Thursday, 31 May 2012
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
Monday, 28 May 2012
|"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
Saturday, 26 May 2012
Thursday, 24 May 2012
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.
Tuesday, 22 May 2012
|Heh heh. Suckers!|
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.
Monday, 21 May 2012
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.”
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.
Saturday, 19 May 2012
|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.
Friday, 18 May 2012
Thursday, 17 May 2012
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…
one day I will ride you through the mud - we both want me to.
Wednesday, 16 May 2012
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.
Monday, 14 May 2012
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 ...
Sunday, 13 May 2012
|Anchor related caption.|
- Guidance or recommendations concerning prudent future action, typically given by someone regarded as knowledgeable or authoritative.
- 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.
Saturday, 12 May 2012
|Pictured: A feather|
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
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.
Friday, 11 May 2012
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
Beer is the
sun that never, ever, ever, ever goes away.
Thursday, 10 May 2012
day ninjas took
__ /============== /””””\
`”\\;;.____//over the world, no one noticed.
_/./ Ninjas believe stealth is their
\;;;;;;-‘-’ most important trait so when
they succeeded in taking
while not once
being seen, they celebrated
their victory with much
fly kicking and sake.
This overtaking of
the land is done by
so stealthy and all of that shadowy business.
Wednesday, 9 May 2012
|Cheer up, me.|
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.
Tuesday, 8 May 2012
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
Monday, 7 May 2012
|Pop! Goes the something or other.|
“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.”
Sunday, 6 May 2012
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.
Friday, 4 May 2012
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.
Thursday, 3 May 2012
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.
Wednesday, 2 May 2012
|Yes, you. Stupid weather.|
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.
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, 1 May 2012
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.