Lewie JPD
facebook / email
  • Home
  • Love Letters To Japan
  • New Works
  • Exhibitions
  • Music
  • Blog
  • Murals
  • Manga! Pop! Paintings
  • Shirty Shirts
  • Press
  • Short Movies
    • Skull Guru
  • Mind's I comics
  • About Lewie JPD
  • Coaching & Mentoring
  • FAQ
  • Contact

All This And More

11/9/2016

0 Comments

 
Picture
I'm reading Amy Schumer's autobiography at the moment. She's the sassy comedian who loves to shock with her foul mouthed tirades and assertions to do with sexuality. She has that common American quality of being brazen and un-checked which can so often go wrong but works well if it's backed up by authentic talent and dedicated self edit. In her case, it mostly works. 

I wasn't sure what to expect but have been welcomely surprised by her honesty and the tale of her assiduous rising through the stand up ranks due to passion and a dedicated and focused work ethic, as well as plenty of tears and tear-me-down-and-I'll-get-right-back-up attitude.

There's some pretty funny stuff including a chapter titles "Letter to My Vagina" - which made me consider attempting a letter to my penis for fun and irreverence. But nah. It would serve no one. 

One thing, though, that I was somewhat moved by and did bring up some memories and long lost feelings of my own were her chapters on her adolescence. I was reminded of what a trying time it is - how emotionally turgid and confusing it can be. Everything is new and a lot of intense and bewildering thoughts and feelings flood in out of nowhere and catch you unprepared. It's fair to say my years from 13 to sixteen were no walk in the park.

I had to put up with some violent bullying at school. I was a long haired, mellow dude - peace loving and kind spirited. But I could also be somewhat cheeky and somehow drawn to provoking ire in thick headed, mentally imbalanced older and larger students resulting in physical attacks on numerous occasions. This eventually subsided (once I started lifting weights - hmmm - a correlation?) but I did have to endure a good five years of it.

As well as that, I was frequently a target for imbalanced and sadistic teachers because I would not bow down to their unjust displays of authority heavy manipulation. Nice teachers - no problem. Assholes - problem. A few times it was like the classic prison guard vs prisoner scenario. I refused to bow down and paid for my stubbornness in various forms of legal abuse. Sadly, on the home front, too, I was misunderstood and unexpectedly troublesome to my parents who were relatively young and unprepared for my esoteric and eccentric behaviours. As the eldest of three boys my artistic temperament was vexatious and at times troubling to my parents resulting in miscommunication and detachment. 

I'm happy to say that now, four decades later - it's all good. LOL. The rebellious, angsty kid has settled the fuck down. And, of course, can now appreciate how difficult it must have been at times to contend with such a mini maelstrom. (I love you Mum and Dad!)

But, yeah, all that. Done and dusted. So heightened at the time but then slowly surpassed and perhaps suppressed as new challenges presented themselves in my twenties - spiritual awakening, anorexia (what? yes. ahead of the curve!), an ill-fitting marriage, adultery, divorce... the usual stuff. 

So why am I talking about myself? Oh, yeah, just happened. It's because of Amy Schumer. She got me remembering. Got me thinking about how tough those years can be for most of us. And yet we make it through. .... to a different kind of tough. Eventually, the edge gets taken off, you become somewhat of a veteran, a long game player, and find that you have somehow lived a fair chunk of life.

It's just one thing after another, really. You do your best - even if it's not technically your best. You do what you have to. It would make a hell of a reality show. So dense, so full of twists and turns, so.... relentless. And only you know the full extent of it. It's your show. Ta daaa! Surprised? Yeah, me, too. (shrugs).
0 Comments

Kinda Spooky!

5/9/2015

0 Comments

 
Picture
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.

0 Comments

Wise Men Say

30/6/2015

2 Comments

 
Picture
I met a lovely girl on the first day of art school in Sydney, a long time ago. She had big eyes and easy, natural smile and shiny long dark hair. She wore it in two plats and was wearing a suede vest and skirt. She looked a lot like an American Indian squaw. I was captivated. 

Turned out she wasn't an Iroquai nor a an Apache chief's daughter after all. She was from the Island of Mauritius. A genetic blend of Chinese, French, Spanish and the other kind of Indian. My mission was to get to know her as intimately as possible. Having spent my teens in Tokyo nightclubs, the usual romantic cycle for me was meet, have drinks, sleep together, then say goodbye. I was not versed in regular world courtship. My seduction took longer than anticipated. It was further complicated by the fact that she had never been with anyone before. No rush. Things took their natural course. We were in the same classes everyday. She was very easy going and fun loving, popular with everyone. 

Eventually we slept together and quite frankly, the chemistry was not great. Some of it could have been due to her inexperience. Some of it could have been due to the fact - that I as later to discover - that she had been molested by family members in her youth. To what degree exactly, I never clearly ascertained, but obviously, any level of such a loathsome and heartless behaviour would cause trauma and leave scars. 

When she turned up in photography class after a few months of our being together with a packed suitcase, I was surprised. Was she going somewhere? 

"My Dad hit me..." She showed me a bruise on her thigh. It was fairly nasty. "...again." she said. I was speechless. My first encounter with inter family violence. "Can I come and stay with you?"

This was not in the plan. Not at all. In fact, because of our lack of natural sparks in bed, I was considering notching the relationship back to a friendship. But how could I say no. Tears glistened in her eyes. Those same big, innocent eyes I had initially fallen for. 

"OK, for a few weeks. But then you've got to find a place of your own."

Cut to six years later. We have been on again, off again, over and over. She has used those tears (unlimited supply) mixed with emotional pleas, threats, coercion seduction and blackmail to keep us together. Many times she put her life on the line and I had to decide, save her or let her possibly die. Of course, I never had a choice. She was a truly beautiful person, just damaged. 

Eventually, there was a new pressure. Marriage. 

Never, I thought. She can't make me. It's not what I want.

What's that phrase? Resistance is futile. I came to understand it first hand. Things were beyond my control. I had more power of will, discipline, clarity of thought. But she had the power of emotion and a woman's way.

We were living in a house in Bondi Junction at the time. I was working as a freelance illustrator. She was working in a girl's fashion wear shop in Centrepoint in the city. Life was not bad. We made the best of things. We cooked, watched videos, hung out with my brother - who was sharing house with us - and her family as well. We bought a puppy. 

But, deep down, I knew, I did not want to get married. 

Still, the pressure was there. Her parents and sisters joined in. Her elder sister and her husband (who is still a wonderful friend today) would come over and hang out and show how good married life was. How natural. I was told her father, a slightly scary man, was becoming impatient. 

One night the two of us were watching an old movie: The Birdman of Alcatraz. There was a scene. The old fella, a lifer, is telling Burt Lancaster something important. He whispers it to him in a gruff, hardened voice....

"Sometimes, son, the only way out - is in."

Bing. It hit me. I recall walking outside on my own. Sitting on the fence. Pacing. OMG. It was obvious. I knew what I had to do.

The following week I bought a ring and proposed. The wedding was wonderful, a coming together of two families and fantastic, loving friends. At the church, when she came around the corner in her father's arms and headed down the aisle, the look of happiness and joy, fulfilment, in her eyes - so true and so pure - made me spontaneously burst out in tears, standing there at the alter. If I could make someone this happy, even just for a short time, it was worth it.

We didn't have a honeymoon away, because we had plans to leave for Tokyo, to go and live there soon after. But we had a honeymoon night at the fancy Kings Cross hotel were the reception occurred. The party was wonderful, great speeches, dancing, a true celebration. People spoke of it for years to come. We all had a great time. 

But once we were alone, in that big suite, surrounded by presents and champagne, a deluxe fruit platter, the truth, to me at least, was undeniable. We were strongly connected, officially man and wife - but not two lovers. I'd had a few love connections before and I knew this wasn't one. There was love, but it wasn't based in passion, there was an absence of chemistry.

Still, I decided, I would give it a go. We moved to Japan. Found a tiny apartment in Shimo-Kitazawa. And when I say tiny, I mean tiny. It was one room. There was a modular shower and toilet, a cupboard, a tiny fridge and a benchtop single gas cooker. We slept on a futon and folded it up each morning to allow us space to put a tiny folding table and two folding chairs.

I didn't mind the idea of being married. Being a husband. Saying; this is my wife. It felt kind of fun. We both taught English at language schools in Shibuya and Shinjuku. I rode my Kawasaki around in my downtime - taking interviews with art directors at agencies and magazines, showing my portfolio of work. Eventually - just before going completely insane from having to tutor - I was getting enough work to do it full time.

After we had been there a little over a year, things were going relatively smoothly. It was a kind of adventure. Things were slowly coming together. She loved being in Tokyo. For me it was familiar. Comfortable. I had grown up there. 

A tradition started. Every Saturday night we would hang out at the fountain outside the train station entrance, with a gathering of local musos. There were plenty of guitars, cigarette smoking, and drinking spirits out of bottles purchased at the adjacent 7-11. We connected with the local misfits, rebels, free spirits. It was fun. People came and went over the months. A few key players became friends.

One guy in particular, a younger chap, charismatic but with a humility, a truck driver by day, loved to sing Elvis tunes. And he was good. Really good. He had swagger. We both liked him. He was a mix of traditional, honourable Japanese (from the countryside) and young Western rebel.

We would hang out at that fountain till sunrise with the carefree crooning group, often.

Eventually, I tired of it. I wanted to go home and read, or draw, watch a video on our tiny 18cm second hand TV. My wife did not want to join me. She wanted to stay on. To party. 

Sure, I said. See you later. I stayed up and greeted her return. We slept in Sunday together. The next few weeks it was the same.  Until, one Saturday, she did not come home. I woke in the early afternoon. Eventually, she turned up.

"A few of us went back to his apartment. I fell asleep there. Sorry."

You know when you know.

I tried to talk her out of staying all night every Saturday. I could not. The following week she was home at dawn. The week after she announced that she was going to stay at his house. I protested. She didn't care.

Yep. It was over.

I felt a mixture of relief, confusion, anger and resentment. Just like that, eh? 

We carried on as usual. A few months later we returned to Australia for holidays. I was lying on the beach, alone, down south, near Culburra. We were on summer holidays with her family. I had an epiphany. I held the warm, white sand in my hands. The sun was bright and strong. 

I am not going back to Tokyo. Forget all the stuff, I don't care. Forget the whole thing. I'm staying in Oz. This is where I belong. I am free.

I announced it to her and she was shocked. I was steadfast. I need to go back and get our stuff, she insisted. Sure, I said. She ended up sending it back and moving in with Japanese Elvis. After a few months she came back. I had divorce papers ready. She did not want to sign them. She tried to convince me. But it was over. She moved on to plan B.

She went back. They got married. I really was free. 

It had been eight years. From twenty to twenty eight. It was a huge learning curve. 

A whole new phase of my life began after that. New friends, new pursuits, new lifestyle, new outlook. My connection to the squaw was released. The new freedom was exquisite. I had paid my dues, come full circle. No regrets, no resentment, I strode forward onto greater new adventures.


2 Comments

    RSS Feed

    ART GETS ME HIGH

    Picture

    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!
    Er, obviously.

    Pass the paint brush!
    *no drugs required

    Instagram

    Archives

    September 2019
    July 2019
    June 2019
    May 2019
    April 2019
    January 2019
    December 2018
    November 2018
    October 2018
    September 2018
    August 2018
    July 2018
    June 2018
    May 2018
    April 2018
    March 2018
    February 2018
    January 2018
    December 2017
    November 2017
    October 2017
    September 2017
    August 2017
    July 2017
    June 2017
    May 2017
    April 2017
    March 2017
    February 2017
    January 2017
    December 2016
    November 2016
    October 2016
    September 2016
    August 2016
    July 2016
    June 2016
    May 2016
    April 2016
    March 2016
    February 2016
    January 2016
    December 2015
    November 2015
    October 2015
    September 2015
    August 2015
    July 2015
    June 2015
    May 2015
    April 2015
    March 2015
    February 2015
    January 2015
    December 2014
    November 2014
    October 2014
    September 2014
    August 2014
    July 2014
    June 2014
    May 2014
    April 2014
    March 2014
    February 2014
    January 2014
    December 2013
    November 2013
    October 2013
    September 2013
    August 2013
    July 2013
    June 2013
    May 2013
    April 2013
    March 2013
    February 2013

    Categories

    All
    000 Images
    12
    1961
    60's
    70's
    Abbey Road
    Abstract
    Acceptance
    Adaptation
    Addiction
    Adventure
    Advice
    Age
    Air Con
    Airport
    Album Cover
    Aliens
    Alone
    Amazing
    Ambition
    Amy Schumer
    Animation
    Anorexia Nervosa
    Anxiety
    Anyone
    Applause
    Arai Ken
    Archery
    Art
    Artist
    Artists
    Art School
    Assistant
    Attitude
    Audience
    Auditions
    Aussie
    Autobiographies
    Automatic Writing
    Awareness
    Babysitters
    Balance
    Bars
    Bay City Rollers
    Beach
    Beauty
    Bed
    Being Human
    Believe
    Belongil
    Betrayal
    Beyond
    Bigger Picture
    Billy Joel
    Bingo Pinball
    Birdman Of Alcatraz
    Birthday
    Black & White
    Blah
    Bliss
    Blog
    Bluebird
    Bluster
    Bondi
    Boogie Wonderland
    Books
    Book Shops
    Bosozoku
    Bruce Springsteen
    Buddhism
    Bullshit
    Bullying
    Bush School
    Byron Bay
    Cafe
    Cafes
    Canvas
    Caravan
    Castaneda
    Cat Stevens
    Caveman
    CD
    Celebrity
    Chainsaw
    Challenge
    Challenges
    Chance
    Change
    Chanting
    Chaos
    Cheese
    Chemistry
    Childhood
    Chill Out
    Chirp
    Chocolate
    Choices
    Coffee
    Coincidence
    Collage
    Collecting
    Comedy
    Comfort
    Comics
    Commercial
    Communication
    Compassion
    Computer Games
    Concepts
    Conflict
    Connection
    Conrad Mecheski
    Consciousness
    Contemplation
    Cosmic
    Counselling
    Country Life
    Cows
    Crazy Guy
    Creation
    Creativity
    Cronuts
    Cupboard
    Curiousity
    Daily
    Dali
    Dance
    Dancing
    Danger
    Dark
    Darkroom
    Dating Site
    Dave Eggers
    Day
    Death
    Denise Linn
    Depression
    Depth
    Despair
    Destiny
    Devotion
    Diet
    Disco
    Discovery
    Divine
    Divorce
    Dogs
    Drama
    Drawings
    Dreaming
    Dreams
    Drinking
    Driving
    Ducks
    Echoes
    Effort
    Ego
    Elvis
    Emotion
    Encouragement
    Enlightenment
    Epiphany
    Escape
    Esoteric
    Evolution
    Exhibition
    Existence
    Experiences
    Expression
    Facebook
    Faces
    Failure
    Faith
    Family
    Fantasy
    Fat
    Fate
    Father
    Fear
    Feelings
    Film
    Fish
    Flow
    Focus
    Foraging
    Freedom
    Freelance
    Free Spirit
    Free Time
    Friends
    Fulfilment
    Fun
    Funny
    Future
    Gaia
    Galleries
    Gallery
    Game Centres
    Garage
    Garageband
    Garfunkel
    Geisha
    Ghandi
    Gilligan's Island
    Girlfriends
    Girls
    Giving
    Globesity Festival
    Glorious
    Gnocchi
    Goals
    Gods Of Play
    Google
    Grandfather
    Gratitude
    Greatness
    Groupies
    Growth
    Guru
    Gypsy
    Haiku
    Hallucinations
    Hand Colouring
    Happiness
    Hashish
    Headspace
    Highschool
    Hip Hop
    Hippies
    Hipster
    Hiroo
    Hokusai
    Homage
    Honesty
    Hope
    Hotel
    Hoyts
    Humanity
    Humility
    Humour
    Hysteria
    I Am
    Ideas
    Identity
    Idle
    Illusion
    Illustration
    Illustrators
    Images
    Imagination
    Improvisation
    Inner Voice
    Input
    Insight
    Insignificance
    Inspiration
    Internet
    Interview
    Introspection
    Intuition
    IPad
    Irony
    Isaac Asimov
    Island
    James Joyce
    James Salter
    Japan
    Japanese Girls
    Jarrah
    Jazz
    Joan Didion
    John Lyndon
    Joking
    Journal
    Journey
    Judgement
    Jump
    Junk Food
    Kids
    Kings Cross
    Koalas
    Kombi
    Kookaburra
    LA
    Larry David
    Laugh
    Laughter
    Launch
    Lazy
    Learning
    Leisure
    Lessons
    Letter
    Lfie
    Liberation
    Library
    Life
    Limitations
    List
    Listening
    Looking
    Love
    Lovers
    Lsd
    Lucky
    Lust
    Lyrics
    Magazine House
    Magda Szubanski
    Magic
    Maine
    Marriage
    Marshmallow
    Martini
    Master
    Me
    Meaning
    Meat
    Meditation
    Melancholy
    Mellow
    Memoirs
    Memories
    Mental Health
    Mentors
    Metaphysical
    Michael Miner
    Michael W. Clunes
    Middle Bar
    Mind
    Money
    Monkey
    Monks
    Monsters
    Mortality
    Motorbikes
    Movies
    Mud
    Mullumbimby
    Music
    Music Video
    My Room
    Mystery
    Naive
    National Art School
    National Lampoon
    Nature
    New York
    New Zealand
    Nobody
    Nothing
    Now
    NYC
    Obsession
    Ocean
    Olympics
    Once Upon A Deadline
    One Day
    Opportunity
    Osho
    Out-of-body
    Outsider
    Painting
    Paperbacks
    Parents
    Paris
    Parking Lot
    Passion
    Past
    Patches
    Paul Simon
    Pavlova
    Peace
    Pee
    People
    Perception
    Philosophy
    Phooey!
    Photography
    Physics
    Pieces
    Pigs
    Pizza
    Place
    Play
    Playboy
    Poem
    Poems
    Poetry
    Poker
    Pop Art
    Popeye Magazine
    Portfolio
    Portraits
    Positive
    Possibility
    Potential
    Poverty
    Povo
    Practice
    Preacher
    Precious
    Pretty
    Pretty Good
    Process
    Processing
    Procrastination
    Production
    Profound
    Psyche
    Psychology
    PTSD
    Publish
    Pud
    Pure
    Purpose
    Pussy
    Puzzle
    Questions
    Quotes
    Radio Show
    Raffle-tickets
    Ramble
    Raymond Carver
    Reading
    Realisation
    Reality
    Rebirth
    Reflection
    Relationships
    Resolution
    Respect
    Retreat
    Revelation
    Reward
    Rhythm
    Richard Walters
    Rite Of Passage
    Roller Skating
    Romance
    Ronda Rousey
    Roppongi
    Running
    Sadness
    SAE
    Sake
    Salad
    Salvation
    Samsung Note
    Sanctuary
    Saturday Night Fever
    Scar
    School
    Screenplay
    Screenwriting
    Scripts
    Search
    Searching
    Security
    Seduction
    Self
    Selfie
    Self Respect
    Seminar
    Senses
    Sentience
    Serendipity
    Serenity
    Sex
    Shaman
    Sharing
    Shibuya
    Shift
    Shinjuku
    Short Stories
    Sick
    Sid
    Simplicity
    Simulation
    Singing
    Sit
    Sitting
    Skulls
    Sky
    Slap
    Sleep
    Slobbering
    Snacks
    Snowman
    Society
    Sociey
    Socks
    Solo
    Something
    Somewhere
    Song
    Soul
    Soundcloud
    Space Invaders
    Speeches
    Speed
    SPen
    Spidey Sense
    Spirit
    Spiritual Bricks
    Spirituality
    Spooky
    Sports Jacket
    Stages
    Stalin
    Steiner
    Steve Smith
    St Mary's
    Story
    Stress
    Struggle
    Studio
    Success
    Suffering
    Surrealsim
    Surrender
    Survival
    Swallow
    Swamp
    Swim
    Tears
    Technique
    Technology
    Teen Years
    The Factory
    The International
    The Joy Of Sex
    The Magician's Way
    Theo
    Therapy
    The Voice
    The Void
    Thinking
    Thoughts
    Time
    Tingly Feeling
    Together
    Toilet
    Tokyo
    Tom Robbins
    Too-much-ness
    Toys
    Transcendence
    Travel
    Tricks
    Tripping
    Trouble
    Truman Capote
    Trust
    Truth
    Trutth
    Turtle
    TV
    TV CM
    Twins
    Typing
    UCLA
    UFC
    Uncomfortable
    Uni
    Unique
    Universe
    University
    Upswing
    Usher
    Valour
    Value
    Vegetarian
    Vego
    Vessels
    Viewer
    Vikings
    Virginity
    Vogue
    Vulnerability
    Waitresses
    Walk
    Walrus
    Warrior
    Wealth
    Weird
    Whim
    Whisper
    Will.i.am
    Wings
    Winning
    Wisdom
    Woman
    Women
    Wonder
    Wonderful
    Wonder-world
    Woodblock Prints
    Woody Allen
    Words
    World
    Writer
    Writers
    Writing
    Yakuza
    Yeats
    Yeti
    Yoga
    You
    Youth
    Zany
    Zen
    Zines

    RSS Feed