Just a quick night-before-the-night-we-leave post.
I'm in the middle of packing.
You know what I'm taking?
10 pairs of socks.
Some of those things you wear under your pants.

And maybe a  t-shirt, and some cords. But most of all lots of empty space. Lisa Simpson style.

I haven't been overseas in a very long time.  I think having no piano will be one of the bigger challenges to my sanity I have had to face in a while, good thing they have piano shops, maybe I will visit the Bosendorfer showroom as Seinfeld's Art Vandelay or AG Pennypackerand test drive their 9 foot concert model. You know. Cause I have the money...

Happy Fun Dynamite times to everyone.
Sad I didn't get the chance to catch up with everyone before we leave, but you know.
Wish me luck.
-Matt

[	Current Location	|	The bermuda triangle	]
[	Current Mood	|	optimistic	]
[	Current Music	|	Landslide- Fleetwood Mac	]

Ok, so:

Yesterday I did it.
Walking out of the centre, to the car park, and the fifteen minutes trip home, I had a smile so wide I became the cheshire cat as I faded from coles like a faint memory.

That is to say: I'm no longer a coles whore (now I'm only the other kind... hey: a man's gotta eat something)

Add this to the landslide of changes, and for the next few months:
-Quitting Coles (those stank ass muthas)
-New York (including Simone and fun, and a Julianne cameo)
-Turning twenty one
-Catching up with my ol' buddy Tori (including a trip to Sydney to see my fam)
-Hopefully getting some P's
-My Micheal shaped friend coming back from Germany
(And I just arranged Singing lessons)

Things may just be a little different around these parts...

Coming down from a freedom buzz,
Time to take the reins of these holiday wolves.
First things first, is to clean out the lair, am I right? (or maybe it's to turn the pig sty into a lair?)

Sudden news stories like the train crash really get to me. 
I think its 'cause I'm still in creative writing mode and have an insanely overactive imagination at the moment, 

In other news, was that your man, Andy, who they charged?? I only saw a brief news headline about a handbag assault guy being charged...

Stay safe people. And good luck for those still with exams.

Homefire:

Currents move along the streams that take in scents

Then were lured and rolling through

Rivers and streams by waters that carried them now

Down through the town.

A flickering whisper along by the water’s edge lit up a man,

His face warmed roundly in lightening dim at the dawn

And I spot him starting a flame.

That is the story that spoke from the rooftop;

I chased him, was running when I saw the lights.

The cause of the fire was known and the burning

It couldn’t be stopped, so just running.

I lost my step at the end of a Bridge, past the blue backed roofs of stone

Across them I heard a murmur:

“And could you make a promise? Swear it, and keep it,

I dare you out with it.” She said

“Learn your skill well, you will need it.”

And they set off through the cold light.

But that was a long time ago:

Now? Wet all day.

Drinking wet.

Come to a pot; kick it along, on the trail where the clean water runs.

It forms easily in puddles and streams that mimic the old rivers

Down the sides of the streets of that town.

The icy winds blow from the east, and have done so for the past season.

It was not normally a place of such cosy clusters in the houses, or of the normal tides.

The normal tides of skidding children now hushed by winter air

To the warmth of the indoor huddles, and the woollen overtones.

I had begun to think of ways to leave, well before they had returned.

They moved now in the strangest of ways.

Feet barely touching the ground as cloth wound over the ankle,

Propelling them forward as upright fish.

“It’s in the rustling,” she thought to herself,

“That we find the answers needed to pass back through this way.”

But this all had been set; they had their wings,

I watched carefully as she arranged her folds so neatly.

And the wanderers had prepared their campsite in the centre of the town.

Asking for nothing of the townsfolk but their square of land.

Then came their point of departure.

When the plans and their dowry went suddenly to the wind in an act of faith.

How swiftly their return could not be judged. As it could not before.

But still their fired burned down to the last twig, burning strong.

(I'm not sure about the title, though its better than this ones previous title,
And the end probably needs to be re-worked.
My Ron-man tutor guy (who gave us champagne today, and we had chocolate covered muffins) asked me where it came from, and its just a little story about how people seem to be now jet setting all over the place, even if that place is just the other side of town and they actually travel by car, where the "murmering woman" and the "fire-starting man" are taken from the life of our main character, and how when people return we sometimes feel less sure about ourselves, we see their changes more than how they are still ours, and... you sometimes realise that they are not still yours. And maybe they never were. You need to allow some give and take, because at any second they could be gone again.)

So, my buddy Gabby Meathrel has asked me to come back from my musical hiatus for one night  as a favour to her(My rule was that I wasn't going to play again until I got a singing teacher, so I didn't die..but)
So. If anyone is free on friday night and/or wants somewhere to procrastinate while studying (seriously, we could all bring our study notes and sit in a corner before hand if we feel in that way. I will be bringing my trusty rhodes and the art is HOT so come and eat and drink and have a break from all that brain stretching.

Winter Frost:

^

The

master

craftsman

wrought together

his construction Causing

 needles to be soldered One by one 

 in certain fashion In the corner of the

 workshop.

Once he had finished it,

He drove it out in the heart of night, to a nearby forest

The master craftsman propped its humble iron frame in place,

And sat it amongst the evergreen giants.

They watched on canonically. He was unsure if they approved,

Yet still he abandoned his creation under their guard.

It sat pining for the leaving behind of metal ancestors

And for the heat of the smith to be lost in the icy dawn,

Would it take on the scents and the call of the soil,

Or rust and crumble away with time, between the tall and strong.


So there it is. As for most poems, this benefits from being read outloud, in particular the first part shaped like a pine tree. For those who don't get it...a small synopsis will be available in a few days.