Who Knoweth - Mad of Few Words

Toast to the Midnight.

2011-12-05T02:34:00.008+11:00

America - 1962 - A time of great fear.

Unstained by the night sky, a man walks through New York fitted with a grey suit, untidy - just the way he liked it. Pocket watch reads half past eleven, as he walked on the carpets greeted outside the lobby doors.

"You're late? You're usually so very prompt in returning here Mr. Heller. As you doorman, I request you spare me a story."

"Nothing happened tonight Jeffrey. I just, got caught up in a few things. I don't have the time for this right now."

"Now now sir, you're tone seems frustrated. Yet, your face details itself with glee. The password is simple - what happened tonight?"

"I'm not so sure Jeffrey, but I know tomorrow's going to be a good day."

"And why is that Mr. Heller?"

"Because I kissed her goodnight."

The doors open wide and passing smiles were exchanged. The doorman closes the door, and leaves the man to his scrambling thoughts. The clicks of his heels reverberate across the hallway, suddenly muted to the ring of a bell. The rusty elevator doors screech closed as the slow ascent to the high rised apartments cast feelings of uncertainty. A lowly newspaper twitches in the corner next to the air duct stating - "15 Minutes to Midnight!" And with a sudden jolt, the lift comes to a halt, as the gates screech once more.

Thunderous footsteps greeted his path, as all else was still, fixed to their radios and televisions.

"..the evils of Communist..."

"..missile crisis could not be averted..."

"...it's the balance of power, them or U.S."

"...President Kennedy assures the people of America.."

"...EXCOM meeting in the Whitehouse was a waste of time!"

"...they are a bunch of lunatics! No Russian has the audacity to push the button!"

Keys chatter out of his pocket, fighting to be the next one on duty. They are sorted out, pushed to the side to find the one best fitting. The door creeps open.

Shadows made from the City Lights outside the windows welcome the man. But it is not home. The fridge, now littered with stale goods rotting in their cases, was left open bringing a chill to the back of his neck. It hums more comfortably now, sealed away and left to itself.

A bottle of fine brandy clinks upon the glass as it is poured whilst eyes watch over the City in pity. The pocket watch now reads five minutes to midnight, un-caring, so very calculated. The gears would keep turning, waiting for no one - but could be broken. Now falling off the balcony, the watch still ticks - but not after its last shattering moment - a sign it's not invincible.

The glass of liquid amber is lifted high, sitting next to the moon though the man's eyes. All that remained was the ring of the glass as it was sat upon the balcony's stone rails. The lights of the apartment then flickered and eased to remain lit - a woman stands idly by, eyes fixed on the startled man.

"I don't want to risk it James."

"Risk what? I abandoned you on top of those stairs! You should hate me!"

"For saving me the pain of loosing you?"

He exhales.

"For saving us both, Alice. We should not be so entwined with these petty feelings for one another."

"So what did I feel tonight? Rage? Frustration? No god damn it James I love you!"

Silence deafens the both of them. She slowly strides towards him.

"It was a kiss goodbye for a reason Alice. We both know what's about to happen."

"I don't care. Just please hold my hand once more."

Bright lights flash in the background, and the cool wind breeze turns into an inferno. The couple press their hands against each others, as they both turn to dust.

This came to me in a dream. I just had to fit it in History.

The mindless Ramblings of Symon M. Taylor.

The Trip.

2011-11-23T10:02:00.018+11:00

Well here I was, tired, and exhausted - warming up my lights to start the most important production of my life. Soo much has happened this year, and it's hard to fully absorb and comprehend what has just happened. The times we live in.

The lights - they make you feel things. They amplify the smallest movement into an eruption of emotion - and during the Overture, they make their faces as bright as the burning stars. To manipulate these lights has been quite the experience.

I have done much this year. Many things. Ranging from my proudest moments, to my deepest regrets - regrets that still play on my mind every time I look back.

Strange creatures greet my path.

And titans walk beside me.

I thank Andrew Martin for guiding me along the way during the Second Year Costume Show: "Stiches of Time." He is by far the most experienced man I've met in my journey - and I thank him most for his mentoring, his patience, and just believing in me.

They signed me up to be Swinburne's first Student Technical Coordinator - with the power to make the executive decisions - but with that power came the power to make it all fail. Such responsibility. Such commitment. So many sacrifices for the end product.

I regret that. Disappointing all those close to me just to plan another setup.

But I got it done, to be enlightened with the fact that those I thought I disappointed were there in the crowd. "I noticed your hard work." they'd say - and that the disappointments that were made were atoned. "I watched you succeed." they said.

But now what is there? I've scaled my mountain and bathed in its landscape. How do I reach the stars?

It's time I fall.

I met a great man during this production. His name is Ian, and he played the main role. Never before have I aspired to be someone more than myself, or my father before I met him. Actor, stand-up comedian and future Archaeologist - Ian and I spoke insightful words of History, Conspiracy, Philosophy and Physics. We spoke of the Universe as if we had just read the first page of the Chapter, and all the answers hid on the last page of the book.

Like the children rambling on about what the next page would speak of, sanity left us and let free mindless thoughts of what has been written - and bound our chaotic words into a mad sense.

Our truth is simple, and our fight is optional - we know every word of the last chapter, inside and out. The last pages of the book have been read over and over again. They appear to us in our dreams, they are shown to us through memories, and stories of the impossible. And why we can't turn to the second page of the First Chapter? Because we always re-trace the first sentence we read.

Much like life we look back to History for the answers, only to find holes we continuously fall through. Stuck in these traps, much like Schrodinger's cat inside a box - left with a vial of radioactive poison. We cannot see inside, and the box is impenetrable. The cat is dead and alive.

Life is that paradox. Whether we choose to live it, or whether we choose to succumb to it. We are bigger than this - so we break free from the box with the strength of our voices. Inside the box was just page one, and now I can continue reading.

I stare blankly on the peak of my mountain, looking for something else to scale - I will fly to sun. But much like Icarus my wings will burn, and I shall begin to fall. But I'll hit the ground running, back up to scale the mountain again - my next project.

It seems dull to have a cycle as such, but through the hardships we face, we meet new people - and these people show you different ways to fly. They will show you that exerting your energy in the flight to the sun is sometimes, unnecessary. People watch you climb the mountain - and will ensure you glide to the heavens.

For a long time I searched for truth. I searched for the means to know why I suffer, to know why my thoughts strangle my mind. It's because I looked for a pencil, in a mound of erasers.

I have lied. I have hurt. I have betrayed. So I will leave it be written - so that page 2 may come to life. It is enlightening to know such change, that I will no longer be my former self - that I will never be held back by the things that shrouded me in chains.

But for now I'm looking for the next mountain, ready to scale, ready to reach new heights - for I have seen the sun's light - I'll do my best to replicate.

The Mindless Ramblings of Symon M. Taylor.

All photos are original - taken by colleagues. My still-frames of existence.

Every time I look back...

2011-10-07T23:56:00.002+11:00

"...I believe, what if I believe you now?

Could it ever change this?

Forgive me, don't leave me

And please come back to life

Come back to my life

I believe, what if I believe you now?

Forgive me, relieve me

Please come back life..."

Circle - by Flyleaf.

UP YOURS HUMANITY!

2011-06-20T01:15:00.001+10:00

Image from: http://asset.soup.io/asset/1510/8183_ea21.jpeg

"For now, I just want to be ten thousand years younger, so I can excuse myself from human kind."
- from the song 'Monsters' by Something For Kate.

"If home is where the heart is, then why do I feel so fucking heartless!?"
- from the song 'Home Is For The Heartless' by Parkway Drive.

"And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad. The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had. I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take. When people run in circles, it's a very, very, mad world."
- from the song 'Mad World' by Gary Jules.

"If you were me, could you defend the given rights to all the men? Let's fuck the world with all it's trend, they say it's all about to end..."
- from the song 'They Say' by Scars on Broadway.

"I, am a world before I am a man."
- from the song 'Before I Forget' by Slipknot.

"Stood in the firelight, sweltering. Bloodstain on chest like map of a violent new continent. Felt cleansed. Felt this dark planet turn under my feet, and knew what cats know that makes them scream like babies in the night. Looked at the sky through through the smoke, heavy with human fat and God was not there. The cold, suffocating dark does on forever, and we are alone. Live our lives, lacking anything better to do. Devise reason later. Born from oblivion; bear children, hell-bound as ourselves, go into oblivion. There is nothing else. Existence is random. Has no pattern save what we imagine after staring at it for too long. No meaning save what we choose to impose. This rudderless world is not shaped by vague metaphysical forces. It is not God who kills the children. Not fate that butchers them, or destiny that feeds them to the dogs. It's us. Only us. Streets stank of fire. The void breathed hard on my heart, turning its illusions to ice, shattering them. I was reborn then, free to scrawl my own design on this morally blank world. That was Rorschach. Does that answer your questions, Doctor?"
- a monologue from the Graphic Novel 'Watchmen' written by Alan Moore.

"But the foundation is weak,and this time these walls will come down. Why son't you save all the trouble and pull yourself out, and take some gas and a match, and burn it to the ground."
- from the song 'Your World On Fire' by In Fear And Faith.

"And the bright-eyed choke on ambition, and the old folks circle their graves. And the young ones are bust destroying their names; and you're still just wasting away. I sit and watch the screen for a message. Some kind of sign that says we're OK. But the screen stays blank till I turn the thing off, and wait for my conscience to break."
- from the song 'Insomnia' by Electric President.

"They made you believe that it is the perfect world, which these people-nation created for you, and in what you live now. They take advantage of you if you become conscious in order to trample on their dirty system of cruelty, though they take revenge for it. You live as a slave intimidated, more than a humiliated whore... and you believe this is good for you because your character and your self-image are totally malformed already."
- V to Evey in the Graphic Novel 'V for Vendetta' written by Alan Moore.

"Who are you trying to impress, steadily creating a mess? Step in front of a runaway train, just to feel alive again. Pushing forward through the night, aching just blow aside."
- from the song 'Far Away' by José González.

"I lost my leg, like I lost my way. So no loose sounds, nothing to see me down. How are we going to work this out? Dreams aren't bad, my head turned back. I love the gun, but God only know it's getting hard to see the sun, coming through. I love you... But what are we going to do?"
- from the song 'Every Planet We Reach Is Dead' by the Gorillaz.

"Footsteps, echo through hallways. Beneath the neon lighting, everyone looks sick. We sit, on a rusty staircase. You write your name with lipstick, on the rail near the wall. What do you think about me now, that I've fallen down? Watching, the crowds on side walks. A steady hum of nothing, is all that fills the air. And we sit, on a nearby rooftop. It overflows with pigeons, and we idly scare them off. But what do you think about me now, that's I've fallen down?
- from the song 'Hum' by Electric President.

"Why don't you ask the kids at Tienanmen square? Was fashion the reason why they were there? They disguise it, Hypnotize it. Television made you buy it."
- from the song 'Hypnotize' by System of a Down.

"...it's like fixing glass, you're only going to hurt yourself putting it back together..." - Unknown.

"And so once again, my dear friend Johnny my dear friend. And so once again you are fighting us all. And when I ask you why, you raise your sticks and cry and I fall. Oh my friend, how did you come to trade the fiddle for the drum?"
- from the song 'Fiddle and the Drum' by A Perfect Circle.

"The world's got a funny way turning around on you. When a friend tries to stab you right in the face. Loosing faith in everything I thought I hoped I knew."
- from the song 'False Pretence' by Red Jumpsuit Apparatus.

"They brand you with the fire, then push you into the sun. They want the free land to expire, they want everyone to be numb. The world's drinking for a cup, that no one wants to share. Words from the king that no one wants to hear."
- from the song 'The Beast' by Angus and Julia Stone.

"My hate is general, I detest all men;
Some because they are wicked and do evil,
Others because they tolerate the wicked,
Refusing them the active vigorous scorn
Which vice should stimulate in virtuous minds."
- said by Alceste from the French play, "Le Misanthrope ou I'Atrabilaire amoureux" written by Moliere

"But I'm not saying that we could to better, but given the chance we try. We dig up the Earth's trampled soil, feel the drench with greedy eyes."
- from the song 'Juggernauts' by Enter Shikari

"I love you soo much, I'm going to let you kill me..."
- from the song 'I'm Not Calling You A Liar' By Florence and the Machine.

Picture from:
http://www.banksy-prints.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/05/banksy-boston.jpg

By Banksy

Revelations: 2011

These quotes, these mindless lyrics, these artists that have shaped my form have taught me that there is no hope within what we see. There is no salvation in trying to fix what ten thousand other people have already tried to fix. There is no benevolence in finding spirituality. People have attempted to convince me otherwise, and I do listen to their words, but what is it in the end?
What hope is it to me that a being of un-comprehension watches over me and looks after me? Is that not selfish on my part for relying on one who is already burdened by soo many? I will not.
Since the start of this year, I've felt everything humanly possible, and now as my walls come closing around me, all these memories eat away at every last bit of sanity I have, even affecting my integrity.

Or perhaps is it something different?

A few years ago, devastating things happened to me. Something, nobody should experience, but has made me all the better. To deal with all the pain I suffered then, I self-destructed, and from there, I re-invented myself. I fear it's repeating itself, and I don't like this outlook.

I've become sentimental,
I've become envious,
I've become mildy spiritual,
I'm ignorant,
I'm thirsty for knowledge,
I want power,
I want wisdom,
I want to change the world.
I've become everything I hate.

For what I am is human, and in being human I am ashamed. An insignificant entity who has a chance to save the world, but will not because I am hurt. Because I have emotion. Because I know, no matter what anybody does to change us, History will repeat itself because we never really do learn.

I am Everyman, in all of his flaws.
And in those flaws, we leave our hearts to digress its beat due to the illogical Phenomenon of Emotion.

But still we feel.
Still we love,
Still we hate,
Still we remain happy,
Still we direly hurt,
And still we let these emotions encumber our souls.

I hate what I am.

I am human.

I loved.

I failed.

And still these emotions pester me. Even with all this negativity, there is a poking hope inside my head that also whispers to me. She tells me that Humanity is doomed, and it's okay. She tells me that, even though there is soo much injustice, soo much oppression, soo many lies; there is still hope.

Picture from:
http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_LHjgWbzrnAM/STSAXn29fuI/AAAAAAAACVU/vikBoktmW8A/s400/Alive_by_smile_beautiful89.jpg

We. Are. ALIVE.

It is such a simple concept. We are the ones who made ourselves animated entities on a free world to roam, and discover. We evolved and developed eyes to absorb light, ears to pick up the vibrations in the air, and a voice to make those vibrations.
These vibrations did shatter the Earth, and malformed it into every shape possible. All because we were given a mind.

But never do I think it stops at the mind.

She tells me not to. She tells me that there is always more. That's why the mind is made to perceive, not just learn. The mind is just the data base, where logic makes the decisions, but always in contest with her. She never lets down the fight.

She is my old, wearied soul.

I have not found a name to suit her yet, but she calls herself Farah; an Arabic name meaning 'Joyful.'

She enjoys taunting me, and she taught me why.
There is another step in existence, I know it. I don't know what it is, and I can only hypothesise, and even then I will still be wrong.

She wants me to learn, she wants me to experience, she wants me to know what it is to hurt so that one day... One day, I will truly appreciate what it means to be happy.

I am almost there however. Not matter what you may think is happening in my life, and with my emotions, and how negative you think this post is; I am content. I am fulfilling myself. My life is unfolding like any great story would. I am proud of what I am achieving in both my successes, and in my failures.

Charlotte, if you have managed to read this far, I commend you. For still with your light blue eyes you watch me. And know, I do not hate you. I never have. All my past promises haven't expired.
I was told the news, and know I just hope happiness is all he gives you. It is my only wish.

And to all the others who have read this far, who have read this long and pointless dragging rant about how fucked we are, just know we are alive. And with all of our strength and integrity, we can become the foundations of something greater, something greater than being just human.

Something much, much more...

Picture from:
http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3149/3113461776_85be6c1f2a_o.jpg

- The mindless ramblings of Symon Moriarty Taylor.

Cherry Red, the night at Bennies.

2011-06-03T17:48:00.007+10:00

Dear Tis,

Still I dream of that night, and the one kiss I should never have given you.
Yet, with scarred heart, I kissed your lips; blind, standing on chance.

You were confused, self-ambitious, life planned to the T.

Then I came along.

Remember those days that passed before?

We talked like the complaining crows that feast on bread crumbs plenty,
Just to whisper "More more!" in just our closed space.

But the bread crumbs do lie there untouched,

Just in our reach, yet we sit as they stale.

We pick on the smaller pieces, just a little bit to satisfy.
But I starve to the line 'Nevermore,' to which I shall obey.

It was the one line you gave me, on the Red Carpets of Bennies.

But it's the one line you do not wish to trust yourself.

We do bicker as the Gods hold us in the highest favour,

Joking in the masses, teasing each other's achievements.

Even after you said nevermore, and even after we danced like rose vines in Spring,
Nothing has changed about how we feel, only a barrier of time.

Seven leagues does this barrier wall stretch to the sky,
Seven leagues you refuse to ignore, even after I have climbed to the top and thrown you down a ladder.

To pull you up is all I want to do, yet, how do you feel?
Or does reality say that I am lone on the ground, whilst you reside seven leagues in the sky?

Effort will come in time, yet still repeating and scratching in my mind you say nevermore.

And your arms stretch from behind me, embracing my wearied soul.

You talked to me about those bread crumbs that lie behind us,
For all you want is a loaf of bread.

Being ready to play the part of the baker's second, you think I am not.

We have not shared all of our stories yet,
And even now we trace our steps back from the bread-crumb trail, half eaten by scavengers.

As I leave my bakery, I spread the leftovers for the crows,

Who watch my life from every angle, waiting patiently to strike.

I find comfort though, every time I see you.
Just those eyes and that gleaming smile sets my heart-rate to zero.

Not a death defying act though, gazing my eyes on you.

I just hope you're not being hurt by it.

You will fly away in summer, to the northern lands, to your dream.

All apart of your grand plan.

I, will reside here however.
My dreams are living through me, and as I sleep, reality washes my hands.

Whatever choice you make, know that we owned the night at Bennies.

And however close we are, falling into the sea of bread is just a step forward;

One last step.

- Symon.

Liquid Gold, Amber Tinge.

2011-04-28T23:05:00.004+10:00

A toast to all that has passed, and the memories that dead in aftermath.
Ode to the those faces, mindless, but with your watching eyes.

I did believe in the unending expanse of time, forever.

I never thought of fixing the glass at a Jewish Wedding.

I raise my glass, in the room's closing walls.

Just to feel numb, at least for a second.

I slap the faces of open armed friends.

I push everything, all out of my way.

Never can I burden myself with a smile.

Something soo perfect, given poison sting.

My mind clouds me with fairy tales gashing wildly at my chest.

Never letting me wake, never again to those morning eyes.

I still bleed though, don't I?

I still think, I still speak, I still look at my empty hands!

Scream these soothing anthems, tear apart my these scourged memories.

Then let me not wake to the nail-clip moon, watching the morning's sky.

Happiness, is it so deafening?

I know I should have seen this coming.

But take comfort though, you are moving on well.

Aloft, in a soft whimsical wind.

Sallie And Barry: The Bubble.

2010-11-29T16:48:00.010+11:00

Picture From:

http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_mvPKk-5nxlI/TC3bcwO-5cI/AAAAAAAAAOk/Np9PeqVbmk8/s1600/,,,,bokeh,people,portrait,bubbles,girl-f6768efca1367b2d8309928b56d73061_h.jpg

Just a short little scene I thought of whilst on the Train back from the City. Based on the Absurdist Play - "Waiting for Godot," written by Samuel Beckett.

Barry:

Sallie?

Sallie:

Yes Barry?

Barry:

Why we inside this bubble?

Sallie:

I donno. I can see my house from here!

Barry:

Sallie, we don't have homes. We're in this bubble!

Sallie:

Oh. I got some chocolate!

Barry:

Where'd you get the chocolate!? We've been in this bubble the whole time!

Sallie:

It's not real chocolate. I mean, I just used some of this dirt on the ground to make a pretend bar of chocolate.

Barry: Pauses and stares at Sallie in worry

Sallie:

What is it Barry?

Barry:

We're in a got damn Bubble Sallie! Where the hell did you get dirt from!?

Sallie:

Godot gave it to me.

Barry:

Who the hell is Godot?

Sallie:

He put us in this bubble, so we can float the skies away from the trouble underneath us.

Barry:

Yes, but who is he?

Sallie: Pause

I really like this chocolate!

Barry:

There's no chocolate in your hands Sallie! You're just nibbling on your shirt.

Sallie:

Oh... How depressing.

Barry:

Oh don't be discouraged Sallie. I bet this "Godot" person has something in mind for us, well if we've been put in this special Bubble.

Sallie: Starts blowing bubbles from a plastic stick

Barry:

Where the hell did you get those bubbles!?

Sallie:

They were just sitting there in my pocket looking all lonely like. Look at them go!

Sallie happily continues to blow bubbles. Barry looks disgruntled at the sight.

Barry:

Look, you going to let me blow some bubbles or not?

Sallie:

Well, have you checked your pockets?

Barry:

I don't have any pockets! Let me blow some bubbles.

Sallie: Cautiously passes the Bubbles to Barry

Don't waste them. Use only what you need.

Barry: Blows on them rapidly laughing hysterically

Oh this is soo fun!

Bubbles run out

Sallie: Looks as if about to cry

They're... They're all gone.

Barry:

Ahh, I've had my fun. So why are we in this bubble?

Sallie:

I don't care anymore. You've wasted all the bubbles!

Barry:

We're inside a giant bubble! Can't you just use some of the liquid off the ground for yourself?

Sallie:

But what if it pops Barry?

Barry: Angry sigh

I don't care, I've had my fun.

Sallie:

But what about me Barry? I don't want to hit the ground...

Barry:

Oh grow up Sallie! We're going to have to put our feet on solid ground soon anyway.

Sallie:

But I don't want to leave this bubble. It has everything!

Barry:

Everything!? There's no food, there's no water, there's nothing to do in here! Whatever Godot put us in here for, the end is going to be the best part.

Sallie:

I think it's comfortable in here. And look! I found a ball!

Sallie starts bouncing the ball

Barry:

Where the hell do you get these things from Sallie!?

Sallie:

I like finding things in my pockets! It's like a treasure hunt!

Barry: Franticly searches around clothes. Looks at Sallie in jealousy. Snatches the ball

Haha! This is going to be fun!

Barry throws the ball. The ball passes straight through the bubble

Sallie:

Well that was anticlimactic. Could have just asked me Barry.

Barry:

Why the hell do you get all these things and I don't!?

Sallie:

I don't know. Things just spring out at me sometimes!

Bubble Bursts. Barry and Sallie free fall.

Barry: Hysterically

Is this what you Godot had planned for us!? Just to wait all that time to fall?!

Sallie:

Look look look Barry! I found a cookie!

Sallie nibbles on cookie while Barry starts screaming

Barry:

It's been good knowing you Sallie you little bastard!

Sallie:

I wish I had my bubbles right now.

Barry lands inside another bubble. Sallie exits

Barry: Shouts and screams in happiness. Kisses bubble

Oh! Oh I'll never doubt this bubble again. It's scary out there! Did you find anything else there Sallie?

Barry looks around to see Sallie landing safely on the ground. Sallie re-enters frolicking in the grass

Sallie you bastard! Come back and get me!

Sallie takes no notice

Sallie: Talks to a tree

Hello there. Have you seen my friend Barry? We're being taken to Godot!

Pause

Shy are we? Don't worry, I won't eat you. I'm a carnivore, rawr!

Barry:

Sallie! I'm here! I'm up here you stupid bastard! Godot... I hate this bubble...

Barry starts screaming while falling upwards

Sallie: Talks to a pot plant

Hello Godot!

- A Short Script Play by Symon Taylor

This play probably doesn't make any sense to you whatsoever. It's highly symbolic though. You may take the bubbles as little extracts of technology distracting people everyday, or even being encased within them. And the moments spent without it feels as if you're falling, and that nothing can be done without them. But just fall, see what happens to you then. You may take the symbolic references in anyway possible, it's free for the mind to interpret; because that's what I aimed to do.

It's a story created in absurdity, purely symbolic.

So Sick

2010-10-02T19:26:00.008+10:00

This is an original image taken inside of the National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne.

I've spent a lot of time in the city,

Seeing and hearing it's experiences of sound and design.

At heart, everyone is sick.

I get lost in the smog of tobacco smoke up and down Swanston,

Lost in a sea of Black as the Flinder's Goths swarm at night,

And battered with conformist suit-wear within the CBD.

I remembered when the Yarra was not brown in the clarity of last year's Summer,

I remembered a city of welcome, but not replaced with eyes of judgement.

I remembered a city of charity for the beggar, now dieing in the trash cans drenched in glutton, spelt with capital "M's".

Now it's been reduced to cut-throats, skin tight vanity, and Religious Extremists; of Bible, skin and air pumped foot-balls.

I found where what I remember retreats to though;

Across the river, dodging the trolls underneath the bridge,

Flourishing in white fountain...

And there, I made a wish to the sounds of oriental strings.

Give me trees, give me grass, give me emotion!

The Art's Centre of Melbourne, I want more than the sounds of cars screeching, or the Clown screaming "4 more quarter pounders!"

Take me away from the synthetic lights shouting to buy.

Give me something to feel, other than city heart sickness or a drunken slurr.

I thirst inspiration amongst the grass and flower-made clock,

Show me who knoweth first on rock made statue heads.

You provide the city, life;

Life to caputre, life to paint, life to sing, and life to act.

Near the palms and willows I write,

My favorite place in the city.

- A contemplation of thoughts by Symon Taylor.

Situations.

2010-08-29T00:59:00.005+10:00

Picture From: http://www.gangstersout.com/rage-against-the-machine.jpg

Sets you free sometimes...

People ask me why I listen to screamo, and heavy metal music. I tell them it's expression; although THEY can't understand it because of the ambiguity of the scream, it's another language to learn. Loud, and screamed is how it should be expressed; such strong and heavy hearted messages is what the final product projects through the essence of its music.

It calms me down. It's strange how music of hate, of rage, of passion can calm down such an angry soul. I guess it's a relation to situations, well, at least for the songs I listen to. I don't have a real music type/genre. I listen to songs that tell me a story, through the black and white notes on the guitar strings, through the heart beat of the drum, and the soul-drilling bass in context through the lyrics projected by a voice. They make you move, physically, and mentally.

It's pain, it's healing, it's revolution.

It's war, it's peace, it's cutting.

It's not a thought, and it's not something you can touch.

It's power, it's a weapon, it's a tool that is used by manipulators.

Music is the sounds that make you feel something, for life without sound in the soul, is like lighting fires with no air.

You spark, nothing else. Frictions that frustratingly try to set fire to something just tire and exhaust you. It's what you can channel.

I channel my rage through music, and is dispersed in a soulful way. I'm free, without physical intervention. Without it, I'd be mad.

The Missing Scene

2010-08-03T20:33:00.009+10:00

Inspired by the video-clips - "Darling," by Eyes Set To Kill, "Vermillion Part 2," by Slipknot and the song "Romance Is Dead," by Parkway Drive.

Picture from: http://musicmedia.ign.com/music/image/vermilion4inline_092004_1095716151.jpg

In the darkest hours of our darkest times, I tear my hair out.

I want you to breathe to me, slowly, slowly now.

Let me know you're still alive.

Don't worry about me, I'm only dieing,

Dieing to reassure you that no one else has walked this far with me.

To a place best forgotten...

You mean everything to me, a factor too large to comprehend.

A myth that I have to believe in.

A heart that leaked and covered me.

Please just stitch our mouths shut now,

And let our eyes do the talking.

Glazed with the sounds of plucking strings, scratchy violins,

...and strokes from blood-stained paint brushes...

I can't let this build up inside of me.

All I need is one more reason to make us real,

But slowly the whole world is tearing it up in my eyes.

I watch every god-damned soul around me,

They wouldn't know love if it hit them in the chest,

And tore their hearts open just to see what's inside.

That's all they're looking for,

An opening to someone,

Or someone to fill it.

A bond of eternity is rare,

No one seems to see,

They just listen to the radio sounds of Sex, Drugs, and Violence.

They say a week is reasonable,

A month, spectacular,

But a year? Un-spoken in their tongue.

Our love story is ripped off a song that is forgotten,

Details different, but a song never sung again,

Only lingering off the tears on our lips, yearning to be screamed.

But what of this storm?

Are you being swept away?

Floating whimsically to the north?

I don't know what to do.

I'm chasing a plastic bag in the rain,

Weighed down by water, but pushed aside by the wind.

Don't lie to me,

I know you hurt,

Because I feel it too, scratching at the temples of my skull.

There's still yet to talk about my missing scene,

Where it is,

Why it's not here.

Reason it's missing is because we haven't made it,

I'm just trying to edit the next few pages,

From the script of eternity.

Writing piece by: Symon Taylor

I don't know. Just something written on the spur of the moment.

Hedgehog.

2010-07-02T21:44:00.061+10:00

Note: The follow blog post contains *SPOILERS*. If you have not played the game, and do not want it to be ruined, DO NOT READ THE FOLLOWING BLOG POST.

Foreword: One of my favorite video-games, Prototype, has got me thinking; what is it really like in the mind of Alex Mercer? First of all, by releasing the Blacklight Virus in Penn Station, New York, Mercer allowed himself to die, but mutate into an eniterly new entity, waking up in a morgue with no memories of his past self. The game is about Mercer's journey of revenge to the people that created the Blacklight Virus that turned him into something different; more or less than human.

To fully understand Mercer and his motives, you are obliged to watch the following videos:

Here's a link to the introduction cinematic to the game to get the feel for Mercer's character, and a bit of back-story: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RahEtkVxAPA&feature=related

Or, if you want a brief summary of what the game's about, click the following link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HzVxa47UpDo&feature=channel

This writing piece is about Mercer's heart. Karen Parker, a geneticist and Mercer's girlfriend before he "died" or infected (However you would like to see it), betrayed Mercer soo easily when the outbreak of the Virus occurred throughout New York. She betrayed him by manipulating him to do numerous tasks, like gathering infectious DNA, to aid the Military and Blackwatch's task to combat Mercer. Later in the game, the player (as Mercer) has a chance to kill her if he/she went looking for her (Though killing was ambiguous).

Has the Blacklight Virus completely stripped Alex of humanity? Or has he become something much, much more...

"I looked for the truth. Found it, didn't like it. Wish the hell I could forget it. Alex Mercer; this city has suffered for his mistakes. For what he did at Penn Station. And whoever he was that's apart of me, is when I close my eyes, I see the memories of a thousand dead men screaming as I take their lives... Moments I'll re-live forever. What have I become? Something less than human? But also something more... One virus, 3 weeks, millions dead. And I was there. My name was Alex Mercer, and my work is almost done."

- Alex Mercer at the end of the game.

This clash of monologue thoughts happen between Mercer and a former work mate. This work mate recognizes Alex from when they used to work for Gentek, the company that enhanced the Blacklight Virus.

Setting: The Virus outbreak has been eradicated from New York, but Blackwatch and the Military still search for Mercer.

Key Terms (Brief summary):

Blacklight - The virus that swept New York

Blackwatch - A secret military branch that specialize in Biological Warfare.

Gentek - A genetic research facility Alex, Karen and Veronica were apart of.

Elizabeth Greene - The only human to survive and contain the Blacklight virus in her own unique genetic structure.

Director McMullen - The man in charge of the whole Blacklight Virus study.

Picture from: http://mrstuff.co.uk/blog/wp-content/gallery/general_pics/prototype_super.jpg

Mercer:

What the hell do I do. Do I have feelings for her, but what feelings? Anger? Rage? Humanity... Alex Mercer died at Penn Station, so who.... What am I? What the hell, am I?

The military code-named me "ZEUS." Am I a god or something? But even Gods have direct feelings. Soo many people died because Alex Mercer released a Virus at Penn Station. Soo many people infected, soo many innocents caught in the crossfire. And I consumed them all to find a truth I had created. I can still hear all of their voices inside of me, screaming out to me in a web of the virus that is the very fabric of my life. But that's another thing, am I alive? I have soo much life running through me that is not mine; the lives of countless others I have made into one, into me. I hate contemplating life and death, because I'm both of them, with identity issues.

They're only now allowing people cross the bridges off the island after soo long, but many people don't leave. Not after what they saw here. I saved these people, now I'm responsible for them. They deserve to live if they have survived me... An infection. All of the scientists and military personal who killed Alex Mercer, and those who created the virus are dead, I don't need to kill anymore. But what is there for me now, why do I still linger? There's still a military presence here, but they can't find me...

Veronica:

I should have handed him into the authorities, but after what he did to Karen? I wouldn't dare. I saw him visit Penn Station yesterday, the spot where the virus apparently started. He saw me straight away, stared at me for a while. His bold, grey, silver eyes locked onto me, and before I knew it he vanished into the crowd, with no evidence of his presence. I... I couldn't move, I didn't know what to do. Was he going to kill me? Did he really survive the infection un-harmed? Damn Blackwatch had the whole show behind curtains, even for a chief geneticist at Gentek like me. From what I've heard, I am one of the few surviving geneticists from the studies of the Elizabeth Greene. She was such a focal point in human discovery, and what we can do with evolution. She was the key to unlock the secrets of humanity. In her blood, the Redlight virus created many strands of DNA that reacted to different things. We witnessed few such cells dissolving cancers into nothing. We saw these cells replicate with each other, creating blood clots and white blood cells at the same time for accelerated healing. She was going to be humanity's hope, but Alex and Karen had other plans for the virus. It was not even a sickness, but a leap in humanity. Greene's genetic structure had the answers to everything, and yet, the one mistake that cost millions of lives in New York.

Now we live on like nothing ever happened. We are supposed to forget the mistakes of Gentek causing a genocide of millions of innocent people. But I heard many of them mutated into something else, something, not human at all. Savage, merciless. But after the nuke went off out at sea, everything changed for the better. The infection spread became less vigorous and was contained by the military. But why did the nuke go off in the middle of the sea? How is Alex alive after all he has done?

Mercer:

You come to the point where you take soo many lives, you start to question your own. I thought that, if I could save them all, I could somehow redeem myself. But who exactly am I impressing? God? That toy was done with me as soon as Alex joined Gentek. No, something more. I now have a stable position within the Military, taking note on how they're trying to find me, and sabotaging every plan. They're not going to find me, not yet.

A problem with hiding in public is when people start to recognize you. Veronica Miles, one of the people who worked with Alex on the Blacklight Virus, saw me when I came back to the spot where I released the virus at Penn Station. She instantly remembered me, fixed her eyes upon mine. I looked into her eyes, and somehow Alex's memories reached out to me and told me who she was. I should hunt her down so she can't speak a work about me. I should have killed her, right there and then, in the middle of Penn Station. I should have consume her, so her genetic knowledge and skills could not be used against me. But why didn't I? At that place, on that moment? She was frozen, ready to be killed, but, I ran away. Far away.

At that moment, I didn't look at her as one of my priority threats. I didn't look at her as my next target. I looked through her eyes, and stared at her soul. I don't think I've ever looked at someone like that. It brought memories to my head, memories of Alex Mercer and Karen Parker. Intimate feelings like that died with Alex Mercer, because I was betrayed by Karen, and she paid with her life. I cannot fall into this. I'm a monster.

Veronica:

From everyone else's perspective, Alex and Karen were the cornerstones to the whole project. It wouldn't have functioned as efficiently without the two of them. Even Director McMullen gave them top security access to make the research run faster. I guess that was his mistake. The two of them dug too far, and paid the consequences. Karen tried to run for it, but was caught and sent to a concentration camp to be interrogated into agreeing not say a word. And Alex? No one knows exactly. Most sources say that he was shot at Penn Station, but that would be too much waste of a great mind. They say he killed all the agents that were after him, and he went rouge seeking refugee underground. These are just stories, and I intend to ask him myself.

I've hacked into New York's big-brother network; speed cameras, shopping mall cameras, whatever's recording. He seems to be interested in Military zones. What is he up to? Is he really plotting a terrorist conspiracy against us? He can't be, his movements are too slow, as if he wants to be caught. Maybe he's trying to bring someone out of hiding? I can never be sure. All I know is, he's incredibly smart, a master's degree in genetics, engineering and a whole lot of stuff that's been wiped off the internet and put into top secret files in the military.

There's nothing about him being a soldier, or have hand military training, so how has he survived this long? Has he had special undercover training? Been taught overseas? It's impossible, because being a geneticist is a full time job, with no real breaks in between. Soo many questions I want answered, but I can't find them by sitting here. I have to look for him.

Mercer:

I don't remember any of my... Alex's past. I've made my own through the recent evens that made what was left of Alex like this. But I do know a range of past experiences from those I've taken. I see countless fathers embracing the warmth of their children, I see hardened souls with no room for love, for heart takes too much room in the conscious mind. What stuck out to me most was a scientist's forbidden love with a woman from India. She was royalty or something, and her family was bias against the tyrant that labels itself, "America." Direct quote mind you.

This scientist travels to the dangerous Dudhwa Jungles of India, to pick some rare plants to help his research. In the jungle he spots a wandering Princess picking strange flowers; they happened to hold the yam, Armorphophallus Paeoniifulius, the exact plant he needed. He steps out from the bushes, and asks the princess for the flowers. Funnily enough, she spoke English back and asked if she could escape to America with him. Astounded with her beauty, he agreed. But that was before her guards shot the scientist in the arm, and took the princess back to the Maharajah. Disappointed and discussed with her daughter, the Maharajah ordered an execution for her, on the charges of conspiring with an American. But the scientist then infiltrated the palace, killed some guards, rescued the princess, and kicked the Maharajah in the eye. He then shipped off with her to New York where they lived happily ever after. Stupid fairy tale endings.

Dumbfounded strength, luck, courage, or whatever it was, he got the job done. But this sheer determination didn't come from a cause, because he could have left with the flowers back to America, and made heaps of money. No, he got a bonus from stupid actions; a princess. Or rather, a wife. And to be able to have the privileged of kicking Indian Royalty in the eye? Something was up. He wasn't driven by vengeance, like I was, because he was injured from a guard shotting him in the arm. He wasn't angry because he had to hide from authorities to step on "Forbidden Land" to collect some flowers. No, he was driven by a heart. Something I am still yet to understand. For the only heart I ever came close to, even if it was Alex's, had betrayed me.

Veronica:

Dr. Peadar Aisling kept putting the people at Gentek down because we were seen as the "Spoilt" scientists, getting everything provided to us by demand. Dr. Aisling always used to brag about his adventures overseas to gain materials for his research. What a man though, shot 9 times in his career, fought against Shoulin Monks, crossed swords with some of Japan's greatest Samurai, and married an Indian Princess after kicking the Maharajah in the eye. Truly outstanding lies to look down upon us. Just because we had military funding, and our research would actually one day benefit humanity.

Karen Parker would usually gloat about our fundings in front of Dr. Aisling, and giving shame to his research. Alex always tried to pull her back, but Karen was usually full of herself. Alex didn't deserve that. Alex had a brilliant mind, never skipping a stone in his own research. He was thorough, never missed a spot under the microscope. Many people were fired because they couldn't keep up with him. Even I had trouble keeping up with him. I thought I had made a major discovery when I found a strand of the virus transforming itself into a cancer, yet quickly reversing it. I was excited and ready to tell the Director, but I looked over at Alex's work station to see he was one step ahead of me, and had already made it's anti-body. He was flawless in his work, so I don't understand why he could have gone rogue against Gentek, against the military, against America. He is known to be America's most dangerous Terrorist. But from what I remember during the infection, Alex was only mentioned to appear on the radio or T.V, not doing anything. He is an innocent man. He is a victim.

Mercer:

To realise I was a victim of whatever Alex did at Penn Station, was, liberating. Like a Phoenix; Alex Mercer had to die, so that I would be born. But what if life didn't go this way? What if the mistakes of Alex Mercer never occurred? I don't know a thing about him personally, yet, I'm enclosed within his image. What if the life of Alex Mercer continued and I would have never been created? New York would still be the filth it always was, secrets would still be secrets and millions of people would still be alive; even those who were responsible for the virus, those responsible for my creation. I can't dwell on the past though, because now I've been given gifts that could shatter the world. I am invincible.

Yet still these feelings keep pushing me around. One look into Veronica's eyes, and I've been fixed. I found out where she lives, and I've kept a close eye on her. But why am I doing this!? She knows who I am! She knows Alex's past! I should take her memories so I can at least get some knowledge of Alex's past in Gentek! I should kill her at rid me of the last threat against my refuge in New York! No one knows I'm still here in New York, the military thought I died on the Reagan! She is a threat to me, and my plans to completely destroy Blackwatch! SO WH..... Why can't I kill her? There is no heart left within me, only the virus tissues lying dormant within me, ready to be used at any time... So what is keeping me from killing her? I have to find out. I have to know. It's been 6 days since I saw her at Penn Station, so tomorrow, she'll be taking the train home from work. I have to know why...

Veronica:

Alex's movements have been more spontaneous lately. He's become more elusive in his movements, covering his tracks every step of the way. He's planning something, and he's going to reveal it soon. Not only has he been around Penn Station numerous times again, but now he is infiltrating military databases on a daily basis. Is he planning something city wide? Will he shut down all communications or something? Is he looking for the perfect place to release the virus again? He can't though, all virus samples have been incinerated... All that work, destroyed... Maybe Alex still has samples. Perhaps that's why he infiltrates the military bases? To get all the remaining data left on the virus? He's continuing the research into the Blacklight Virus! I know he can find the right DNA strand of the virus to cure all diseases, rid the world of sickness and disability! He will create it into the most outstanding medical breakthrough in the history of mankind! He will finish the work of the late Director McMullen. He will achieve what no man has ever achieved before!

But why has he been around my area? All of the main military bases are near Morningside Park, while I live in a apartment in Koreatown. Is he scoping out the area for someo... Me.

He knew I recognized him, he knew I'd be onto him, and maybe that's why he's been on the military databases; to check out who I've been spying on. He's after me... Crap.. No!... What have I done?

Clashing monologues end here, the story begins with an ending...

Dark clouds shroud New York as a lone Veronica Miles walks to her apartment in the rain. Shadow like figures stalk her, and feelings of fear press down hard upon her chest, making her gasp for breath. The wet, steel, cool feeling of her apartment gates make her shiver, as she opens the lock only to be quickly closed again in a loud, sudden crash. The sound of shaking metals echo throughout her apartment corridors as she rushes to seek refuge in her own room. The elevator arrives with it's small bell ringing as she rapidly presses the button to her floor. The door, she can see it across the corridor from the elevator, with its white invitation, it calls to her. She now runs out of the elevator to her apartment door, taking everything out of her bags to find the key. The sounds of various items dropping onto the hard wooden floors scream into her ears as the rattling of her keys stay in beat with her feat. The key enters the lock; silence embers as the sounds of the clicking lock makeshift with its key. The door opens, and quickly shuts as Veronica sits and curls up in front of the door, preventing it from opening again.

The familiar smell of her apartment comforts her; the old musk of the old building, the scent of the omelet she cooked in the morning, the Jasmine tea left un-touched, and the smooth touch of her favorite vanilla scented candles. Everything was the way she had left it in the morning, even her chubby house cat, sound asleep. She closes her eyes and takes in the relaxation of being home. But she was not alone...

She could feel another presence in the room as the goosebumps on her skin began to rise. Sweat began to shed, and her eyes were welded shut. "You're here aren't you? You're here to kill me?" Veronica muttered. "Veronica Miles, chief geneticist at Gentek. Ex-employee." Said a voice from amidst the shadows. "You are among the last people who know who I am."

"I don't know you." She replied. "Then how did you recognize me at Penn Station last week? Why have you been spying on me!? Why did you hack military databases to find information on me when you could have stolen secrets and sold them for money!? Why haven't you reported me to Blackwatch!!!" The voice shouted as it emerged from the shadows. "Or have you already? Give me a reason not to kill you!"
"ALEX!"

.....

The room fell into a deep silence as these two trembling souls locked their eyes on one another once more. Staring at each other, perfectly still as the rain outside spits onto the windows. Thunder could be heard outside, projected from the darkest clouds. His glowing silver eyes pierce the very fabrics of her heart, rendering her in full stillness, and silence. She was drawn into his eyes like dust to a vacuum.

Picture From: http://www.silver-mask.net/images/graphics/silver_eye.jpg

Lightning flashes, but still Mercer's glowing eyes linger. And Veronica's golden, amber eyes sit un-moved, defenseless, weak in the eyes of fear. There was not even the most subtle blink, even with the flashes of light coming from the storm outside. She wanted to cry, but her tears falter. She wanted to run, but her body wouldn't let her. She just stared into the eyes of death; with no hope, no warmth staring into the cool depths of the steel-tipped iris.

Picture From: http://i42.photobucket.com/albums/e308/black_roses1338/Amber_eyes.jpg

"Alex Mercer..." She whispered. "What happened to you?"

He blinked as she said this, freed from the trans he was set in. He looked away, and walked towards the window, staring out into the drenched city, with her eyes following his footsteps.

"I died at Penn Station. Now this is all that's left, wandering 'life' in this image." He said self-scornfully.

Veronica stood up in confusion and crept over to where he was standing. "What do you mean Alex? You're standing right in front of me?"

Red and black molecules cover Alex like a cloud over skyscrapers, and as the fog clears, another man is in his place. The same cloud passes up and down his body, and as it does different people stand where he once stood. Like a shutter door opening and closing rapidly to reveal the crew and characters of the same play; in one man. Veronica recoils at the sight of this and falls onto her back. Crawling rigorously, trying to escape with her eyes still locked on his, she approaches her keys on the floor. Still shape-shifting, he/it talks;

"In front of you, you see whatever's left of Alex Mercer. Another disguise, another image; for whatever is left of Alex is all of these people you see, screaming into my ears until they bleed dry. Whatever's left of Alex is whatever killed him at Penn Station. Whatever is left of Alex Mercer has all but faded, I AM THE BLACKLIGHT VIRUS!"

Silence deafens, as a battle between their eyes occur, taking with it, it's casualties. Alex quickly escapes outside of the window closely chased by Veronica. She catches a glimpse of him running vertically up the wall to the top of the building, so she quickly ran to her door, and quickly out into the corridor. She passes her possessions she dropped giving no attention to where she steps. Rushing into the elevator, confused, questioning, angry and scared, she presses the button to the top floor. Hurrying out of the elevator door, past the hallway, she sees the entrance to the rooftop. As the door opens, she immediately sees Alex on the ledge of the building facing the streets below, and the rush of the many raindrops drenches her body. She runs out onto the middle of the roof, feeling the needles of the iced wind blow against her while the saltiness of her tears enters her mouth.

"If everything of Alex's is all but gone, why haven't you killed me yet?" Her quivering lips queried.

"Because, you're now apart of me." He answered, as the rain drenches his clothes, and clouds surround Veronica.

No tears, no regrets, no more questions. Hearts beat, but there is no sound, only the pale raindrops upon New York. Only one on the rooftop, but none standing. Memories gracefully flow, but quickly fade, as the rooftop door swings to the push of the wind. Water runs down the skin on his face, but it's not rain. Looking up into the skies he shouts at the top of his lungs, at the thunder mocking him from above.

Fan-Fiction Story Written By - Symon Taylor.

Reason for title: The closer you get to a small innocent creature like a hedgehog, the more it's needles are going to hurt you. It pierces the skin, gets stuck, and can end up with infections. This analogy can be used in everyday human interaction especially when it comes to the most difficult relationships. Sometimes, in the end, you just have to give it up.

Note Character Names:

Alexander Mercer = Warrior/Defender of Mankind, Storekeeper.

Veronica Miles = True image, Grace.

The Pieces.

2010-06-21T18:40:00.018+10:00

Our English teacher told us to make a one minute scene in relevance to the film "Look Both Ways." We were then given two ideas that linked into the film for each pair. But I'm awesome and went by myself.

My two ideas were: - Alienation and Despair.

Picture from: http://i186.photobucket.com/albums/x280/vintagevans21/smashed-guitar2.jpg

-Camera focused on muted mouths arguing. Shots are taken from various angles. The camera will then be zoomed out to see a father and a son arguing in the front yard of their court. The son is holding a brand new guitar-

Dad:

You idiot! Why the hell did you go out and buy a guitar for!? I taught you finance! The art of spending money efficiently, not putting it to waste!

Son:

Please dad, I've put up with numbers for too long... I need some kind of outlet... I need at least some kind of emotion, without figures....

Dad:

What the hell is music going to do for you?! Our family has specialised in finance for years! We've been stable with money for many generations! And YOU disgrace us by wanting to strum on a piece of wood!?

Son:

But dad, why should our family continue along this same track? Why should I be condemned to follow your same freight train, and all of my following sons and daughters!?

Dad:

What the hell is wrong with you!? You're supposed to be MY successor! But now you're chasing this.. this outlandish dream!? You've brought same on this family. Why can't you be perfect like your older sisters?

Son:

Because I'm not a depressed money crunching leech like you!

-Silence. Camera pans past their silent mouths. They stare at each other briefly, camera focuses on their eyes-

Dad:

Well then chase your stupid dream.

-Silence-

-Dad grabs then throws guitar out into the court-

-Camera is fixed behind the Dad before he throws it. The cameras are placed at different angles to catch the guitar flying in slow-motion. The last camera is placed on the floor parallel to the crash site of the guitar-

-Cameras are placed beneath the crash site where they will sit still, looking at the wooden shards fly passed the sun's rays. A side camera will view the breaking of the neck before another camera will zoom on the strings snapping. The last camera will be from a bird's eye view of the crash looking at the remains of the guitar. There is a brief pause-

-Sounds of harps play-

-Camera focused back on the father's face, then switched over to the Son, who is trying to hide his pain-

-Camera is then place between them, showing the son looking directly into his father's eyes. The father walks into the house-

Song: Perfect by Simple Plan, starts playing as the son picks up the pieces of his guitar.

- Script By Symon Taylor

The Accounts of David Simmons - A Boer War Journal.

2010-06-10T20:38:00.011+10:00

*An old writing piece done in 2009*

Picture From: http://nickmilne.files.wordpress.com/2009/10/boerwar1.jpg

The following journal was found at The Transvaal in Africa. Some pages were lost in the plains of mud and only a few dates could be recognised, all other dates we’re approximated guesses made by the Archaeologists. This Journal was decrypted by War Archaeologist – Vern Simmons (Great grandson of David Simmons). This historical document was provided by Symon Taylor

Late January

...It was another cold January’s day at the orphanage in Birmingham; another day being trapped here with people just like me; except, I’m the oldest, making me the most responsible. It was the same old thing every morning; I get up, wash my face, and get all the little ones up for breakfast. They all came downstairs by the dozens, all dreary from their trip back to reality. The children were fed and are dressed for school and soon after, I lead the children off towards the local public school. I smiled and waved goodbye to each of them as I headed off to University.

The young ones... how innocent they looked this morning, skipping or plodding along. A pathetic bunch some might call us, because of how pathetic we really are. We all rely on the kindness of humanity in the form of donations; but even that can fail us sometime. Where is our hope? The hope of having parents of our own? Where is our light? To guide us through this empty tunnel? Where is our support? Donations can fail us sometimes...

But there was one thing that kept us going; it was our love of each other in the orphanage, how we were one with the building, and with all of the people inside. No one was left out, we included everyone, even when it came to story time; I would have at least two or three children on my lap. But still, I am a young adult, and I should be leaving the orphanage soon to get a job to help society. I always wonder at night, who will take care of the young ones like I would?

Today, when I first stepped into the University grounds I closed my eyes and smiled, taking a deep breath. My escape from reality; the University, learning can just sometimes lift my mind off other matters, to focus on the knowledge being thrown at us. It was the light at the end of my tunnel, but yet can be the train heading towards me, with massive amounts of assignments.

Every morning when I enter the school grounds, I always see a great lad named Marcus (“Marko”) Smith on one of the front benches with books; loads and loads of books. I love making fun of him, even though he’s like a brother to me, I keep repeating to him that he should get a life instead of burying himself in books. But once I’m done with the teasing, I join studying with him. After a few hours in the University, like always, Marko and I would go to his place to stay for a bit. But today something very different happened.

On the side of the street near Marko’s place, we saw a large crowd build up. I asked one of the chaps what was happening. He told me that there was a war happening in the distant lands of Africa. We walked up to the middle of the crowd and saw a poster with the details of where to sign up. Marko and I had a chat about it, “The possibilities Africa could present us!” we said. An agreement was made between us, to stick together as brothers, and to Africa we shall go...

Early February

...It was hard leaving the orphanage, and it’s harder yet keeping up with the drills they make us do here in the Birmingham training grounds. Plus all that topped on top of keeping Marko together, I heard his mother was not too happy letting us two go. Marko said to me that his mother felt like she was letting two sons go at the same time; boy did that make me smile. But this is, like the poster on the street said, for our country and for the fallen fathers who fought in the first, brief, Boer War.

Marko is sleeping right now on the top of our bunk-bed knowing we have to repeat this hard training session every day until the 20^th; my body feels like it has been hit with stones. But I know it will be all worth it when I fight for the closest thing I have to family; Marko’s, my sworn brother’s, father. Marko seemed to keep up fairly well today though, a little struggle on the obstacle course, but otherwise he did fine.

Marko; what a champion. Even though I was the younger and stronger one out of the two of us, he was the smartest one. We were practically opposites, but it was that sense that made us come together like brothers. Back at university I remember if anyone would pick on him, they would have to deal with me, and if I was failing at a subject, I would have to go through one of his mind numbing lectures. But all in all it was great, we were like the markets and the farms, one can’t survive without the other.

Today Marko and I met up with this fellow named Robert Jenkins; I just called him Bob, it seemed more appropriate at the time. He shares the same tent as us; he sleeps on bed 5 row 2. He shares a bunk with a large fellow named Benjamin Leyden, he’s usually very quiet. Marko keeps moving around in his sleep in the bunk above, wonder what he’s dreaming about? Poor lad, I can’t even begin knowing what he’s going through, because I have no parents to feel it with...

19^th of February

...Same day as usual, but training has become easier and easier, even Marko is keeping up strong. Heck Bob Jenkins flew right through the obstacle course; he’s really strong for a kid who got beat up by his dad as a child. You can really tell it hurts him inside though, every day he has a look about him, it’s somewhat eluding for some, but I notice more than people give me credit for.

Marko has stopped moving around in his sleep recently; it’s probably because we are being shipped off to Africa tomorrow afternoon. I am very excited myself about tomorrow, we shall get to see Lions! The proud animal of Africa they say it is. I have only seen a few pictures of them from the local photographer back near the orphanage, giant cats the man described them as. Gosh how did I adore Lions, the children at the orphanage knew how much I did and sculpted a lion bed head just for me.

God how I miss the orphanage, the children, my Lion shaped bed, the headmaster getting angry when her tea wasn’t made properly; and how the children used to listen attentively when I told my stories. Their favourite story was one the old headmaster used to tell my generation of orphans; it was called “The Rusty Knight.” It was not a tale of a knight in “Shining Armour,” but of the smart knight who was hard to see in the woods. Almost invisible when near trees, a perfect man for an ambush. His armour was his chivalry, and he only fought for the most valiant lords of the land.

But unfortunately this was an old tale written by a Boer, my enemies. These were the people that killed many brave British soldiers; I will return the favour when my time comes...

28^th of February

...Ending the battle of Ladysmith, it was hard and gruesome, but worth it. I am the Awaking Lion who has just tasted blood, now I want more. Exhilarating is how I would describe the passing battle, the Boers didn’t know what hit them when I joined the fight. I used every bit of my rifle, I shot on the mark, I stabbed with my bayonet, and if I did not have time to reload, I would beat my next opponent with my rifle as if it was a stick. Marko on the other hand was lagging behind me, carefully picking his next position after the next and taking his time to aim. It annoyed me it did.

Then there was Bob Jenkins... Robert “Bob” Jenkins... a brave soul the kid was. He stormed the main camp with his unit to blow up their block houses. His unit was successful, but on his retreat an artillery shell went off at his side blowing his arm off. Marko and I saw the whole thing, for we were the unit covering their escape. When we brought Bob in to get patched up, it was already too late. Those god forsaken Boers, those monstrous British hating Boers! It’s their fault Bobby is dead! We may have won the battle because of Bob’s regiment, but that won’t bring him back. People come up to Marko and I saying “We could not have done it without Bobby,” but that won’t bring him back!

The kid got close to Marko and I, he was like our 3^rd sworn brother. I shall exact my revenge soon; we will start marching off to Mafeking tomorrow. The Boers would have to wish they had never been born by the time I meet them in battle, my rifle is at the ready, my bayonet is sharpened, and my wits shall pierce the enemy’s hearts with the proud ROAR of my battle cry!...

17^th of March

...I lick my wounds and I clean my claws, it’s the night ending the Mafeking battle. The Boers got what they deserve, but apparently they put up a good fight. They were more morally uplifted, while our troops were still tired from the last battle and the walk here. A bunch of pansies they are, including Marko, he got mad at me because “I apparently” revealed our position. I can’t help it if I wanted to kill the lot of them, I might have killed the cannon operator who shot the shell that blew up Bobby. All I did was charge out into enemy lines killing ever damn Boer I saw. All in all, it was necessary, the bastards deserved it.

A few hours ago, Marko started to shout at me, after his lecture from General Roberts. He must have been cranky after the battle, or just really tired, he didn’t know what he was saying. Marko kept saying things like “We almost lost because of your bloodlust!” or “The plan was all set, why in all hell did you not follow it!?” and “I’m the one who is being held responsible for your damn actions!”

I don’t care about the damn tactics, I make my own plan, kill the bastards and live another day. Marko decided to take it a bit further and blame my bloodlust on Bobby’s death. I punched him in the face when he said that, then I told him that no matter how many Boer’s I kill, it will never bring back Bobby. But like always, Marko was right, he’s always right, but it’s just sometimes I get so frustrated that he is always right. That’s why I punched him, and that’s why I lied. We’ve become a bit distant now, don’t know if he’ll forgive me or not, we shall just have to see where the future takes us.

We’re heading off to Johannesburg next; they say there we will have a memorial service for all those who have died thus far.

21^st of July

...It’s been 4 months walking to Johannesburg, 4 long muddy months, and they say it will be another month before we reach the city though, another month until I, well, we can properly say goodbye to Bobby. Marko has been even more distant than usual, yet, he is always hovering around me. Not sure what’s wrong with the chap, I didn’t punch him that hard. Probably because of what I had done, I am supposed to be his brother for Pete’s sake. I’ll find a right time to talk to him, but for now, I will leave him be.

It is night time right now, and I’m outside by the fire place. I looked up to see the stars, there’s so many of them. They say that when we die our spirits are sent to God to be transformed into the bright lights in the sky. I hope when I die, I would be close to Leo, the Lion star sign; or next to my brother, in an everlasting eternity.

Marko is in his tent sleeping, I never get much sleep anymore after that incident in Mafeking. It was an epiphany for me, my bloodlust was taking over me, I wasn’t thinking straight. I snapped myself out of it when Marko left the tent that evening. How stupid could I have been?

I can hear in the distance the mighty roar of the Alpha Lion, maybe he’s won a territorial fight, or found dinner for his pride. But that’s what I sounded like when I rushed out into the battle at Mafeking. My pride, my lust, and my vengeance were all that could be heard. That day still echoes through my mind over and over again.

While looking back at the stars, I begin to wonder to myself: Why are we here? Why didn’t the war against the Boers end the first time? I know we’re avenging past soldiers, but what for? What is so special about Africa? Other than the Lions of course.

It makes me wonder at night, what is it all for? I went around to numerous people, except Marko, and asked the question to them; they began to wonder as I did. Even the generals and corporals wondered the same thing; there was something more to Africa, if Mother Britain wanted it so much...

1^st of September

...What a walk it was from there to here, but we got our lucky break; the Boer’s left Johannesburg before we got here, and the towns people were more than friendly. We marched into the town yesterday and what a damn right mess this town’s in, even the central clock tower had a hole in it, and I don’t know if anyone noticed it except me. We just had a memorial service today, what a burden off my shoulders, I could finally say goodbye to Bobby and the rest of my fallen brethren.
Picture From: http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_K78YS2Yisw0/SuThGcn7OaI/AAAAAAAAA4w/rMBAjTKGKw0/s640/SouthAf3a.jpg

It was at the service where Marko and I made amends, I said sorry to him for being such a git, and that he was right all along. We made up and now we’re talking again, well, slowly starting to. He may not show it all the time but I know deep inside of him he is always thinking of his mother, his poor mother; frozen still in the cold depths of Birmingham, England.

Still reminds me of the children at the orphanage, I can still see their faces locked within my mind. Carlton, Patrick, Lily, Bradliegh, Bryony, Samantha, Susan and Billy; they were my favourites in the orphanage. Even though we were all brothers and sisters in cause, these 8 were here the longest with me, and knew me the most. They were my pride, and I was the Alpha Lion, we all provided for each other.

The last month walking here was the worse; I am still trying to clean the mud off my boots. The rain didn’t help either; I had to replace all of my ammunition because all of the gunpowder was wet. Marko laughed at the sight of me draining my munitions one by one, wasn’t that funny. What a waste, but at least I can relax, at least until the 30^th, they say that the battle in the Transvaal would be one of our greatest battles yet.

But I still wonder, what is this all for? I asked around even more, and I heard rumours of gold! If that is what this war was fought over, I think I have lost my faith in humanity...

29^th of September

...A girl, Marko is upset with me because I’m chasing a girl. He’s acting like the jealous minor Lion in the pride who wants to be the Alpha. I met her the day after the memorial service; she came on to me like sour cream on a baked potato. It’s the spoils of war; I have to have a bit of fun while I’m in town, or else I might go mad. You see a lot in war, and you need something to distract you from it. She was my distraction.

By the way Marko looks at her; I can tell that he doesn’t like her. I don’t know what’s wrong with the chap anymore, she’s always nice to him, but he just turns a blind eye. Marko tries to avoid me now, becoming distant but yet close once again. He’s always watching me, I can feel it in my gut, even if I can’t see him physically, I know he’s always somewhat lost in the crowd near me.

I said sorry to the boy, isn’t that enough? I just don’t get it, if he hates my girlfriend and me so, why is he always sticking close to me? I don’t know how he copes with me, my arrogance, my lust for Boer blood, and my stupidity with tactics. I’m going to prove myself to him when we get to the Transvaal; I want to remind him that he is still my brother in both cause, and spirit.

We leave here tomorrow, luckily I married that girl in town, Marko doesn’t know though. I just wanted someone to carry my name through the generations. The night of our wedding was wondrous, when the Alpha Lion would make an heir to his throne. She was brilliant, the most wonderful wife a man could have. Beautiful, caring and in-tune with my needs she is, but alas will I have to leave her.

She’s lying there next to me in my bed while I write this; her beauty makes the moon’s light illuminate on her skin like an angel. My Lioness, her stomach is starting to bulge with my heir to my throne; my achievement in life. But, like my father, I would have to leave him wondering who his father was. But at least he has a mother, a mother who will look after my little cub.

It’s Marko’s life all over again. His father impregnated his mother before leaving to go off to the first Boer War; Marko has only seen pictures of him. He’s more fortunate, my wife and I do not have the luxury of cameras or time. My heir will have to become strong without me; he will have to be better than me, for my heir has a mother, something I grew without. Tomorrow shall be my day of atonement to my brother, to say sorry for my past actions. I don’t care why I’m here anymore, I don’t care about our leaders and what they stand for, Marko needs a brother right now, and I’ll be there...

22^nd of October

...Marko is still the same, god how I feel guilty about it. We spent a whole month in Johannesburg, and only a few days were spent with Marko. I’m his brother for GOD’S SAKE! How much of an idiot can I be!? I was right; my wife was a distraction, a distraction from reality! Marko, the closest thing I have to family... how could I be so stupid.

We have made it to the Transvaal and have set up to defend against a Boer ambush (information provided by our scout’s). Marko’s on the other side, making sure that everything’s in place. God what a soldier, he knows what he’s doing, and what is happening next. What a fine chap. He still hovers around me, as if I had an aura about me, and strange looks always detail his face. It’s strange how this happens, I don’t know if his looks are in the cause of evil, or is he still looking up to me? After all I have done to him, he’s still not angry with me? I can hear the Boer cavalry approaching, and my claws are starting to unsheathe...

*Date unknown*
...Blood pours out my side into the mud beneath me as I write the last words of David Simmons. My head is light, and the world darkens. Marko has just crawled towards me, and has put his hand on my arm before he died. He remembered it was my birthday, or the day I was found on the streets. I am lucky I brought my journal to the battle, to die while giving my last words. I reach towards Marko’s hand and grab it with mine, this is how we die, the Alpha Lions...

Miss Butterfly

2010-06-01T17:20:00.063+10:00

* Note - The pictures have been edited to suit the story.

Inspired by love, and a true story. The story is not completely factual, just seen in my eyes; my interpretation.

I've followed this butterfly from the darkness of my past. In her I see freedom, love, and a hope for my fragile heart. I've chase her amongst mountains, through forests, across deserts. I remember falling down a large cliff, with my last sights on her. And just when all hope is lost, I'm slowed down by Miss Butterfly's grip, as we make a slow descent back onto stable ground; finding my feet once again.

I chase you again, in an everlasting hope to hold you, to embrace you Miss Butterfly. But it seems the closer I get to you, the further away you become. Others join the chase, close peers of mine, pushing and shoving violently to also be captivated by your beauty; but not for my reasons. They are monsters; only wishing to freeze your beauty, and ornament you like every other butterfly they have embraced.

I cannot compete with these creatures. They are relentless with their endless lies to slow me down, and yet, I am the closest to you. I stop, to catch my breathe; to pause and think. For the sake of not causing a stir amongst my peers, I will stop for the sake of everyone's happiness. Just as I turn around, I heard one of these monsters caught up with you, and even held you for a short time.

I stand still, not knowing what to do. I am lost. I once had a direction, but now without your guidance, I am frozen.

But something unexpected happend. From amidst the shadows, another butterfly enters my life. I become un-frozen and able to move freely again. I chased her, like I did you Miss Butterfly; but instead of a run, she fell right into my arms.

My broken heart starts to craft itself together, and I am happy. Miss Butterfly, you helped me out of the shadows, but Miss Butterfly is here for me now.

She and I fly across evening skies for hours with ease. All I needed to do to keep her happy was to fly with her. I show her the flowers of the world, and she smiles as we quickly fly from rose to daffodil. Flying to the top of trees were the hardest part, but with sheer determination, my heart could shatter the tallest skyscraper.

She made me blind though. I never knew what she was doing to you inside. She absorbed everything I saw beautiful in you Miss Butterfly, and used it for herself. It's as if she was breaking you to pieces, bit by bit. You were suffering, and I never realised...

She changed the way I saw you, you were different. I saw you in a different shade. I guess its true what they say, if you look at the light for too long, that's all you'll see. I was too caught in her beauty. I went numb to you. Darkness swept you away, and in the flight, you perched upon another.

Who was this foreign figure? This man who stole you? Who is the boy that slowly destroyed you in the inside? He played with your withered mind. He tore your fragile wings. He played with your heart of glass. But I didn't know about this at the time; Miss Butterfly and I were busy collecting flowers.

They say you escaped his nightmare alive, and you regained your colours. But I know you better; you take everything to heart, you're fragile, and you never really do heal easily. While I was having the time of my life, you were suffering in my shadow. And I was too weak to turn around and see...

They say change is always for the good, always for the better, and that change in a relationship is always the best to keep interest. It wasn't with Miss Butterfly. Passion engulfed her, spawning anger, rage, guilt, and too much love for her to handle. So with that, she let me fall...

I exploded as I hit the ground. By letting me go, she opened my head to my old destroying thoughts. I saw your figure flying overhead. Grief struck me. I was alone. For what I thought to be the holder of my heart, had just abandoned me, and you, Miss Butterfly, are too far out of my reach again. Cold, empty, wounded and sad I stood up upon my feet, and carefully watched over you.

I watch you light paths for some....

And let others see things differently.

You touch a little funny innocence in everyone.

Even if they change your colours to hide their own shames...

It still makes me smile to the day that you can help the darkest person, and still have time for that little strange girl inside.

Especially with the amount of dark souls you have lit up.

People might try to steal your image...

But not even old problems can stop your good nature...

As I watched you, I remember how much I missed Chasing you Miss Butterfly. I was happy even looking at you, to have my eyes embrace such beauty. I couldn't stand being alone anymore. I started to chase you again, but this time you stopped right in front of me. I wanted to chase and catch you so you can never escape my grasp; but you were not running. This was the first time I ever took a close look at you Miss Butterfly, and I realised I had been chasing a figure of hand made jewelry, all this time. Even though the image is made with care and love, it was not you. Behind it I saw eyes, and realised I did not need the Butterfly; for what mattered most to me, was right behind it all along. Right in front of me.

- Writing Piece By Symon Taylor.

Original Pictures From (In order of appearance) -

I'm just a tad hungry...

2010-05-30T17:28:00.016+10:00

Foreword: - I'm not a cannibal! Nor do I have any cannibalistic thoughts! These lyrics are satirical to a lot of bad things in society. And I just want to give people a little push to realise somethings.

If you want to get the feeling of this piece, listen to "Zzzonked" - By Enter Shikari

Link here - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wTLmO8ynyAc

Early concept art of "The Joker" from the Batman graphic novels.

"When the chips are down, these... these civilized people. They'll eat each other. See. I'm not a monster. I'm just ahead of the curve."

Picture from - http://www.uniquedaily.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/08/early-joker-concept.jpg

Rap Lyrics inspired by recent events, Batman's - "Joker" and the band "Enter Shikari's" Album - "Common Dreads."

HEY YOU!

Want to go out?

Grind our teeth and jump about?

Walk our little legs around the nation,

Controlling the people with our medication.

GATES!

I want to get through now...

My eyes have caught on to a large cow!

I want it! I want it! I'm just a tad hungry...

So I'll let it suffer for my little mongering.

HATE!

It's you Judas,

You're milk-tank's running off your blatant crudeness.

Beef, beef, you're made of lovely beef,

I'll savour your taste through my pointed teeth.

WAIT!

I hear something big!

Or is that just a tiering pig?

Oh wait! It's a politician...

I'm gonna eat him for ignoring my petition.

MATE!?

I don't know what I'm doing here?

I thought we were just being treated to a beer.

Isn't that what we call "socially acceptable?"

Killing our brain-cells, with a pint of Incredible.

FATE!?

Do we have it or we lost?

Stuffing our heads with mindless goss?

Oh wait, movies are more important,

The screen tells me what to do, and gets me all sorted.

KATE!?

Are you listening to me?

You're my woman, and I'm your husband to be.

I don't give a shit, because we're going back in time,

Right back when we used to live off grime.

I STATE!

You've got a case of diarrhea,

Trying to fulfill everyone's criteria.

And just when you thought you've earned your victory,

Your stomach explodes with a case of dysentery.

BAIT!

Come 'ere little puppy,

I want to escort you out before it gets bloody.

NOM NOM NOM, they're eating our brains,

Behind a screen, that cannot be stained.

LATE!

Oh shit, I got no time,

Gonna have to cook you half sublime.

I'll heat you up, about medium rare,

And I'll eat you in a hurry, which will cause quite a scare.

MY PLATE!?

It's gone now, smashed to pieces,

I'm going ahead and blame Jesus.

He's supposed to look after me,

But I guess this is what I want you to see...

It's the easy way out!

I'm gonna throw fists about!

I'll shout up a crowd!

Who have their heads in the cloud!

I'll kick and scream!

I'll spread my disease!

I'll shoot my lazer beams!

UNTIL YOUR LIVES ARE CLEAN!

"I'm absolutely Zzzonked!"

Picture from - http://blog.comicwonder.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/zombie.jpg

- Lyrics composed by Symon Taylor.

Socially Acceptable

2010-05-21T14:03:00.007+10:00

Being socially accepted in society, is branding yourself.
Things have come to the point where we are limited to a screen, and life itself only exists in another world.
Some people are happy with this.
Good luck in life.

- Just a random thought by Symon Taylor -

Picture from - http://giveupinternet.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/12/apple_do_to_your_children.jpg

* Amazing *

2010-05-19T14:51:00.013+10:00

Note: Picture was chosen as a sort of "Yin and Yang" effect. There are blue solid stars being embraced by a red mist from a massive Red Dwarf Star.

* Recommendation: Watch this video during/before/after reading this blog post to truly appreciate this vast paradise we have been presented with.

- http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JxVzIeXLExQ

- And just take your time to get lost within the pictures. Pictures of our universe.

Charlotte;

Does it not amaze you, that we are just small dust sized particles in comparison to our Earth?
And you're all that matters.

Does it not amaze you, that our sun, our star Sol, is thousands of planets bigger than our Earth?
But you're all I see.

Does it not amaze you, that for every star in the sky, there is a system of planets, as vast as our own?
But your eyes warm my soul full.

Does it not amaze you, that hundreds of billions of these systems, swirl together and create a Galaxy?
But you fill me up, content.

Does it not amaze you, that in one pixel from a telescope, there are over 40 million independent Galaxies?
But you're still, all I see.

Our Galaxy is called; The Milky Way - Milk, being a life sustaining substance.
Galaxies are grand; and the Universe is larger yet, being an infinite brain.

So here, enough about the stars and come down with me, back down to Earth.
Because even though we are mere grains in the hourglass of time...

...my love for you far exceeds the boundaries of the universe...

And I hope my love is enough, for a heart so big.

- Thoughts contemplated by Symon Taylor.

Picture from: http://chandra.harvard.edu/photo/2008/rcw108/rcw108.jpg

A little memory...

2010-05-18T14:59:00.016+10:00

True story =7

Christmas time, 2008, I played/sung a song (Before It's Too Late) by the Goo Goo Dolls for the family. Utter captivation and appreciation filled their eyes, and an awe aspiring feeling came about us, as a family, as a whole. Afterwards my Uncle Collin came up to me and spoke to me about my song. This was a little out of place, considering he's deaf; but he is a wise man never the less. He told me that I was talented beyond his belief, and that when he could still hear, he loved Flamenco. He told me that by the body language and facial expressions my family had projected, in correlation to my music, told himself that my sounds were brilliant. He looks to me to be a famous singer, but I doubt I'll ever go that far.

That memory stirred through me recently; the biggest musical compliment I have ever been given, has come directly from my Deaf Uncle? Was it me personally? Or music itself....

"Because if a Deaf man can appreciate as something as beautiful as Flamenco... Then music is unstoppable."

This greatly ties into my life at the moment.

Being everyone's shoulder to lean on, I feel pressured. And when I'm carrying too much weight, I have one side of me supported by my love, but no one else on the other side to balance; causing me to fall, and drag her down with me. I look for a friend for help. But there are none.

I try to help others in some hope of recognition of efforts. I give them advice beyond the comprehension of my feelings. I tell them more than the simple "It's going to be alright."

I tell them about burning stars.

I tell them about the simplicity of an overly complicated life.

I tell them about the good in this underworld.

I tell them that it doesn't have to be the way it is.

I play the Flamenco strings, that bleed into deaf ears...

Thing is, I love it. I guess this my purpose on this earth. And with my love teaching me to walk again, I am free...

- Thoughts compiled by Symon Taylor.

First picture from - http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2034/2104245514_965e1c2581.jpg

For a Flamenco demonstration, consult one of my favorite guitarists: Juan Serrano - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zTbT7-OiaBQ&feature=related

Pretty Butterfly

2010-04-27T18:46:00.009+10:00

There you go again, caught in the breeze,
Thinking it's you against the world.
While you seek the comfort in others, allured with your Beauty,
I sit here, laughing about the past.

That's now all you have Pretty Butterfly,
For your kind don't live long.
So here I will wait,
As you come crashing down on my feet.

My arms cannot catch your fragile beauty,
For they have held them long enough.
It's time for you to go and use your own wings,
Mine have suffered enough.

You don't need my flowers,
You left my rose without reason.
So why lie again to my face again?
Make me feel with a heart you shattered.

I have found another, Pretty Butterfly,
Who broke the chair and taught my heart to walk again.
She doesn't need a pasture to fly in,
She is thankful to what is given.

So I ask you now, be free in whatever you think best,
I will give you no cages.
Seek comfort in the others you have stolen,
Pretty Butterfly...

~ Poem written by Symon Taylor.

Original image taken from - http://media.photobucket.com/image/butterflies/babalu1022/butterflies.jpg

Just a 5 minute poem

2010-04-27T18:20:00.013+10:00

Picture from - http://www.fjelltours.nl/Dias/IMG_4214w.JPG

A poem I wrote for a friend to show that poetry can be thought of so easily.

Sky littered with jewels, pressed up a black wall,
Skin, cold, on the water sprayed grass.

A fire is lit against the branded twigs found lonely,
As I watch the moon's face fly on high.

The flames lick these coarse pieces of wood,
Found stranded, far from home.

But now they come to warm embrace,
Be at peace, lonely souls.

~ Poem By Symon Taylor.

"Poetry is painting a mental image for the soul."

Living no one's life, dreaming through lazy eyes.

2010-03-14T14:07:00.020+11:00

Image from - http://www.bartlettinteractive.com/images/stock/concepts/vision.jpg

Based on the following lyrics to the Goo Goo Dolls' song "Lazy Eye"
Song's Music Video here - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bd7jNaso-ro

"The world spins 'round the secret lives, of everyone that needs to hide. A cheap parade of endless lies, filters through this lazy eye. And I don't believe in signs. No, I don't believe your lies."

"Lose yourself in no one's life, trapped in nowhere's empty light."

Poverty, corruption, sickness; death,
It's all that we are gifted with in this country.
Dreams appear to us when we close our eyes at night,
It's the great escape from a harsh reality.

I am part of the lucky few,
Who have families overseas.
Entrenched behind guns, machines,
and a cabinet of old babbling men.

Being shipped off the Omega to the Alpha at 19,
It's more than what I could hope for.
I come to this land of opportunity;
I come to this land of dreams.

My cousin tours me through the land,
It's lights, it's life, it's awe.
He feeds me in the pleantyful,
A large burger, courtesy of a clown.

I'm lead through a forest amongst the lake,
Protected by buildings that scrape the skies.
I see the vibrance of what it is to be lucky,
When I see the old crow feeding the passing animals.

As night takes us,
We retreat home.
Something over my head,
A place of shelter for my dreams.

...But not for others...

A light shines from my cousin's room,
Fused with sounds of machinery.
As I enter the illuminated darkness,
He is not there...

I see EYES staring into a window,
Not a person, not a man.
Poised in position,
Restricted in movement.

I call to him - No answer.
I speak to him - Brief responses.
I threaten him - He pushes me away.
With his eyes in the light.

Days, weeks and months flyby,
While this land of dreams takes me.
I come to a day where nothing is the same,
I see the world in every blink.

I see a light, it is day,
I wish to hunt for bounty.
I take my sword, click it twice,
One-Thousand gold in the pot.

"Hello Jade, how's Australia this time of year?"
"That's good, it's Winter here."
"Wow, did you hear about that new celebrity break-up?"
"It made me cry"

Why do people pick on my grammar? iz nut dat baed
I'm allowed to shorten words. y du u sae?

I'm dreaming with my eyes open,
Staring endlessly through a window.
What an amazing life I've had,
Now I'm 80...

- Poem Written by Symon Taylor.

My Philosophy: Just a short topic introduction.

2010-03-03T17:51:00.005+11:00

"You're a great person, your styling persona shines bright when you're having fun. The company that flourishes around you proves that right. You are all one soul in each other, patiently waiting for a dance. Whilst waiting for the last waltz, we pass whispers that move on as wisdom, guidance and a better understanding of what a good life is. Sure some thoughts may pass through your life like a song quickly skips minds, but they cleared the skies for you and made the horizon more beautiful to gaze upon. And even if these friends stayed only a little while in your life, it's what they meant to you that counts. With footprints on your heart, you will never be the same again..."

- Symon Taylor.

Flash Fiction - Magic of Death

2009-12-22T00:02:00.004+11:00

(Moving all my other stuff onto one blog)

During a time of wonders and mysteries, of magic and monsters, a man stood in front of a tent anxiously waiting. The man was a King, who was waiting for his heir. He looked up to the skies for omens; but only saw the eagle, soaring freely through crystal blue. The King closed his eyes, and day-dreamed of the past.
He re-lived himself slaying countless beasts with his almighty sword. He remembered beheading the great Leviathan of the seas, he remembered crushing the limbs of the Behemoth of the mountains, and he remembered drinking the blood of the Dragons. The people of the kingdom followed him in sheer awe, and never questioned his divinity.
The powerful King opened his eyes, and sat in wait for his heir. He looked amongst his people and saw his lively kingdom first-hand. The merchant pulling his stock into place, the blacksmith hammering away, and the beggar helplessly on the ground. "Mi-Lord, come..." - one of the women said. The King entered the tent, and saw his Queen laying on the bed in pain. The King helplessly stood near the entrance, in wait of his heir.
The Queen screamed in agony. Waiting. Waiting for their miracle. Tears crashed down from her blue eyes, as her screams became weaker. The comfort of the women around her was keeping her focused, and with the King there, she had hope. "My Queen... Give us a boy... Give me an heir... May our love grant us an heir..." - The King said in hope. "My King..." - The Queen said quivering while holding out her hand.
The King knelt down next to his Queen, and held her softly. She screamed as her grip became tight on the King's hand. Then... The miracle...
The little screams of a baby were heard, then the last loud shout of the Queen. One of the women brought the baby to the King. "It's a boy Mi-Lord. It's your son..."- the woman told. "Abaddon, name him Abaddon..." - the Queen said, as her grip began to fade. The King sat there in full stillness, holding his Queen's hand. He felt her weak pulse in her wrist, beating. He saw her womb, bleeding. He listened to her slow breathing, going on... And on... Gone...
Silence suffocated the King's heart like deadly knives, until his son's cries woke him up.
The King walked outside of the tent and shouted to his people "Abaddon! My Heir!" he said, as he held his son up high. He looked upon his child. Ten fingers, ten toes, limbs and a strong heart beat. "A fine young heir to my throne Abaddon. You will rule in my stead well." - He said, as he covered his son in cloth.

This is how a Queen died. This is how a Demon is born...

- Short-Story introduction by Symon T. Taylor.

Living death – life’s accounts

2009-11-19T20:09:00.003+11:00

Based on a true story – Written by Symon T. Taylor

11 years old – Life seems so simple, let’s take it away Uncle Tom.

I had a next door neighbor, English by nature, and full of heart. His name was Tom, known him all my life; he was like a grandfather to me. I never really had a grandfather; my grandpa on my dad’s side died when I was only 1 year old, and my grandpa on my mum’s side abandoned the family after giving my grandma 10 children. My Uncle Tom took the grandfather roll in my life, that’s how I looked up to him even though he was not part of the family. But we treated him like it.
I remember, during the day, I would run over to his house next door and feed his goldfish in the pond he had. After that, we would re-fill his seed basket for the local parrots and cockatoos to feast upon. I liked seeing the birds fly down upon his hands, he looked like a King of nature to me.
He respected nature, you could tell by the size of his garden; it was like a forest. I remember I had a little sanctuary in their backyard, between two willow trees. The little branches and twigs came together to form a sort of a cave between the leaves; very magical.
At age 8, it was two years since we last saw Uncle Tom; two years since we moved to our new home. Dad received a call from Tom’s wife, Mavis. Uncle Tom was in hospital with Leukemia. My dad told the family and I, and made plans to go visit him the next day.
I remember that morning. I remember every single detail of it. How could I forget?
I woke up extra early, rearing with excitement. I could see my Uncle Tom once again! I ran into my brother’s room to get him up. He got up straight away. Together we stormed into our parent’s room and jumped into their bed. We shook our parents saying “Get up! Get up! Gonna see Uncle Tom today!”
The despair in their eyes confused us. Mum cuddled my brother and my dad cuddled me. Both my brother and I were in the middle, waiting for a response… Dad told us that Uncle Tom had passed away through the night. He told us he couldn’t hold on any longer.
I cried a river that mourning, and the rest of the day was clouded. It was because of the fact that we had failed to see them in so long, and they meant something so important. Even though he cannot hear me now…. Goodbye Uncle Tom…

Living death – life’s accounts

2009-11-15T19:48:00.002+11:00

Based on a true story – Written by Symon T. Taylor

4 years old -Life seemed pretty vague at that age, but I can still remember the drive; my parents filled the rest. My brother was 2 years old at the time.

It was a Sunday, bright, cool, with a warm summer’s tinge. It was a Sunday, where my dad would drive my brother and me to Clayton where we would usually take a stroll. It was a Sunday when my father was exiled from the family.
My father has two sisters and two brothers and out of all of the siblings, one of my dad’s brothers (my uncle) and he found high paying jobs when they came to Australia; all the rest were given a small percentage of their earnings. My father worked in an office for a large shipping company, and my uncle worked in real-estate. The money they gave to the family was a considerable amount. But was that enough? No it wasn’t, according to them. I remember that Sunday, all those years ago. How could I forget?
We had returned into the car, after our mid-day stroll in Clayton, until I had realized we were going somewhere. There! I saw it! My auntie’s house on the corner street. I un-buckled my seat-belt, but once my father heard the click; he demanded I stayed in the car with my baby brother. I did.
Seconds turned to minutes; minutes turned to quarters until I saw my father walk outside callously. My uncle tried to hold him back, but a shove put him back in this place. I looked outside the window, and saw my father’s side of the family looking at my father in disgrace, in hatred, in greed. All but one, my uncle in real-estate.
It was a Sunday when my father, my mother, my brother and I were exiled from the family. None of them keep in contact with us, all except my uncle, the only one who had sympathy for my father, or rather his brother. Money over family, can family buy money? I could never understand why this happened at a young age, but as I came to understand how the world works… All I knew was falling...

Living death – life’s accounts.

2009-11-13T14:08:00.003+11:00

Based on a true story – Written by Symon T. Taylor

1 year old – Teddy-Bear Nathan, Grandpa’s soul. A story provided by my father and my mother.
All was simple at the age, especially my inquisitive mind. At this age I could already escape my cot, and roam free throughout my house. Not this night though; on this night, I, the little one was asleep, safe in my cot.
On the other side of the house, my parents were watching TV, and next to that room was the toy room. On top of the toy box sat a little teddy-bear; I had named him Nathan, because it sounded like my name, and because it was a special bear. Nathan was a bear like no other bear, he could talk. If you squeezed his hand, Nathan would say “…this is my hand…” or if you squeezed his foot he would say “…this is my foot…” and so on and so forth. This bear was given to me by my grandfather on my dad’s side of the family. Strangely enough, the night I speak of was the night my grandfather died.
While my parents were watching TV, they were disturbed by the sound of Nathan’s voice. In the next room, they could hear the muttered words – “These are my eyes, these are my ears.” This was paranormal, for usually you would have to wait a while after Nathan would say something, to make him say another. But on this night, Nathan said both, one straight after another.
My parents were freaked out, so they ran straight into my room to see if I had played with Nathan. I wasn’t. There in my cot I was; untouched and undisturbed, just how my parents left me. They walked into the play room, and saw Nathan sitting on top of the toy-box; with its little teddy-bear grin.
To this day my parents think that was my grandfather’s ghost giving us his last advice, but I never really understood what he was trying to tell us. That was only until it hit me, one day in my backyard.
I kept repeating those lines in my head: “These are my eyes, these are my ears.” My mind became blank in confusion so I fell on my back, in the grass, and shut my eyes.
I could hear the rustling of the leaves on the trees; I could hear the rubber on the tarmac. I could hear the birds screech by, and the children play across the court. This is what my grandpa meant.
We can see more with our eyes closed…

Welcome to the Shadow Gallery...

2009-09-18T13:52:00.000+10:00

"...Voilà! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of Fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is a vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished. However, this valorous visitation of a by-gone vexation, stands vivified and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin van-guarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition! The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta, held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous. Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose, so let me simply add that it's my very good honor to meet you and you may call me Symon T. Taylor..." - Quote taken from V For Vendetta.

Welcome to my humble domain, a place of mystery and a place of questioning. "Who Knoweth..." is a question of the many things driven from philosophy of Euripides' quote - "Who knoweth if to die be but to live? And that called life, by mortals, be but death?"
Euripides questioned life, and from his quote he tells us what he was thinking. The quote is basically saying, who knows if we are the living or dead? Or who is to say? And what we are going through isn't life, but death?
Many more of these questions will be discussed in future; in the Shadow Gallery...