Gerald

You would've made one hell of an arsonist if you kept on going.
I never saw the change coming,
I never saw you slowing,
Down to the point you became what you've always hated;
I thought you had the fire,
I can see now it has abated.

sometime in may

How many times do I have to start over?
My lip is twitching and my stares are getting blanker.
Nothing but the pen to the paper soothes.
The jet black contrast of the meaningless scribble upon pages of brown.
The words themselves don't matter, and I pretend I'm writing something important.
Something meaningful.
I stare past the pages and into the ether until what I'm writing becomes a blur, and just a pattern. A pattern that only I can find comfort from.
The whole reason for language, for letters, for words, for sentences, paragraphs, essays, poems, stories and lyrics is lost. Non existent.
Just a meaningless byproduct of the release.
Perhaps under a different light, at a different time, revealing.

Unfinished

Crumbs in my bed; I was hungry last night, again,

And now I can't sleep, and now I can't.

When will I end the unfinished songs in my head,

That keep me from keeping on.

And the blank pages of this book hear sories that they'll never tell.

It's not so bad on long-tread ground soaking up the scent of forgotten flowers.

I fill my pockets up with sand and hit the road, home again.

Hitch a ride back to Melbourne town and I overtake a storm,

Quarter past three and there's no one to warn.

The day is bright and I can see the path ahead,

But its hard to take a step with boots full of lead.

I try and finish the story, but I've lost the bookmark,

So I start again, just for something to do.

And motivation comes when I'm trying to get to sleep.

Just let me be.

Sometimes...

Sometimes I think the best possible thing I could do would be to run away and join the circus with you.

It's just one of those days where everything makes sense.
You're calm.
It's all clear.
You succeed.
And then you retire only to find your mind on fire.
Tomorrow waits patiently at it's own demise.

A Shadow Shape

You did not bloom.

Why won't you wither?
Your fruit have all ripened,
And I don't need you now across the horizon.

A fresh wind blows,
With it I'm free,
I try to forget but you keep planting seeds.

In comes a storm,
It dampens the ground,
Up come the sprouts but I trample them down.

Blame it on the Sun,
Or blame it on the Moon,
The time came for collecting and you did not bloom.

When The Night Feels My Song

This band just makes me feel so good, whatever mood I'm in.
It's just so warm and comforting.
Yep.

Honestly... Honesty?!

I love how honest children are.
They don't even have to say a word.


I was recently sitting at uni waiting for a friend to pick me up, when a conga line of awkward looking toddlers began flooding out of Robert Blackwell Hall. They each had their mothers by their sides, who looked as if they were enjoying themselves a bit too much. Trailing behind, of course, was the occasional lethargic and somewhat despondent looking father.

Maybe it was just the effect seeing Hi5 had on them, or maybe I am just an odd looking bastard, but every child that walked past me would systematically stare me down as if my nose was on backwards and I had the tail of a cat for an eye. They would spot me as they approach, and their little mouths would drop slightly, slowly falling lower and lower with each step they took towards me. It was as if they were only discovering what they initially thought was shocking when they first spotted me was increasing exponentially.

Not only that, they would turn their little heads once they had passed, as if to make sure that it is really real, and that I hadn't starting throwing up disco balls made of elephant skin without them realising. They would stumble, lose their footing and float inches off the ground for half a second or so while their mother straightened them back up.

I really got a kick out of watching those kids walk past.
And I really appreciated their honesty.
If we didn't learn how to hide what we think and how we feel, perhaps the world would make more sense, and...

Perhaps I'd make more sense.

If I could go back in time...

I don't usually regret things that I've done, or things that I didn't do.

But if I could go back in time I'd kick myself in the face so that I shot in RAW from day one.

Bahhhh

Need.

I don't know who you are, and I don’t know what I’m going to say.

Irrelevance.

All I know is you make me shake.

And I need to know you for both our sakes.

Up and ready for bed!

I haven't been to uni for almost two weeks.
Two weeks excluding the mid-semester holidays.
Unfortunately, admitting to myself that something is wrong, that things have to change has only served as a catalyst. I'm almost finding comfort in reclusion. Nothing else matters. Nothing else exists. I slip out of character and it's easy. I'm weak.


I woke up today though with every intention of heading in.
I had made the resolve to endure, to pursue and to finish what I had started.

Instead, I found myself in the bathtub...

So now I was clean, fresh, well dressed and ready for the day. I was convinced I would now head in, and make the most of whats left of my classes.

Yet in my dimly lit room, I was drawn back to my place of comfort, where I lay listening to a collaboration between man and god: Mendelssohn's concerto for violin and rain... in E minor.

I need help.

A Dream.

I dreamed a song.
A song they were all singing.
My friends, and the faces of those I've never seen before.

They were singing my song.
They were singing a song of me.
They were singing my song like their own all around me.

I dreamed I was running.
I was running into the dark.
Away from the immortal and away from the inevitable.

It was slowly approaching, like a wise old owl.
It was approaching, I was running.
It's here now.

I dreamed I was in control.
In control of a life not my own.
In control of a life and my own.

A life forced upon me; I had no choice.
I guess we both have no choice.
I guess we both had no choice.

I dreamed I was shaken.

Into the here, into the now.

Into the then and the yet to come.

Like a fist to the face and a pinch on the side.
I couldn't calm down.
I couldn't calm down.

I dreamed of escape.
Freedom whilst in flight.
Freedom in the air for while.

Until I hit the ground struggling.
I put myself back in the tank to swim.
And cover the lid so I cant get out again.

Somewhat of an epiphany.

Now I get why you're weird,
Now I see why you're strange,
It all makes sense now,
We're on the same page.

A Puddle of Wax.

Flames play in the soft breeze that slides through the cracks in the walls protecting me from the world, or keeping me from it.
It whispers and dances, changing all that is real.
Shadows stretch and slide across the four walls, questioning all that is known.
The compass point of the teardrop fire seems to guide, and is certain in its uncertainty.
Like a profit, it draws endless pictures in smoke; secrets untold and soon lost again forever.
Lines break, shapes merge and a new reality is born again.
The core keeping the life, keeping the warmth and selflessly living the life of a martyr, teaching and sharing in times of confusion and darkness at its own demise.
Dripping its life into a past that will surely be discarded and never to be thought of again.
All that remains is a puddle of wax, a puddle of what once was.

When it rains

I don't even want a kiss or anything strange,
But I'll walk you home when it rains.

It's hard in the dark.

Raindrops turn to languages far from you.
Sunken ships under the dock, unseen to anyone. Lost.
Uncomfortable company. Community far.
Statistic warm, the needles fresh. Doused in deep cigarettes.
A page of plain painlessness fraying from her worn out dress.
Rejoicing in the juice from the vine traps you in internal time.
Ravens watch, rip down the moon gown. The silent morgue man burns the place down.
Books are seen, but the pages were ripped clean. Battered beach bile, bilious for a while.
Peak hour bathysphere, par four in a cave. Unable to sit straight while you're taught to behave.
Lick your lips to taste the torture, like the tormented turtle in need of water.
A blanket punch knocks the best of it back. Subsides to a ripple, no longer a splash.
It still spews out storms of apathetic angst, '...and it will all be better!', says the man from the bank.
So we stray away from the cracks in the perfect path, but it's hard in the dark.
It's hard in the dark.
This deconstructive ecstasy, backwards bliss, euphoric fallacy releases you into its cage. Free with the prisoners quickly dieing of old age.
The undercurrent crystal draws you and shatters all light before you.

A Song For Sarah

(Bm)Sarah Bush,
You know you mean the (F#m)world to me,
Sarah Bush,
Right now I've gone a little crazy,

(E)My mind is in a bit of mess,
(D)Ignoring me friends is not the best
(C#)decision that I've ever made,
(F#m)Gonna die alone some day.

But knowing that you still care,
Takes away from the despair
I'm feeling on days like these,
When I don't deserve no sympathy.

Sarah Bush,
You know you mean the world to me,
Sarah Bush,
Right now I've gone a little crazy,

You keep me warm when I am cold,
You write me songs, a truth untold,
But I can't help feeling like a meanie
When the other day I lost your beanie,

But the jumper you gave me, it's still mine,
When I wear it, you're by my side
You know, and I'm right there,
Sarah Bush I really care.

(G)(F#)(C#)

Sarah Bush,
You know you mean the world to me,
Sarah Bush,
Right now I've gone a little crazy,

The city sunset over me

Beautiful Feeling

Sem utódja, sem boldog õse...

I've always wanted to write some music to a poem I like, and it sort of just came without me even realising what I was doing. This is the poem I wrote music to using my ukulele :D

Sem utódja, sem boldog őse - Ady Endre

Sem utódja, sem boldog őse,
Sem rokona, sem ismerőse,
Nem vagyok senkinek,
Nem vagyok senkinek.

Vagyok, mint minden ember: fenség,
Észak-fok, titok, idegenség,
Lidérces, messze fény,
Lidérces, messze fény.

De, jaj, nem tudok így maradni,
Szeretném magam megmutatni,
Hogy látva lássanak,
Hogy látva lássanak.

Ezért minden: önkínzás, ének:
Szeretném, hogyha szeretnének
S lennék valakié,
Lennék valakié.

Book of Poems

I usually carry around with me a book which I use to take notes and write down ideas and feelings I have while I am out and about, and a lot of the time it is in the form of poetry. I seem to have misplaced my book whilst in Münich the other day...

I'm not as upset about it as I thought I would be. I'm more facinated by the idea of who may find it, and what they think if/when they read through it.

My diary was more about a way for me release thoughts and feelings at the time, and the fact that I wrote them down means they served their intended purpose.
Although I kind of like occasionally flicking through the endless pages of notes, poems and scribbles and being taken back to the time, place and mindframe when I wrote it, I dont feel like I've really lost anything.


So this post goes out to that diary, and I guess to the person who finds it and is hopefully inspired by it.

Éljen Koppány!

Egy lány az utcán - "Néha nézem az István a Király-t, és Koppánynak szurkolok."

What do I know that I don't already feel?

So I walk on up the top,
up the cobbled road,
To the view engulfed by the fog,

And the city fades to forrest,
Tops of the buildings tall as the trees,
It's all too much for me.

A crack in the clouds lets the sun shine in,
And I can see your name in the light,
You're the reason I'm here again.

Because your words ring true until this very day,
I'm still warmed by the tea,
And the songs you play.

And from the look in your eye and the sound in your voice,
It's for you that I'm here,
I made the right choice.

The Kujo Kings - Brain Food (FILM CLIP)

Here's our first Video Clip we made for the song 'Brain Food' off the CD 'Regal Riot' my band just released. Enjoy!

Butterfly Blues

I've got the butterfly blues,

I don't know what to do,

I’ve got the butterfly blues,

Whenever I think about you.

Feeling

I’m just getting the feeling for a feeling,

I’m just getting used to never getting used to anything,

And it feels right just before it ends.

Like her, the tears patiently wait,

But the sky of foil, twists and boils and it eventually rains.

This planned changed brings a change of plans.

But still no return; the girl in white waits,

For the dance, delay, the waltz reiterates,

And the silence cracks; again we smile.

The eyes that once wept fade green to blue,

The hair brown to blonde as I run my hand through,

And a deep breath of you before hitting the unfamiliar road I know so well.

Add Nekem a Szemeidet - Ady Endre

Add nekem a te szemeidet,
Hogy vénülő arcomba ássam,
Hogy én magam pompásnak lássam.

Add nekem a te szemeidet,
Kék látásod, mely mindig épít,
Mindig irgalmaz, mindig szépít.

Add nekem a te szemeidet,
Amelyek ölnek, égnek, vágynak,
Amelyek engemet szépnek látnak.

Add nekem a szemeidet,
Magam szeretem, ha szeretlek
S irigye vagyok a szemeidnek.

Goodbye

I left Budapest, Hungary, for the last time on my trip. It had been my home base during the last 6 months, and I had returned just about every couple of weeks. It had become a city I knew and understood. It was a city I had developed a great connection to. I had to say my goodbye so that I could peacefully leave without regrets and a heavy heart. I climbed up ontop of the rooftop of one of the tallest buildings in Buda, and sat there for a few hours just watching the city. Before I came down I wrote this goodbye poem.

A view from above and the city opens up,
a place familiar, though I don't know enough.

A view into the lives, a view which I have seen,
A view I've been a part of, a view inside of me.

Reflections on the Great Divide, only disturbed by the wind,
I see myself and the Great Blue Sky the sun is setting in,

So I turn around for one last glimpse, and I feel it in my bones:
"This is not the last time." And I make my way home, from home.

Black Frames

The clearest fog as I enter with you; they’re no longer needed,

So into your hands and I see you, close and true,

You’re not the first with a curious eye,

And you look at me with perfect disinterest,

You look at me with perfect disinterest,

and I back and silent with admiration, honesty,

Off and a knowing embrace,

Off and a you’re still all I can see, the sharpest blur.