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Everythings & Nothings

12/5/2017

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“A constant reminder…”
“Two days before I left for Scandinavia…."
“Then he went off the dole…"
“As a pretext for doing that... bullshit…”

I'm just going to write down snippets of what I hear people say
Beside me and adjacent in the Mullumbimby cafe

I'm all set up with my long black ice coffee
Cream on the side
And hear that!
It's Billy Joel singing
She's Always A Woman
How nostalgic

I was sixteen when that came out
Probably sipping ice coffee much the same
In a basement cafe called Comos
Next to the station in Hiroo

I was just learning
About women myself
They were teaching me, first hand
The girls from Sacred Heart just up the road
They would fraternise with a bunch of us guys
The ones who rode their bikes 45 mins from our school
I always stayed the latest 3:45 to 5:30
Cause I lived not far from there
We'd all smoke cheap Japanese cigarettes
(Seven Star, HiLite, Golden Bat)
And laugh, joke, laugh, smoke

Just from listening to their banter, gossip and chat
So much was gleaned
It was an education
Much more valuable than that by the one that was ostensible
At my school that was international
But way too ambitious and assertive for me
I was a poet
Even then
A gentle souled, Aussie, comic kid grown up in the bush
On the hunt for fun and friendship, games and laughter
(And of course I made a point to find it -
Tenacious in the pursuit of insouciance
Keen to drift, playfully meander)

What would I ever need from physics, history or chemistry?
I knew it was all a time waste (for me)
Instead I would draw pictures with my multi-coloured biro
Make comics
Compose whimsical, ironic poetry

Now here I am forty years later
Doing pretty much the same thing
I learnt plenty more lessons from women over that time
Upfront and personal
From being completely in love
To emotionally torn and  tortured
Incredulous, blissful and in total awe
The entire spectrum
Had heaps of fun, shed a few tears
Yeah, I had a good run
Married once
Some cheeky one nighters
Some live-togethers
That were real gems, true treasures

Year long international romances
Swedish, American, Kiwi, Korean
All of them delightfully complex, mesmerisingly feminine
We went deep
Got entangled

And, as always happens
After they burnt bright
They ended

So now I salvage the throw-away phrases of random strangers
Up the back of a tiny town cafe
And write about it
As I loosely reminisce and contemplate
All the everythings and nothings
That have come my way

And you know what
It's all OK
It's all OK

You just take it as comes
And eventually you find your way
Back to where you began

A series of alternating
Everythings and nothings
Living life is half the fun
(The other half is just getting it done)

Everythings and nothings
Once, twice, a thousand times
All over again
All over again

Everythings and nothings
All over again
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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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That Tingly Feeling

9/12/2015

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Some of my most wonderful life experiences have, without a doubt, been in sharing time with women. So have some of my most challenging. Often, but not always, they are with the same woman.

One such woman, I'll call her Claire, I met in New Zealand while shooting a Japanese TV commercial a few decades ago. She was hired by the local producer as a production assistant, also known as runners. They help out wherever they can on set or location - doing anything from driving, to getting meals, handing out call sheets, etc.

Although I do remember the first time I was introduced to Claire, in the production office in Wellington, it wasn't until we were on set a few days later that something really pinged and I realised that there was some attraction there. She was a bit like a cat; quietly confident, graceful and sleek, and, I was soon to find out great to curl up with, fun to make purr.

We started out playing some cheeky games with ice cubes, one day on location when the main crew were out on the camera car getting some shots. She was up for any challenge and we shared a sense of humour and play. I love that moment when you both realise that eventually you are going to be together. Maybe you are not 100% sure, but it's 90% from both sides and you each use the last 10% as an ongoing oscillating tease. 

That evening, after the crew dinner in a small town pub, halfway down the south island of NZ, we snuck away to a secluded courtyard area and shared some time alone together to see if your chemistry was indeed what we perceived it to be. I remember, at my suggestion, we played a word game. A simple one but quite telling and revealing of each other's headspace, world view and nature. I would say a word and she would respond with the first word that came into her head, to which I would do the same and so on. 

It was smooth, funny and dynamic. I was surprised and delighted by her complexity, intelligence and layers. The 10% was reduced to 1%. She suggested we go for a drive. By now it was around 11pm. The call time for the next morning was six. "Let's go!" I said without hesitation and jumped in the passenger seat of her assigned mini van.  

After she had been driving for about ten, fifteen minutes, in the abandoned countryside, I asked her if she knew where she was going. "I'll know when we get there." was her response. It seemed a little strange, to be heading out so far into unknown territory (for us both), but I shrugged it off and relinquished control. We drove in silence for a while longer and then we crossed a bridge. I recall looking at here driving and suddenly getting a feeling of dread, a strange and powerful gut feeling. What was it and why? I did not know. I surpressed it, though. I was too into her. I was willing to see the outcome. It was a mild, inexplicable panic. I did not want to succumb to it, although it was noted and filed. By the time we pulled up on the side of the road, in the middle of nowhere, it had passed. We got out of the car and climbed over a fence and ran across a large open paddock. Our destination, using only the available moonlight to guide us was a giant, multi-layered stack of hay bales. Like a couple of crazy kids, we climbed up to the mid level, and laying out coats down as a blanket, we began to get intimate.

You know you are with a good match when you really just want to keep kissing. Kissing is more than enough. Your body is pumping chemicals like there is no tomorrow, your eyes are closed, all your senses are on high alert, your faces are smashed together, saliva is being exchanged, tongues whirling in playful delight. There is nowhere else in the world you would rather be. You are experiencing one of those moments on planet earth that is as close to perfection as you'll ever get. You are connecting with another person in a way that makes you feel incredibly present and incredibly transported to another dimension at the same time.

Eventually, the animal takes over and nudges even the most romantic, slow burners towards intercourse. We were just beginning, maybe five or ten minutes into it, when we noticed car lights at the gate. After a few moments of confusion - we were out in the middle of nowhere at 1am - I leapt up and pulled my pants on, headed towards the lights. What I saw gave me chills. It was a man holding a rifle. Not just holding it, but pointing it at me as he walked towards me. For a second or two I was frozen. 

"What the bloody hell are you doing on my property?"

He was angry but not psychotic. I told him we were just out on a drive and decided to do some star gazing. In the meantime, Claire had put her clothes on and gathered the rest of mine, joining me at my side. She apologised with me and I believe that the old fella worked out exactly what was going on and realising we were no threat in any way, chose to cut us some slack. He did not become friendly, but he did lower his gun as he invited us to piss off.

It was an unexpected experience, a heightened experience. When we got back to my room at the motel our intimacy was continued, perhaps improved by our shared brush with danger. We took our time and knew that our bodies were as meant for each other as our personalities and minds. There was no question that this was something special.

We only had one other opportunity to be together in private and that was on my last night in Christchurch. Claire snuck back to my hotel room quite late, after the wrap dinner. Not being sure when we would see each other again made it bitter sweet. 

Of course, we had to see each other again. We conversed transpacific a few times and soon arranged for Claire to come and visit me in Bondi. It was so exciting to see her again and it felt like something real and potentially long term. We were so compatible. As well as being gorgeous in an understated way, she was a very cool person who had a quiet confidence and alluring charm. It felt like I was the only one who had access to this truly amazing being. I was euphoric. After some time in Bondi, I decided to treat her with a trip to Australia's chilled, spiritual rejuvenation, coastal mecca; Byron Bay. It was on our last day there, after a week of laughing and loving, heavenly hanging, that the dream came to a sudden and shocking halt.

It came in the form of a message on my mobile phone. Mobiles were still pretty new then and basic. Texting didn't exist. Calls were often missed or would go straight to mail box. This one came from a private number and went straight to messages. I pushed one to listen. It was a voice I did not recognise. It went something like this:

"This is Ben. I'm Claire's boyfriend. I know you are with her in Byron Bay. I'm at your place in Bondi right now. I'm waiting in the stair well with a knife. I'm not afraid to go to prison. I have been there before. I'm not even afraid to do life. If I can't have Claire, there's no point in living anyway. You've taken her from me and that is unforgivable. I've got lots of nasty friends in Sydney who..."

And on it went. Increasingly desperate, unbalanced, shocking, threatening and psychotic. After another few seconds, I hit the discard button. Shut it down. I was spooked enough. The message was clear.

The place we were staying was booked out. We moved to a hotel on the Gold Coast but did not catch our scheduled flight back to Sydney. We holed up there for a few more days and nights. I arranged for a mate to scope out my place. Claire assured me that he wouldn't be there. That he was a lot of bark and only some bite. Still. Bite's are painful.

Who was this guy? And why had I not known about this?

Turns out he was a recent ex. A dangerous character. She had left him, finally, after an unhappy, tormenting and prolonged break up. But in his mind, it was not over. He had found out about me through their friend's network and somehow got my phone number and address. 

Was he really dangerous? Did he really have bikie friends? 

Yes and yes. But, she didn't think he would really actually kill me. But he could, maybe. Friends of their friends had taken out hit orders on people before.

A whole new side of her became apparent. She was someone who walked the line. Live dangerously. Under that sweetness was cold blood. She was attracted to my free spirit and comparative innocence. I've had my share of scrapes with trouble, sure, but I've never taken out a hit on someone. 

Anyway, she rang a mutual friend of theirs - the leader of a bike gang in NZ. After a few conversations to and fro, including the big dude calling and allegedly placating Ben - I was given the all clear. No assassination today.

From Sydney, she returned home. She promised to get it sorted out before the next time we would meet. I was going to go down there. Spend some time at her place, meet the family...

We continued to talk on the phone. But things were different. I could not comfortable integrate into that world. Her and me... yes. The rest of it... no, thanks. The calls became shorter and less frequent. Time, in it's giant rolling snowball way, whited out everything. As it does, as it does.

Sometimes, I would think back to that very strong feeling I got before it all started. In the van on that first night. I believe I sensed the trouble in her, around her. She showed none of it, but it was there, hidden away. I sensed it. I could not have known - and I wanted to be with her, so I let it dissipate. But it was one of a very few times in my life I have ever felt it like that. It was spot on.
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Kinda Spooky!

5/9/2015

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I was married in my twenties. It was for less than a few years and we didn't have kids. Sometimes I think back to my girlfriends since then and speculate about how, if I were doing it again, which of them I would marry/have children with. I consider things like whether it could be a lasting relationship and what kind of mums they would be. I also think about which of them I would stay with, given a second chance, a redo.

There are only three who meet the requirements of both categories. I'm not really in contact with any of them. I could probably track down one of them, but the other two, well, I have forgotten their family names and they are from other countries. Probably for the best. Nothing worse than getting a drunken text or fb msg from your boyfriend from 20 years ago, seeing if you want to mate.

Anyway, this story, true story, involves one of them. She was a truly lovely girl and we were very close. It was one of those relationships that just got unlucky. If we had made it over a very testing third year hump, I believe we would possibly still be together. But this is just fantasy because, since then I have experienced some amazing relationships and encounters and none of it would have happened if I had been married to her. And you can't have both. I made my choices, it seems, and I will live with them. No regrets. But just sometimes.... what if...? You know how it is!

I'll call her A. (She deserves top marks.) We had such a close connection and shared some wonderful times and adventures. At the time, we were both into investigating the spiritual side of life. We decided to attend a weekend seminar held in Kings Cross that was about past lives and connecting with them. It was helmed by Denise Linn, a deeply spiritual woman of Native American descent. (She is still active today in spiritual guidance and teaches across the globe, with seventeen books to her credit.)

So, it wasn't cheap but from the available literature at the time and from, you know, vibe-ing it out, it seemed like a worthwhile adventure. These were pre-internet days, so there was no reading up online or anything. Things were done and decisions made trusting a more innate level of assessment. 

I had already done some interesting seminars like The Forum and Insight, as well as re-birthing and kinesiology sessions, so I was aware that having an open mind is important in this kind of engagement. 

Day one involved a lot of visualisations, meditations, group sharing. A and I were split up, mostly, by choice, not wanting to influence or hinder each other's immersion. In my opinion, because it was a relatively large group of attendees (over 100), the power and impact of the process was compromised. I really wasn't feeling it.

On the evening of that first day, Denise informed us that we would each be receiving a certificate of attendance. She wanted to have the names inscribed by volunteers from amongst the participants who felt confident enough with their calligraphic skills to fill in a share of them overnight. I raised my hand, along with two or three others and we each received a special pen plus a small pile of parchment - which included two or three extras in case of error.

I did mine that night when we got home. I only made one mistake. Just one of the names, I felt was not quite up to standard. I redid it and took the rest in, handing them in to the administrators that morning. All good.

Day two was a little better, but I still didn't get any experiences of personal breakthrough, epiphanies, wow! moments. While it felt, worthwhile and authentic, it lacked, for me at least, that bit of magic that you look for when you do these kind of processes.

Sunday evening and the seminar came to a close. A and I were gathering our belongings from along one of the walls of the auditorium, when we were approached by a gentle, kind faced older woman. 

"Sorry for intruding, but are you two together?, she asked meekly. 

"Yes," we said. 

"Are you a couple?" 

"Yes."

She kind of shuffled around a bit and seemed awkward. It was a little strange. We gave her a moment to compose her thoughts and express herself.

"This may seem a little strange, but we have all, the three of us been connected in a past life. It was back in England. You two were brother and sister. You went through some very hard times. I witnessed it. But you really loved and took care of each other. Your bond was incredible. Some things happened with your family that were rather horrible but you rose above it together and really looked after one another."

Well.

A and I were both a little shell shocked. It all seemed so random. But, but...

Before we could really assimilate what she was saying and think of anything to ask, she began to shuffle off.

We thanked her. 

"What is your name?"

"It's Mary. Mary Thomas. God bless you both. Your love back then was an inspiration. I am sorry I couldn't do more to help you back then... good bye."

It was mystifying. And beguiling. 

We soon forgot it, as we dug in to our bowls of Japanese ramen from a place up the road. Then we headed home. Ready for sleep and the new week ahead. 

In bed, we debriefed some more and discussed things. It was strange but kind of comforting what the old woman had said. In a funny way, our relationship did have a brother/sister quality to it. We were very protective of each other and sensitive to each others feelings and needs. What she had said was out of left field but somehow kind of made sense. 

When I got up, pre slumber, to get some water, I popped my head into my studio for some reason. There, in the middle of my workbench, lay a certificate from the seminar. It was not the one that either A or I had received. 

I went into the bedroom and stood at the door, a little stunned. A sensed my energy and asked what was up. 

I told her to come with me and led her to the desk. She saw the certificate and moved in closer. She read out the name inscribed on it:

Mary Thomas.

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    ART GETS ME HIGH

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    Author & Artist

    Lewie JPD 
    Blog Mission Statement: 

    "I am taking this opportunity to openly and freely express my simple truth in a relaxed, stream of consciousness manner, without self judgment or editing while transcribing and celebrating the process and practice of being an artist.

    My goal is that I will have some fun recording sentiments and thoughts as they come to me, coupled with my recent imagery. As well; to learn something of value and share something that may inspire/offer insight to other artists, creatives and sentient beings."


    Disclaimer: He's high!
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