I am 24 and I have discovered my past.

This is going to be an incredibly long blog today, so brace yourselves.

I was digging around in a lot of my old stuff and I stumbled upon a collection of my old poetry and stories. I ask you to keep in mind that when I wrote these I was about 15 years old when I came up with this stuff. Another word of warning, some of the poems will definitely offend certain peoples and possibly races. I am not going to apologise for this, I have my disclaimer and that is final.

Now on to the first poem about a girl that had a crush on me. The only problem was that she was butt-ugly and I wouldn't wish her upon any of my mortal enemies.

I give you... "Silence, Pet"



What! She calls again!
What! she follows me still.
Why? I do not know.
My life, going downhill.

People lool at me, they stare.
A person hidden, a crowd.
Shw stalks so silently,
Her presence so loud.

She has taste in things,
Some good, some bad.
But to try suicide,
Truly, she must be mad.

My life she ruins,
In so many ways.
A ring to show her love,
Numbered are her days.



Ahhh.... that felt good to be finally published.

I tried submitting my works into a competition. They said to only send 3 poems so I sent in 17.

Next up is.... "Not My Judge"



I don't know you
Standing there.
Looking at me
With a stare.

I just know this
Little thing
About this whole
Happening.

You sit up there
With a frown
Wearing a wig,
Putting me down.

Feel no pain for
I hold no grudge.
This one thing, you're
Not my judge.



In this one I felt that I was being judged by everyone. Everything I did was critised. But don't we all have to make a few mistakes just so we can learn from them...?

And, I think, one more before we get to the story.

This one is going to get me killed, me thinks. I can't remember the reasoning behind it, but ir rhymed well so I liked it.

Presenting....
Man, Not Woman!



Who are we to say who’s wrong or right
Or who to blame, accuse?
Is it really safe at night
When the innocent, sex, refuse.

A thought occurs at this time
In our day and age
Of the injustices, sublime,
To cover our internal rage.

We claim to be superior
In every macho aspect.
We label you as inferior
Not worthy of our respect.

The truth, it seems, is hard to tell
And even admitting defeat
Could ruin all when all is well
And blemish Man’s clean sheet.



C'mon.... do your worst all you feckin' feminists!!!! I dare you! I double-dare you!!!

And now for the story..... This story got me the top grade in my class and it also turned my whole class against me. Several of them commented that my mind was completely warped out of shape. I agreed with them.

The School Bus

It was raining. Wet and miserable children waited impatiently for the bus to take them to school. They all huddled under the scant protection of the dying trees. That was the thing about school buses. They were always late whenever the weather was bad and early every other time, or so it seemed.
Harsh lights pierced the morning gloom. The noise of the old engine struggling up the hill broke the silence. The children formed a ragged line at the bus stop. The bus pulled up alongside the children, drenching some in a veritable flood of muddy water as it ploughed to a halt in a huge puddle. The doors swung ponderously open. Gingerly stepping over the puddle the children clambered aboard the bus. Not one of them paid any notice to the strange form behind the steering wheel or the mysterious bulge at his side. The stranger pulled his cap down over his eyes, obscuring the view of any of the children that might be curious.
He seemed nervous. Several of the children tried to talk to him but he remained unresponsive. The only time the driver would speak would be when he commanded the children to be silent. The children in the front rows grew increasingly curious as they noticed for the first time that the driver smoked. The driver reached into his pocket as the bus pulled up before a set of traffic lights. The children watched in fascination as his yellow-stained fingers fumbled for another cigarette and the lighter. The lights changed colour and the bus started on its journey again. It was only a short journey to the school from the end of the road where the children waited, yet the trip seemed to last longer.
A child, sitting at the back of the bus, looked out through a misted window. Rubbing at the window he managed to clear most of the mist away leaving a slightly distorted view as the bus passed the restaurant. A look of bewilderment passed over his face. Hurriedly he grabbed at the boy beside him. At first the boy ignored him, being caught up in another conversation, but as the boy persisted he gradually turned his attention to the window. Instantly he was silent. The bus was going out of town and away from the school! In a short time the two boys had spread the news to all the other children and soon the volume of noise in the bus increased alarmingly. The driver looked round and for the first time the children noticed it. There was a glimmer of madness in the way he looked at them and the way he seemed to be half-smirking at the children. A chorus of voices called out for the bus to be turned around but he ignored them.
One particularly brave child got out of his seat and approached the driver. He stood nervously before him, hands by his sides, considering how to explain the situation. The driver glanced round and noticed the boy. Stuttering, the boy began to explain but the driver swung round and pushed him roughly to the floor. The boy landed hard and immediately began to cry. In a single fluid motion the driver took the gun concealed inside his jacket, levelled it at the child and fired a round into his head. The silence that descended was virtually deafening. The lifeless form of the boy toppled sideways to lie on the floor and a pool of crimson blood spread out around him. A girl sitting beside the corpse lifted her feet hastily from the advancing blood and shuffled, wide-eyed, to the outside seat.
A boy, just turned seven, began to cry. At first his wail reached the driver’s ears alone but within seconds the rest of the children added their sorrowful cries to his. The driver’s face reddened as he roared at them to shut up but they paid no attention to him, drowning out his voice with their own. With gun still in hand he aimed at another child, a girl, and shot her full in the chest. Again silence descended and the driver repeated his warning to the children, punctuating his speech by repeatedly jabbing his gun furiously in the air where all the children could see it.
Pulling off the main road the driver now began to navigate the back lanes of the countryside. His aim was to avoid the police for as long as possible and he knew they rarely patrolled the back roads. However, the needle on the fuel gauge was getting dangerously close to the E. He knew that he would have to venture out on the main road again to search for a service station.
The children now huddled at the back of the bus, as far from their driver as possible. Images of his plans passed invitingly before the driver’s eyes and he knew he had gone astray. He had not meant for the children to get hurt but if they had understood their position in this situation then they would not have been hurt. However, that was in the past and he realised that the police would take no prisoners when they tried to negotiate now that he had killed two innocent children.
Distracted, he did not notice the police car that pulled out behind the bus. It stayed a comfortable distance behind often passing up the opportunity to overtake and instead slowing down to allow another car to slip in between them. Sighting a petrol station ahead the bus driver indicated in and left the main road. Only as he was pulling in did he notice the police car cruise past. His heart was in his mouth as he came to a halt and waited to see what the car’s reaction would be. Nothing! The police car drove on without flashing it’s lights once or slowing down. In his agitation the driver had gripped the steering wheel until the whites of his knuckles showed. Releasing his hold he concealed his weapon again.
On getting out of the bus the driver locked the door and proceeded to fill up the tank. Without paying for the petrol he boarded the bus again and glared at the children. They were agitated and were staring out the windows at the cars that passed on the road. Several were crying, boys and girls alike. The attendant came out as the bus pulled back out on to the main road and curses marked his wake. With a final scream of frustration the attendant ran back into the shop and started dialling.
The bus now headed for the airport and the final part of the plan. A flashing in the side mirror caught the driver’s attention and he stared with mixed emotions as two police cars pulled up behind the bus. Their harsh lights pierced what little fog remained from the morning in a dazzling display of blues and reds. With grim certainty the driver knew what had happened. He had been too careless with his planning and everything had begun to slip out of his control with every passing minute. Another police car pulled out in front of the bus and began purposefully slowing down forcing the bus to slow down too.
With the bus now surrounded on all sides the driver had no choice but to comply. He knew that to ram any car would very likely mean death or a disabling injury for him and unnecessary loss of life among the children. Even if he could break free from them he would not be able to out run the police cars. Coming to a halt the driver spun round and raced to the back of the bus. Cruelly and indiscriminately he reached for the first child to come to hand. A little girl was the unfortunate candidate. Holding the girl up in front of him the driver faced the police now gathering at the rear of their impromptu blockade. They were donning protective clothing and loading large calibre weapons. A single officer approached the front of the blockade with a megaphone in hand.
Hurriedly the driver removed the clip from his gun, counted the remaining shells, and reloaded.
Unnoticed a lone sniper dressed in camouflage combat clothing crawled through the stand of trees near the now silent form of the bus. In his hands he carried an instrument of death, a long range rifle with sights. He knew with grim certainty that he would be the one who would be given the command to shoot the driver. As soon as he reached the edge of the trees he set up his rifle on a tripod and contacted his superior through his headset.
Negotiations ground to a halt after the driver refused to respond to any overtures made by the police. The driver’s hands were clammy and sweat ran unchecked down his brow. Meanwhile the lone sniper took aim. Calmly he waited for the signal from his superior and a chance for a clean shot. However, the driver was twirling around in a mad dance, ultimately dancing his way to his death. The signal was given and within moments the sniper had fired.
Two shots rang out through the still air startling several wild game in the surrounding vegetation. As he was shot, the shock forced the driver to spontaneously clamp his gun hand shut and fire off a single round. After that the driver could be seen slumping to the ground.
When the police entered the bus they found four bodies, two of which were still warm. The children wept openly while the policemen went about their work grim-faced. The ordeal was over but at a price.

And one final poem for the road. I think I'll give you the one about when I was really getting into Role-Playing Games and none of my mates were. They all thought I was mad.... hell, I thought I was mad. Who knew we'd both be right?


The Wierd


I sit alone in a world of my own,
I see a coloured world outside of me.
I hold a conversation with my other me.
They think they know it all, why can't they see?

They talk and talk and talk but I don't hear them,
I live to feel the sun on my face.
They talk and talk and talk but I don't hear them,
I dream of the other-worldly place.

I long to see the fabled creatures again
And to fight for what is right.
They say I don't listen, I'm going to fail,
If only they could see what I see. Oh what a fright.

I always plan a step ahead of the others,
My plans are meticulous.
I live in a fantasy realm,
I scream aloud, Karameikos.

I will now try and find the old "Massa John" and "The Adventures of Lippy" comics of my youth. You will not find comics of this calibre anywhere else.

Keep the mojo alive people.