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Truly Precious

27/1/2017

At some point
It becomes truly precious
More often than not
Not when you expect it

A time of reckoning
Eventually comes

We do so much editing
Of ourselves
Our feelings
Our surroundings
Our mind scape

To try and contain the downswings
To reshape
To escape

We're compulsive
In our manipulation, our adjustment
All linked to our survival
But at times we act
Against our own better judgement

At some point
It becomes truly precious
All comes flooding in
A spiritual epiphany
A light from within and
We witness the divinity

Beyond time
Beyond place
Beyond skin

A time of ultimate
Clarity of perception
Surpassing standard
Beyond regular reflection

Truly precious
Truly precious

And in an instant
We're both immortal and defenceless
Alight in the glory
Of what purely lies
Beyond the construct
At the living heart of the story

Truly precious
Truly precious

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Swallow The Reality

19/1/2017

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It's funny to consider
That the end may be near
That it all could be over

Still no point to live in fear
But as calamity gets closer
And we fuss about what to wear
It's hard not to see the absurdity
In our petty human follies
The pointlessness

As we irreversibly maim and destroy
And shamelessly deploy WODs
Screw with the lives of innocent detainees
Both from home and from overseas
We've become, it seems
Our very own worst enemies

Such a low bar set on integrity
Corruption and graft without impunity
Made a putrid mess of our land and seas
Chemicals from industry
Spreading abnormality and mass disease

And all for money, bogus cash
Dirty putty, soon to be trash
Ruled by greed
Society has sickened
Been brought down to it's knees

Poised to collapse
Unless the planet wipes us first, perhaps
It won't be such a bad thing
A cleansing

Gaia's way of dispensing
With a aggravating blight
That multiplies aggressively
To it's own extinction
From human condition
To human affliction

It's tragic to consider
That we really, truly have screwed it up
All the promises of imminent solutions
Slashed for profit, thrown in the mud

We're sinking fast
Look around you
Dark and deep the shadows cast
Swallow the reality and
Take a deep breath
It may just be your last

Increasingly punishing
To swallow the reality
Aspirations vanishing
An alarming test of sanity

We had it all
And we fucked it over
It might not quite be the end
But it's surely getting closer

And the good news is...

(Cut to white noise)

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Writing in Cafes

9/1/2017

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It's some my favourite time - sitting in cafes.I order a coffee (just one these days), get my iPad out, set it up, open Pages and begin to type. It might be a poem, some lyrics for a song or it might be a snapshot of my headspace - like this one - where I just start writing and keep going. Once I learnt to take the pressure off myself - eradicate the false belief that what I record has to be of outstanding merit, have direction, be impressive - I began to enjoy just going and flowing, letting the moment guide me. Like surfing. Like lots of things like that.

There's usually some cool music playing in the background - Bob Marley at the moment - and people coming and going. A veteran observer of human nature, I sporadically look up from my screen and take in the scene. Of course I am drawn in by the allure of pretty girls but they by no means dominate my attention. I scan everyone - looking for their unique style, flavour, flair. I overhear bits and pieces of conversations - just snippets; much more interesting to fill in the gaps I find than hear dialogues in their entirety . Only very rarely is there anything worth continued focus. Better just to perceive the voices as pepper on top the merging clank of cutlery, the grinding coffee machine, the background song stream and the transient traffic noise. I mostly zone out, sound wise, and inhabit a cavern inside my head.

None of this is unique to me, of course, it's a simple and common human pleasure. What is less common, though, is the daily practice of writing in said cafes. Anyone who does it will know the pleasure I am talking about. It's dreamy because you are fully present in reality but also concentratedly attended to your inner world, your creative voice. There's a musical interplay between the two. You are open to outside influences but at the same time self-trained not to allow the extraneous to distract you from your mission.

I apportion my coffee to last for close to an hour; sometimes a little more, sometimes I'll order a second round. I don't eat on these occasions. It is too distracting, saps my energy. Food is an easy high. Writing is like a long bicycle ride - you just want to stay hydrated and have enough calories to keep going and that's all. You need to keep your eyes on the road (the screen) and your body moving (fingers tapping).

In the old days (ha ha) (the eighties), before portable computers, I used write long hand in my journal. Over the years I filled fifty or sixty of them - the content of which often ended up in one of my zines. As a bonus, too, back then, I used to befriend and sometimes have romances with the waitresses. At least two of my all time top five girlfriends were met this way. There are also a handful of close girl friends (two words) that I still have as close friends that also worked as waitresses back in the day.

I still make easy friendships with cafe staff these days, friendships that extend beyond the establishments, but romances are rarer because of the ever increasing age difference. Yeah, I’m getting older. I've been doing this now, writing in cafes, for thirty five years. Not surprisingly, I am most productive in the times when I have been unattached. And most (potentially) reproductive in the other times.

I used to get lonely, way back, write laments and wishful-thinking sonnets about how it could be, would be, if I could just find the right one (the next one). Then eventually, I'd find myself thrown in a gristly and delightful affair for a while (during which I wouldn't write as much) until I would be deposited back on the sandy banks of shore, solo again. Back in my seat at whichever was my fave cafe at the time - in Kings Cross, Bondi, Byron or overseas occasionally - scrawling heartfelt words of insight and speculation. I don't get lonely anymore. In fact, I treasure my solo time. I have never been much of a talker. Silence is my friend. Solitude my sanctuary. I learnt the long way round that nobody else can cure the existential angst of existence. There are some beautiful distractions but that is the extent of what they are - to me anyway.

I never got around to having a family. It just didn't happen. I was married and divorced while still in my twenties and since then I had probably three live together relationships in which making babies may have been an option - had things been (slightly) different. But things are what they are. I rarely feel regret - as much as I love babies and kids - and I know how rewarding it is to nurture them and watch them grow. Luckily, I have two beautiful, precious godsons whom I love dearly and I have a heartfelt and purposeful part in their upbringings. I also have two nephews in San Francisco, who are close to my heart.

At a time when I could have been considering family production options, in my late thirties/early forties I chose instead to spend a couple of wildly playful years, clubbing and partying. They were undoubtably two of the best years of my life (so far) which would never have happened if I had created a family of my own. Cafes have been a generous source of relationships for me but bars: bars were my diamond mines. For a few years there, I was a very rich man, metaphorically. The film, Saturday Night Fever, was released when I was sixteen and was hugely influential. Something about the electric energy of the night, the music, the group intoxication, unshackling. Searching souls finding temporary sanctuary together. Seduction. Conquest and surrender. It's a fantasy land. Temporary, intensified, unrestricted. Like Earth, Wind and Fire smoothly harmonised: Boogie Wonderland!

I just not a couples guy, I guess. I like being free to do what I want when I want. I seemed to prefer relationships that start at night, that burn brighter and burn out faster. Download/upload it all in one go. Saturate. Stay together until it flatlines. Then unplug.

I was an incurable romantic in my twenties and thirties - but no longer. I got cured. Relationships cured me. Women still take my breath away, make me giddy, awe me with their alluring, mysterious qualities but I no longer want to commit or possess. We're all on loan anyway - even in the most enduring connections. Nobody is anybody else's answer.
So here I sit, alone. Doing my thing. Everybody needs a thing. For some it is kite surfing, photography, zumba, making fresh pasta, travel, relationships. For me, it's this. And, I do hope you realise that I am talking to you. Not in physical form, not verbally, but mind to mind. Spirit to spirit. I am saying, hello, this is me. No small talk. Just the juicy stuff. How alike are we, in our own ways? How different?

We all draw from the source. I get access this way. Writing in cafes. And I dig it.

Tap, tap, tap. Sip. Tap, tap, tap. Look up. Consider. Tap, tap, tap. (Rpt)

How about you - what turns you on?

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Cafe's Gone

9/1/2017

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Away a year
Come back to find
Two of my favourite cafes - Gone!
A minor freak out cause
It's tough to find
A replacement that will function
Straight away
A new writer's refuge
In a single day
All those memories
Of the affable staff
Respected energies
The easy way we shared those laughs

My system thrown in disarray
Cause I don't just go for a cup a coffee
Or to sip there acting cool colossi
But I do, I do hunker in and brew
Let the ideas simmer and percolate
Behold my mind map escalate
Of it's own accord
As I watch the world
Saunter past - sometimes fascinated
Sometimes aghast

Nestle in
As I look within
Phrases spin
In the diary of a journeyman
The romantic notion of a roving poet
Does not include this rude encroachment
Of failed business
Of temp dwelling void
It's like they've dropped the bucket
Where I collect my words
Damnit, fuckit
Adrift, I curse
Desperate for a sonnet slug
Mouth is dry, I'm parched for verse

Just as well I still have my well
But I require, still, a terminal - in which to plug
Somewhere mellow, somewhere swell
To imbibe my favoured caffeine drug - hits
And now that I accept my favourites
Have suddenly vanished
Brand new digs need to be re-established
No easy feat, man
I gotta pound the streets
Like an ageing prozzie
Ambling, moody and melancholy
And suss the vibes
For a special haven
To settle in
To riff my rhythm, to work my pen
To let my stanzas come alive again

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Shadowy Reflections

6/1/2017

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I was thinking about what I wrote yesterday. About sharing my vulnerability here in my art blog. One of the reasons I include posts like that is because they come up, they write themselves and I feel no need to sublimate or hide them. But, I wondered, later, is it a good thing to include stuff like that - that is a bit of a downer?

And, yes, I decided, it is important to balance the good with the bad. It is utmost important (to me) to be real and raw. That is what this forum is for. What I chose to spend time and energy on. I feel it is worthwhile.
There is too much image, cover up, misrepresentation around. Truth gets shouted over, veiled, manipulated.

Fuck that, I say.
The more real you are with yourself, and with those around you, the more authentic a life you will lead. And what point fake? Foggy? Clouded? Things are challenging enough as they are.

One of my primary goals with these writings is to be honest and fearless. Share my heart, bare my soul. Having made it to fifty five, so far, I feel like I can be of humble service to my fellow beings by opening up, revealing. We like authenticity, we crave it, need it, need it bad.
The journey is a long one and anything that can illuminate, expound upon, reveal honest sentiments and experiences that will assist us in our voyage is a good thing.

There is not point in me just crapping on about the good stuff. Sharing victories, flaunting my art, preaching poetically about the wonders of creativity - as magnificent as they are. We all need some mustard, spice, charred flavours, too. The underside, the mystery, the murky confusion, the fog - for we live there, too. On the downside, the dark side. It is nothing to fear. Not really. Not nearly as much as we tend to anyway.
None of this is news, it's just off-the-top-of-my-head though sharing.

I'm an ordinary guy. I am complex. Sometimes, I am troubled, lost, destabilised by circumstance. I'm the same as all of us. But I want to speak, I want give voice to the howling wind in the sudden storms, I want to find words for the turgid waves that crash against our row boat souls and throw us to and fro, without mercy, relentlessly at times. I want to make sense of the senseless, throw light on the bleak, put a tattered blanket around the shivering frame of the fragile universal soul during times of stress and spiky challenge.

To make it though the gauntlets of my own, I want to reflect on the twists, recount the harrowing falls and summit attempt failures, give solace to the exhausted, the weary, the injured elements that reside within us. I am no hero, but maybe, if I never give up, I can close my eyes for the final time with a meek and fragile smile of victory knowing that not only did I withstand the best that fate could hurl at me but that I fucking chewed it up and spat it out, mouth bloody, teeth shattered, face blackened, but like I said, smiling faintly, completely spent, ready to release my sword, drop my pen and fall into the roaring silence.

Ho, ho. I do have fun with words. They give me access to a higher power, a taste of wonder which we all share, a single strand with which to connect to our universal connectedness.

Let me be clear then. I embrace it all. I have reached the point where I can clearly see that to do so is the only way. Be immersed but unattached. Sounds like a paradox. Fittingly.

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Being is Winning

5/1/2017

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Sometimes I feel just so goddam sensitive, it's unnerving. It's like a state of moderate hyper- awareness in which many, many aspects of living feelings, thoughts and emotions come flooding in to make me feel (temporarily) overwhelmed. It would be easy to categories it as anxiety but I don't think that is what it is. I had a period of ongoing anxiety attacks in my mid thirties (completely uninvited and, I believed, unwarranted) which I dealt with - at the insistence of my doctor at the time - by attended an Anxiety Management Program at the Prince of Wales Hospital. I was hesitant and uncomfortable about it but I went anyway. The good news is the process was phenomenally effective - and I have not had a full blown anxiety attack since. Pretty good, eh. It was a group situation - round table - with a program facilitator who used a white board and spoke, asked questions, directed us. I can't recall exactly but I believe it was two hours per week for eight weeks. One of the things that struct me first was that, as bad as my experiences were, some people had it a lot worse. This was a relief. Then, as is the Aussie way, we all were able to share some good laughs along the way. A big part of anxiety attack management is being able to recognise the early stages and rein it in before it escalates beyond your control. Once you learn this and a few techniques it is possible to never again succumb to it's powers. It was quite a breakthrough.

What I do get these days does not get to the level of heavy breathing and cold sweats. It is not an attack so much as a slow infiltration. Or a sudden realisation that I am in occupied territory. I know now, from experience, that in order to not become a victim, I need to stay cool and ride it out. It is not crippling (although it threatens to be). But it is present. There's a touch of agoraphobia, general unease and questioning, mild disassociation.

I am willing to share this stuff here because I know that it is not unique to myself. Without exception, we all go through similar tribulations. By sharing our truths we can dissipate the negative impact. Like in the group therapy - once we know we are not alone we become emboldened. There is nothing wrong with us that is not wrong with everyone else. We humans are flawed. And occasional over sensitivity is something we all experience. Even if it is in isolation, as it most always is in my case, we can find strength in the knowledge that it isn't personal and actually part of the mission agenda. It's a test we are innately designed to endure. It will pass. Staying cool really is something that can and should be cultivated. It gets easier with age (I find). You have got this far, been through so much - what's one more fucking mind fuck?!

I recently finished Bruce Springsteen's autobiography and he was openly candid about his own bouts of anxiety and depression. It his him pretty damn hard at times. I felt for him while reading it. But I also greatly admire his candour. Screw ego - he knows - it goes way beyond that shit. If we can help each other survive and overcome by sharing our own stuff - well, that's a great thing.

Like I have said before in these pages, while I definitely speak my truth and share my mind spontaneously and without censure here, one may be able to piece together some idea of who I am as a person, it would only be just that. An idea. A notion. Influence and coloured by each individuals own life experience/understanding and tailored to suit. I am not presenting pieces of a puzzle that add up to a portrait (of my internal self). I am, rather, disseminating seeds, throwing out handfuls for you to plant at will and grow your own shade and fruit bearing trees from. Once I send it out there, once you read it, it becomes yours to do with as you will.

My motivation is two-fold: one - to come to understand myself a little better and - two - to help you to understand yourself a little better by recognising aspects and traits, beliefs that we have in common and gently meditating on them.

Since I was young, early teens, I have not been that interested in history, geography, physics, chemistry (the list goes on - a mirror of my high school curriculum, ha ha). I have been interested in reading about peoples lives, their stories and I have been interested in the teachings and wisdom of philosophers and spiritual investigators/trailblazers. Digging deep into the complex meanings and infinite permutations of the human condition. Those all time favourites like - Why are we here? What does it all mean?

I know now, unanswerable, of course, but nevertheless, worth grappling with. It's not for everyone but for me it's like UFC (mixed martial arts fighting). Train and train, give it my all - and when it comes time to get in the ring - like more than a few times last year, like yesterday - with my opponent (The Metaphysical Master) I stand strong and come out swinging. My goal: last the five (or three) rounds. Not get knocked out. I know I won't ever get an outright win, per say, but not crumbling, being KO'ed is a victory in itself. Then, it's back to the gym - my contemplation, my writing, my personal/spiritual investigations, my creative endeavours - to strengthen my core, quicken my jab, work on my defence. Cause I'm a fighter. We all are. Being here demands it. There is no escape. The cage doors are locked during the bouts and you can not give up. It's not for glory. It's survival.

And the beauty, the true magnificence of the resilience we each possess, we all possess is one of the things that makes being a participant, an inhabitant on planet earth, rewarding. It would not hurt for us to acknowledge this simple wonder more often. The quiet strength and innate courage that each of us is made of. Just being is winning. We are all winners. We are all fucking champions as far as I am concerned. I bow down to each and every one of you in awe and respect. Because I know (more of less) what you go through. And it isn't easy.

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Truly Precious

Swallow The Reality

Writing in Cafes

Cafe's Gone

Shadowy Reflections

Being is Winning

ART GETS ME HIGH

Author & Artist

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Truly Precious

Swallow The Reality

﻿Writing in Cafes

Cafe's Gone

Shadowy Reflections

Being is Winning

﻿ART ﻿﻿﻿GETS ME﻿ ﻿﻿HIGH﻿

﻿﻿Author & Artist﻿﻿

Archives

Categories

Writing in Cafes

ART GETS ME HIGH

Author & Artist