A Short Absence Explained

I haven’t blogged in a while. The end of 2018 was reasonably chaotic for me in every sphere of my existence. In this post I’ll be providing the reasons for this, luckily each provides me with ample opportunity to write new and varied content! 2019 is shaping up to be a huge year for my family and me. I’ve received a new dedication to writing. My teaching career is shifting into a new space and speed, it concerns but also refreshing. Last, of all, my family is growing, and I couldn’t be more inspired to become the man I want them to be proud of!

  • On writing, I discovered Scrivener which has ordered my long-form writing and given me a lot of inspiration to buckle down and hit my first novel hard. It seems specifically catered to people like me, those who procrastinate and get lost in the sheer mass of their worlds. At some point, I’ll write a post about what makes Scrivener such a great resource. SPOILER ALERT: I definitely recommend it!
  • On teaching, I’m shifting from being a homeroom teacher for students in years 7 and 8 to a specialty role as Head of Digital Technology. With this role I was offered the opportunity to return to my roots, I shaved off the final week of school and journeyed to Macquarie University, where I graduated in 2015. I participated in a practical professional development, learning about how I can get my students involved in FRC – First Robotics Competition. It seems like an excellent opportunity for me to introduce our indigenous students the STEM fields and have them begin to dream of a new path through life.
  • Last and most important, I had a son! He decided to surprise us a few weeks early and be born on Christmas day 2018. I won’t speak too much about it now because he will undoubtedly be a massive source of inspiration for much of my writing shortly.

My Son





















2019 is looking great.

I look forward to writing some more fluffy and inspirational poetry. Reviewing some software and hopefully even doing some new hobby-related content too!

I’d love it if everyone could join me for the adventure!


Poetry – Partitioned Possession

Hey guys and gals, I’ve had a few weeks off due to school holidays. It’s been pretty busy with one of my close friends coming to Alice to spend some much-needed catch-up time. I managed to sneak away for about an hour to write. Hopefully, I get one more out of me before the holidays end.

This piece is about my favourite topic. Feminism. It loosely plays with the idea that the movement no longer pulls people out of victimhood but instead prevents them from leaving. I hope you enjoy it.
Image result for harpy art
Reclamation rehabilitated our robust rookery

Air itself adhered to our opportunity

I am mighty in my own way!

“You have a pretty face, but it is not your own”

Internecine, violence erupted within the faction

Some angel’s scream contorted in reaction

A screech spread dread. Crack. Their forms crooked back.

The doomed doctrine they spout

Stomachs exploded. The harpies flew out

Her face was gaunt like glory

Her smile was hysteric like humility

Her eyes were sunken like civility

“This is what strength looks like! This is what you gave to me.”

The morning ritual. Painted skin, signs and sins.

“No. You were both the barterer and the benefactor”


In an attempt at harmony. The angels and harpies flew.

The true gazed at their concerning companions

A cataclysm in their convergence convulsed their climb

Their copious coquette is ignored. It’s a warranted crime

Fomented: “It’s your fault our flight faltered.” The crippled claimed to those below.

“Our wings were waned by your wickedness. You leap at the hap to desist our desire to grow”

Arboreous laughter ricocheted through the detested

“The devils that do don’t do dubiously.”

Categorically, equivalently they discredited misconduct

Panic settled in. Am I wrong? No that would undo me.

Abrasively, the free shall we fight.

Acerbically, we shall envenom those granted flight.   

This projection is partitioned possession

“I am her truth. The only truth that she needs.”

Poetry – Pillers of Salt (RE: Utopia: What a Woman’s Society Would Look Like)

I recently read an awful blog post full of true bigotry from a fellow wordpresser “Radical Wind”. The blog was titled “Utopia: what would a women’s society look like.” I was so angry about it that I needed to submit my poem response ASAP. I hope you like it.

Image result for medusa art

Art by Candra. Please visit her art on DeviantArt



This place was once known as Eden, but in truth it has always been Salem,

The first iteration of Sodom and Gomorra.

“Do not look her in the eyes.

Surely her gaze alone,

will turn you to stone.”

Pillars of salt, all spectacularly knelt before her

Beguiled to believe that her beauty barred the benign from Bedlam

Truly, Medusa is engrossed by the magnetisms of her own mind

“We are keyed into the ley line”, claim the radically inclined

“We are on a journey to a new nation, a utopia built with compassion.”

A Samaritan in snakeskin

“Who are you to speak to one such as me?”

She spat the apple and called out the Devil

“Anything you can do I can do better!”

Adam was agape. Eyes wide, Sorrow inside. Was this how his rib spoke?

He prayed fervently. “Please… other ribs, don’t go woke”

The emancipated enemy of egalitarianism erected

The paragon for peace propagated upon a podium

“Would the world still be awash if the wicked were away?”

The parables and promises paralysed the pagans

Those that listened knew the lunacy and saw the loss of livelihood

“There are no parallels between pantheism and probable prosperity”


Indignant indoctrinated infants rallied to the call

From the coddled masses their contorted battle cries commanded

“All for us. You for all!”

Sarah, mother of nations, saw the sacrificial stitching and how her daughters did choke

She snuck out into the silence with Isaac and slaughtered him before Abraham woke

Was the world so destructive when decisiveness was demanded?

Deleted are the days of independence, doom demands dependence

The snake spoke of subservience

I guess you were right. Anything he could do you could do better

But when will the world cease withering under your recklessness?



Link: https://witchwind.wordpress.com/2014/10/07/utopia-what-would-a-womens-society-look-like/

A Long-Winded Story About my 2011 – part 1

Why 2011? It was a very significant year in my life. I was 18. Finished school. Single. Not only was it the year I evolved from a park dwelling degenerate to a professional pubcrawler, but it was also the year that I realised I needed to start planning for my future.

The year began with me deciding to skip the gap year and dive right into university. I had already travelled through Africa and New Zealand with my family. I knew I would want to adventure overseas again, but that could wait and as a full-time casual employee of the glorious Maccie D’s I would never be short of cash.  Looking back at my expenditure I wish I had saved more or perhaps gotten a head start on my student loans. So anyway, my life story lacks a gap year. Since I was young I’ve always had a sense of what I wanted to do as a career, it never changed entirely, but as I matured I tweaked it regularly; I wanted to be creative, and I wanted to understand people. That isn’t a very explicit path to take though. I still had a lot of souls searching to do. To explain my path let me tell you a few interesting takes about my childhood.

Image result for star wars podracer

When I was five or six, my family got our first gaming console. It was a Nintendo 64, and we got it on the way to South Africa for a summer holiday with my grandparents who resided there. I remember my three brothers and I were devastated that we wouldn’t be able to play Star Wars: podracer until we got back to Australia. While my dad was a sucker for tax-free shopping, he didn’t think that one through. Fortunately for the four feral boys of the Rav fam, my grandfather used to be an electrician and replaced the cable and duct taped it. I was so worried about the console not working or the cable breaking. My beautiful gaming reality felt so fragile. Nothing ever went wrong with it though. It’s strange to note that I remember that irrational fear from five-year-old me. Thinking back… I don’t know if power adapters were a thing back then. Thanks, progress, I guess. Success! We were glued to a screen all holiday, even if only one of us could play at a time. Shongololos everywhere rejoiced. No extremely long centipedes were thrown like discuses that trip.

Related image
At ten I became engrossed in fantasy fiction courtesy of my oldest brother Jamie. One year we shared the back seat of our Parado on our annual trip to Adelaide. He spent most of the sixteen-hours telling me about  Feist’s fantastic world of Midkemia. It was here where he opened my portal to escapism. I fell into that pit head first and never stopped. I read Fiest, Rowling, Rodda and Paolini. I didn’t stop there. By eleven I read George Martin’s monolith Game of Thrones. I finished The Storm of Swords just in time for his controversial Feast of Crows release. What’s the point to this detour? Well, my first job aspiration was to become a game developer, a fact that my Opa never let drop and still mentions post-university (despite taking a remarkably different career path). My second job aspiration was to become a writer. I always felt that I didn’t have enough experience though. It’s a hard hill to climb, and I think it’s only recently that I’ve come to accept that I need to just be transparent with my writing (or at least my side writing). This would help me feel better about my long-form work. At fifteen I thought that my writing was weak or at least I was too presumptuous of my own talent to invest my real dreams into it. As a young realist, I knew that my writings were way also… hormonal… and that I always struggled to separate my reading and my writing. So I put writing aside and hoped to come back to it when I had greater world experience.

Image result for The Magician feist

In school I did acting, I thought I was pretty great at it. But nah… it seemed too much work. The sort of friends I got during my acting also seemed somewhat toxic. To put it simply, none have stayed in contact with me after my HSC, nor did I have any sincere desire to remain in touch with them. I might write about my high school escapades at some point. Anyways, back to acting. I enjoyed writing scripts more than I did performing them… even if it was always fun to put a dress on in front of your whole school though 😛 Acting went off the table at about seventeen.

This left me with my epiphany, I loved writing. It had also made a serious comeback as a pastime when I was procrastinating myself into some severe exam based study regret. I had always written short stories, poetry and even had written large chunks of my own fantasy series. I fell back onto my initial childlike realisation. When I was five I knew I loved magic, that’s what gaming felt like back then, that’s what reading became as I got older and it’s what acting left me with a desire for. I wanted to be creative, to make something beautiful, to write fascinating characters. I wasn’t sure how I was going to achieve that though, and I knew that it wouldn’t be initially sustainable for my future.

SO! I started a Bachelor of Arts, majoring in Writing. Eventually, I would pick jump ship into a major in English and lump a Diploma of Secondary Education on there. As I said, I’ve always been a realist.

Next time on A Long-Winded Story About My 2011:
I meet the woman of my dreams
I befriend a very unlikely fellow
I discover feminism

Poetry – Learning to Live

Two years ago I got married. I always hear the first year of marriage is supposed to be amazing. After all, it’s referred to as the “honeymoon” period. Unfortunately, our circumstances created a bit of chaos in our first year. I had to find a job outside of my career field as the schools I’d apply for all said they needed someone who had more experience under their belt. Once I even attended an interview that I later discovered they never intended to give to me, they wanted a woman to job share with a current employee.  Needless to say, it wasn’t an easy year for the newest Ravs. I ended out working in a steel factory to support our little family, two adults and one cat, for rent was so steep and the need for work so dire. The beginning of the poem speaks about my difficulties in that time and how I felt my agency and hope drain out of me. Then, lo and behold, my wife finished her uni degree and I was able to look for work outside of our city region. I got a job in Alice Springs teaching ESL at a wholly indigenous boarding school. This poem is about  my journey from newly wed factory worker to indigenous teacher. It also speaks about the issues I’ve experienced in educating an ancient civilisation.

At times I feel myself slipping back into the same disdain for life but writing certainly helps. 

Guild Wars 2 - Sylvari Necromancer by Sefokusu

(art by sefokusu on deviantart, link below)


Learning to Live


I was avidly awed

At the axiom of my ascertain ascendance

But bewildered I became,

Baffled by the banal benevolence of my barren benefactor

Confine me, confiscate my confidant

Clarity couldn’t consolidate our concussed conjugal circuit

Damned if I didn’t,

I doggedly deadlocked into a debacle,

Debris of my delirious dreams daunted my desired defunct degeneracy

Eradicated I asked, “Enact my euthanasia.”

Enclaved within an evanescent economy, I espoused my effigies

Fanatically I faltered into fallible feudalism,

My figment lost it’s fickle

Gaiety galloped into my galaxy, gallantly garbling my ghastly grievances

Grappling with gumption,

I grew in  glut,

Glorious glimmers of gladdening

Hustled into an inhospitable honorarium hoarse of hydraulics

Humanized hordes humbugged into my heart. Headline:

 “Indigenous indoctrinator of innovated incarceration.”

Imagine my ineffable instantaneously incited irritancy

Such impassioned idioms

Jaded journalism jests as judge and jury

Jugular jeering justified by the jurisdiction of the social justice

Keep this kleptomaniac killer close

Communal knavery may kindle comradeship,

but the kinetic knelling continually knocks

Lease me the lunacy, lacerate our lives to “liberate” the Leviathan

I lament the landlord that legislates a legion of lucrative logistics

Many manifested mandates now maliciously malign malfeasance

Under the muse of matriarchal marxism, a mausoleum has been made

“You shall never negate this necropolis.”

Never again shall I nurture the novel




This narrative is nuanced

Original sin objects to objective oppression

Optimism opaques the onslaught. The onus is on me




Art gallery link: https://www.deviantart.com/sefokusu

Poetry – A Beautiful Mind

In my opinion, free speech is the most important human right. Why? Well, throughout history, or at least since it became a constitutional right in the western world, free speech has been the most powerful weapon that minorities have had at their disposal. It was a vital element that brought about the end of the slave trade and, later, Martin Luther King’s fight for African American rights. When laws are unjust free speech can be used to proclaim one’s distress and desire to see improvements. Hand in hand with free speech is the freedom to listen to ideas. For without the freedom to listen to ideas those who speak freely will not have an audience to help influence.

This poem is about an agonising situation I find myself in at times. As a teacher of students from an ancient culture, I see many beautiful minds that are ready to be sculpted. I see one for each of my students! At times I also see how their personal situations can hinder their true potential to extract the benefits of education. I would consider these to be ‘issues’ that society needs to resolve. Unfortunately, due to the delicate and political nature of these issues, they are deemed inappropriate for public discussion, not just by me but by anyone, politicians included. As criticisms of historically oppressed cultures are ostracised I feel that censorship is hindering my students from having equality of opportunity in life. Still, I soldier on and give them the best possible learning experience I can muster. 


Image result for thought police


The Name of the Game: Censorship  / A Beautiful Mind

Beautiful! What a mind!


I am obligated to remind

Wasted progress and deflated purpose CENSORED

“Is this neurotic self-sabotage?”

My cognisance shuffles and discards

There is no warrior within

These robes cover my distinct differences

An abashed abbot of the fashionable stagnant future

“What does the truth even mean to her?”

This is her destined torrent, it is not so abhorrent


I dutifully conceal sectors of my sordid sophistry

Lower your eyes and mobilise

These streets speak of noxious negligence total tolerance CENSORED

Harakiri, the thought police, honour above reason,

Now here, forever within the bars of this prison

In the cell next to mine, the magsman moans

Eyes to the side,

execrated homes

“You are free to go…” The reformist feigns

Eyes wide,

the magsman’s greed glints,

Virtue glares egregiously,

averting any informed prints

But, the disillusioned didn’t disjoint the damaged door

Instead, he squeezed between the bars

“Isn’t this so much better? Look at how free we are!”

Shame constricts thought,

Angered at grievances, progress goes untaught


I long to give you the gift of opportunity

But this operetta of obloquy and obsequies has inflicted obstinacy CENSORED

“Tell the truth.”

It is impossible for me to stand for you for I cannot even stand for myself


“Preconceived opinion that is not based on reason or actual experience.”

Poetry – The Loss of Innocence

I wrote this when I was 14. I was a pretty down little dude at times but I guess that comes with the desire to be creative and the capacity to spend time absorbed in words and one’s own mind. One final point, I have also noticed that this poem has even more relevance to me now than it did back then, despite it being a narrative poem at the time.

Poetry is amazing.

Image result for david ho art shedding
(art owned by David Ho)


The loss of innocence; the shedding of once beautiful skin

What’s left is tender, what’s left is thin

Individuality has died; flesh has been torn from bone

The darkness inside, has been embraced and called home

The vast


of mists


And beneath, the abyss is revealed; horror and truth

I now see the destruction that entrails our youth


Free spirit is on trial, our worthiness has been maimed

“This is the world you say you know?”

Indeed, it is the same but no longer glows,

“It’s now twisted, turned and twirled, of all colour drained”


The fiery sunset melted; bled of its red

Where the lipstick fled, under the river bed

The endless lake leaked; resolved to dissolve,

The mystery of youthfulness sought

“It’s a bed for the almost dead,” the saleswoman said

The bait, the line, the sinker

We paid in full


A nearby hillside festered a mascaraed of façade

Where the harpy of society cries out its demise

It nestled in its nest with its birthed on breast

A testament to all, of how even the best can fall

By her side, I, a toothless brute, an untamable fighter,

I am the new and bruised Pied Piper

Slung across my back, a lute, more deceptive than a magic flute

With it I led the innocent to engulf lies of lead,

I did strum a new tune, to find home in a bottomless lagoon,

We all fell into the damned bed where the saleswoman had said


“Truth be told, it would be better to be dead”


Her glass mask shatters, unveiled are her sinful larks

She is first sister of illusion, uncongealed

She has my lust for trust but our bond is now bust


Tip and tip, I sip the bourbon bottles lip

Sip and sip, I am Broken Sanity, the bottled ship

My heart clips the edge of this bottomless pit

I start to spin

Down to hell where my dear tainted saint fell

Whored to the horde of hoarded billboards

There she advertises the harpy slave master

From whom she learned the lessons of disaster,

a mirror found behind stripped plaster

The torn seam of beauty,

only seemed

to have been dreamed


The last of innocence is past

Now the mask is shattered and our tattered ties lie shed

In black and white I see her clearly in my head

Now a tainted saint harpy

She is no kin of mine

No, she is no kin of mine.