Stuart McCutcheon - Is he a Cookie Monster?

Man McCutcheon is just like the Cookie-Monster except he's all about the dough;

"In New Zealand, all universities are constrained to identical government tuition subsidies and domestic tuition fees. Students do not, therefore, have the choice of paying a higher price to enter a higher quality New Zealand university." 

ChompChompChomp me like eating raw dough not cookies lol 

http://www.nzherald.co.nz/education/news/article.cfm?c_id=35&objectid=11350829

Money Burns

Money burns a hole in your pocket 
 lovers eyes always lie
Running backwards comes to nothing 
Destiny will never be denied 
Laughing sounds best last
Love with two wings 
Never dies  Darkness will struggle against the light
putting People over money 
extracts a terrible price
We all pay to play 
yet Few grow rich 
So many die 
striving for a fulfilling life 

Will we ever see
humanity happy never 
What a world that would

be imagine trusting another

man who treated you equally

Nah Burn the blood money in the street
Throw up one last meal for the poor to eat
Give me a deadly reign in hell 

and let the weak serve in heaven for Eternity 

youth

we laughed high perched along the mystic watchtower as the children reveled in the joy of a new brand of fireworks the shudder and flashes of childhood caught unaware by the mechanics of how gun powder reacts with heat. Much like an angry cat the cracker wheezed with a dispondent crack howling like a meow from a hot tin roof. In time they were called home to bath and ready themselves for school like ghosts with tender minds in many ways there life was not there own but Summer was theres to keep forever in the knook and crannies of their young flourish minds not yet burdened with anxiety' fear and the callous natue of the adult world, for all who belonged to the later wished to leave immediately to a place were the cries of childhood fire crackers sung like sirens through the neighborhood of their youth, long gone.

Sorrow

when a cloud is hovering so close to you that somehow you hear the sound of falling raindrops dont give in to sorrow for although in a state of melancholy life goes on and after a time you are re-born when you lest expect it. Life springs eternal and even the deepest despair must past and you learn in time that one can love again even more deeply than the last. If one is forced to love or desire the opposite is assured however if indifference is applied or indeed inherrent in the situation love is yours forever. Love is inevitable said a modern philosopher who it is with is interesting but not the focus it is the sheer scale of love in the world dis-regarding all specfics that shows the beauty of love even if hate is endemic as a result.

War

Venus demands War                                                                                                                                         So we must fight                                                                                                                                   to the death in the name of love our bodies fall while the echoes and reverberations of our forefathers send electric shocks deep into our upper vortex man shall stand at the crossroads and knell before the grace of the gods all multi-facted in their colours and laden with contradictions. To be born human is fate worse than death  because the later is unavoidable and birth is a constant reoccurence. No wonder great philosphers across the ages have detested sucide for all is contained within a circle there is no escape from the ideaology of the soul only its complete destruction in relation to the physical world severes the bound a feat most will strugle with for all eternity. If the ancients believed that the gods played with dice we are all doomed to a never ending jolly re-run not dissamiliar to a never ending sitcom for all eternity so it must be that there is war for at the beginning it is created by love that negates for a time then yet again becomes war. So it seems Love and War are identical manifestations of themselves like two parts of the same wheel that manage to create the circle turning' the object only changing course when it hits a pot hole ever so often in the worn and true road of tphysical reality. It seems so tedious to be destined to continual sublimation and heavenly torture at the hands of masters bloodied with the hands of innocent . The ones who shelter in the mist are the last to be conquered but for their dis-obidence garner the harshest punishments.