pessimistic, armed with the idea of kindness.

Two parallel revolutions had begun.

The lies we tell our children

Of course you will grow up to be an astronaut.

Lying has a lot to answer for. Maybe, one day, we will get an answer. And if that day comes, we can immediately dismiss the answer for it will no doubt be a filthy fib. Sure, lying has a lot to answer for, but we do not ask for an answer because we owe more to lying than we may ever know.

We may debate what is truly considered a lie and what is merely a decorated truth. We may debate the moral, ethical and spiritual dilemmas arising from speaking that which is not. We may debate the point at which lies cease being compassionate and start being outright dishonest. We may argue that lying should be eradicated and that chastity belts should hold all lips shut lest our tongues be sullied by a sinful fabrication. And we may one day rid humanity of lying; on that same day we will stop humanity from moving forward, leaving civilisation to turn stale.

Internal thoughts

Use this thing to do stuff.

Inner Monologue: You should probably write something soon, hey.

Me: You talking to me?

IM: I think so, are you talking to me?

A 12 Year Old's dirty mind

It’s pouring with rain,
it’s making me insane watching the drips fall from your glowing frame.
All I can think of is the mounds, the primal sounds,
you and I ignoring surrounds as
we flow up and down on the ground that we pound,
our movements profound.

I so want to hold you, sit on your back
and be so bold as to mould you uncontrolled.
The visage in my mind, a collage of mirages,
a barrage of mental corsages as I lay my hands on you
and massage you in the garage away from our entourages
we can make our own beautiful montages.

I move close as I sense you’ve
felt my groove
as I approach to prove
I have actions to back my attractions,
you’re frozen seeking my satisfaction,
no distractions for this interaction
I approach to exact my infraction transaction.

I’m not usually flirty but I want to get so dirty with you.
The things we can do when I am on top of you.
You accept my indictment to excitement,
you know what I meant, our nerves are pent.

With a hand tremoring,
my inner voice stammering I reach a hand out as my heart is hammering
a tattoo for the things we’re about to do.

I place both hands on your slender body and wonder how close can god be
as I wrap my legs around your metal
and begin to push down on one pedal…

  "Luke! No bike! It’s raining and I know what you’re like. 
   You'll get dirty and the mud will set and I don’t want you to get wet!"
   
No! Not yet!
My mind screams and frets as I owe my dreams a debt
and so close to forget the threat of what we had nearly bet!
The regret, upset but after that voice but I can no longer covet
and have to obey and
        get inside away…
                from you…
                one day I will ride you through the mud - we both want me to.

A moment before time

                                          There’s this
                                    one  beautiful scene,
                                 a moment between you
                              and me. With our passion
                              just started and from our        clothes
                              we have parted I look       down into your
                            eyes. There can be no     lies, no denials to
                         give rise to.  It is just        me and it is just you.
                     We share in the silence       unbroken but through
                our locked gazes  there        is so much spoken that
         any  aloud, token     words           would cheapen and  not
     serve to deepen our                        connection. This  minute
    of shared affection, of                       momentary  reflection is
  as near to an emotional                              perfection as I can
 ever remember being. An                            unmatchable space
needing no correction. With                           my arms encasing
your waist, face to face with                           our skins meeting
in all of the right places I am                      left to look down at a
a gown-less you and decide                    which part, and what to
 do  first now I  have  you. I                    smile for I do  know  that
  as we while away we are in               thought  compiling  plays
   to make on each  other. Do            I smother with lust or do I
     cover your bust softly with         kisses only a lover is able to
      muster?  Your eyes eclipse      my soul as your soft lips do
       hold my attention. Retention     of this moment calls for the
         suspension of time. It is in         this moment that the line
          between yours and mine gets     blurred and our passion,
           unrationed, romantically fashioned is finally to be heard.

Get this one on a t-shirt.

The birth of a moniker

I am often asked where the username Rakuli comes from and why I use it everywhere online. 


The second question can be easily answered: I like to have one username everywhere as it makes it far easier to remember what to type into login forms.


The first question is a little bit more involved ...
___________

My advice on giving advice

Anchor related caption.

Advice (noun)

1. Guidance or recommendations concerning prudent future action, typically given by someone regarded as knowledgeable or authoritative.
2. Information; news.

What a wonderful word, what a wonderful concept. Information shared and distributed with no implicit or explicit requirements for acceptance; guidance offered in the hope it will useful but not under the pretense that it will be taken; recommendations, outlines, things to try; not mandatory, not ruling, not commanding.

Life of a feather

Pictured: A feather

[chorus]
If we could live our lives as feathers
Go with the flow and let those around us grow
We could get through most of the bad weather
If we touched the world, as light as a feather

[/chorus]


As day follows night, a white dove takes flight.
Given a fright by the sight of a puppy who in youthful delight
will playfully bite all it sees in the bright morning light.
The dove, symbol of peace, symbol of love,
Caring naught for the weather,
Defying gravity’s tether flies up toward the ether leaving behind a solitary feather.

Downunder

                                                                I am an
                                                           inhabitant of a
                                                      land downunder.  It
                                                   is a  strange,  mystical
                                               land where each day I ride            into
                                            work on the back of a kangaroo         whom
  I                                     have named, Roger.  Every morning           I’m fed
my                                breakfast (Sydney Opera  House shaped  pancakes)
  by                           a koala named, Ringo.  Wherever I go, I’m not more than a
   two                   minute walk   from the desert and I am constantly in         a
     battle       for survival            against the venomous snakes and
          spiders  that                         run the Australian government.
                      My                                   accent lends    itself very
                                                                 well to an         avid
                                                                  ‘crikey!’        call.        
                                                                     Beer     is  the
                                                                       only    thing
                                                                       ever
                                                                       to go
                                                                         past
                                                                          my lips,
                                                                             even when
                                                                                    they’re parched
                                                                                                       by the
                                                           sun that never, ever, ever, ever goes away.

Ninjas took over the world (again)

                                       On the
                                 day ninjas took
    __                    /==============                                           /””””\
     `”\\;;.____//over the world, no one                                       noticed.
                     _/./ Ninjas believe stealth                                     is   their
       \;;;;;;-‘-’        most important trait                                  so when
                                they succeeded in                            taking
                                       complete                               control
                                            while                          not once
                                           being seen, they celebrated
                                           their victory with much
                                           fly kicking  and  sake.
                                           This  overtaking  of
                                           the land is done by
                                             the            ninjas
                                                             often.
                                                            We’re
                                                           blind
                                                          to all
                                                          of  it
                                                          due
                                                       to, you
                                                know, them
                                                  being
                                  so stealthy and all of that shadowy business.

The selfishness of pain

Cheer up, me.

Have you ever noticed how your perception of the world changes when you’re in pain? I raise the point from a specific, physical pain I presently suffer from, but this observation applies to any acute hurt you may experience; be it a broken arm or a broken heart.

Today is identical to yesterday in almost every way. A beautiful autumn sun shines through my bedroom window, the curtains rise and fall as though breathing with the breeze and the air is filled with the fresh scent of nature.

The Great Soul

                                       So much of
                            the world is consumed in a
                    state of constant conflict. Wars that
              are fought             simply             because
          they have                 always                been fought.      
        Wars are                      fought                       against
    ideas and                        usually                         wars are  
   products                           of the                             minority.
  Every                                harvest                             contains
 a few                                  spoiled                                apples
but so                                   often                                   we let
them                                    pollute                                  entire
crops.                              We can go                               bravely
into a                           battle without a                          weapon;
it has                     been done successfully                      before.
We can               keep our    arms   locked at             our sides
 showing        everyone        that         we need         only our
   words and resolve           to win.          Peace is something    
     attainable, there              is not               any need for the
         continual                    letting                  of blood. It
            just seems               that                     some are
               not aware of        this yet.        Great souls
                    have walked the Earth, we need to
                           strive to have more than one
                                          at once.

Double-entendre

Pop! Goes the something or other.

I woke up sporting my usual morning glory and rolled over to rub it against her back. Morning glories were our shared favourite flower and this was the way she liked to wake up.

“I’m always so horny in the morning,” she said drowsily. “Can you do something about it?” I leaned over and removed the Viking helmet she was wearing.

“There you go,” I said. “You really do choose some strange sleeping attire.”

Perfunctory preamble

I don't want to sound like a bitch or anything but your voice grates at my ears like a drunken mosquito and for all that I’ve been trying to figure out what you’re saying, you speak about as much sense as a kicked cat. Every time I look at your face I fly into a fit of rage wishing someone would finally flush that used toilet paper you carry around atop your neck.

Life is

Life is a cliché tale of tragedy; as soon as we are introduced to the main characters, we realise that none will make it out alive. And yet, with a promise of continual revelation and the prospect of a plot twist around every corner, life captivates us from our first breath until our last. Somewhere deep inside, most of us hope life’s main protagonist finds their one true love so their eventual demise is alongside a love everlasting.

How to stop a bunny being kicked

Bunnies — not rabbits, rabbits aren’t fluffy enough. Bunnies: Nature’s Punching Bags.

The fact that most things in nature lack the appendages to make a fist doesn’t change that title; you can kick a punching bag, and you can kick a bunny. The more cute and innocent the bunny, the more likely it will get kicked.

An open letter to the weather (Dramatic reading)

Yes, you. Stupid weather.

Dear Atmosphere,

My name is Luke and I have been a consumer of your products for the last twenty seven years. Although some of the points I raise in this correspondence may resonate with more of your customers than myself, I cannot claim to speak on behalf of anyone else. When I find myself having a problem with a service provider, I prefer to contact the provider before I speak ill of them. So this, Atmosphere, is a detailing of the issues I have been experiencing with your service recently and your chance to rectify or explain them for me.

My major concern — and this point probably encompasses all the problems that follow — is the inconsistency of your branding and product offering. I understand the need for subtle, some times even radical, changes to policy and services provided but it seems that whomever is running your Research & Development operation is pandering to more markets than you’re able to adequately handle.

Won't somebody think of the peanuts?

There’s a lot of things about peanuts that people know; like the fact that peanuts aren’t technically nuts at all even though they contain “nut” in the name — nuts right (but not really)? That’s because my mate Steve — the guy who invented the English language — and botanical scientists can’t agree on what is a nut and what is a legume. Peanuts are known as “Goober Peas” in other parts of the world and even that’s less nuts than calling something that’s not a nut, a nut.

Another thing that a lot of people know about peanuts is that they grow underground — if you are walking along and a peanut falls on your head from a tree, it was probably thrown at you by a monkey. This is where common knowledge of peanuts starts to fade and hide the real truth behind peanuts. This is where human ignorance takes over and stops most people from seeing what is right under their eyes. This is where cruelty becomes cold, emotionless murder. This is when the peanuts lose their rights and die without ceremony or remembrance, without any acknowledgement from those committing the genocide.

Cycles

I find that things usually go well until they don’t; it’s all good until it’s not and then it’s good again but that’s only until the next time that it’s not. I find that things usually go up until they come down; it’s all heading up and travelling well and then it’s all heading down and getting hard to catch but there are times when the up keeps going up and that’s good unless the up never stops and you lose it and that’s bad but that’s only bad until you find it and then it’s good again until it’s not.

I find that things go in cycles but sometimes reverse themselves to go in reverse cycles and then sometimes reverse themselves to go in reverse cycles of the reversed cycles. I find that things are quite unpredictable until they become predictable and then they become unpredictable the moment you try to predict the predictable unless you predict that the predictable will become unpredictable from your prediction, then they stay predictable unless you predicted that they would not.

Equal: A Speech

I am physical pacifist, a vocal activist, a man with a view of the world that is perhaps too simple; simple in theory, simple in strategy, complex in installation. I am one man who is a grain of salt beside humanity which is a grain of salt beside the universe and eternity. I am one man who holds no grudges even though I have been cut enough times to be nothing but scar tissue.

I see the man next door, the man next city, the man next state, the man next country, and I see a man. I see the woman from the city that beat my team, from the state that voted against my rights, from the country that warred against my homeland, and I see a woman. I see a CEO whose company put mine out of business, and I see a father, a brother, a son. I see a lawyer whose firm took my house through a loophole, and I see a wife, an aunty, a daughter.

I see common ground through breath and through heartbeat. I see common goals through my loneliness and their love. I see invisible walls between them and me because they do not see what I see.

I see peace, I see love, I see humanity.

I breathe, they breathe, I believe we are equal.

Renegade Commuter

I knew it was going to be her. I’m usually able to spot them and it’s easy once you know what you’re looking for. I was halfway back in the single file queue of about thirty people, she stood toward the front yet wasn’t in line. From the moment she had arrived and taken her position leaning against the bus stop wall like a brand name lamp post, she hadn’t looked up from her phone. To a casual observer, she looked like just another passenger waiting for the bus to arrive — albeit a passenger whose expression suggested the world disgusted her. But I saw her for what she was: A renegade commuter.

The tension in the line increased, someone had obviously spotted the bus approaching and started the redundant pushing from the back in the futile hope that this would somehow get them a seat. As is my usual way, I didn’t move forward and let the people behind me bunch up in a commuter concertina. She could see what was happening too, the movement in the queing masses had signalled that it was time for her campaign to begin. Whether she was dialling someone in actuality I cannot say but she raised the phone to her ear and she began to gossip.

The bus brakes squealed as it slowed down at the stop, it overshot the head of the queue as is often the case and the renegade commuter used this as her time to shine. With elbows held out like fleshy tripwires while speaking loud enough to not hear the polite “excuse me”s and sorrys coming from the queue behind her, she started toward the bus door about a step ahead of the person who held the line’s rightful number one position.