​
Society presents a reality
That is at least partly constructed
For the benefit of those in power
For their profit and self advancement
With disregard for consequence


It’s up to you to use your intuition
In the formation of your decisions, your perception


Don’t be easily manipulated
By the ostensible, subversive undercurrents
Of the social requirement pushers


What is life?
Who are you?
Question it all, question it all


There is no standard answer
Allow your mind beyond existing parameters
Don’t let social norms restrict you
In your quest for personal truth and meaning


Because
If you think about it
Humanity is but a construct
An amalgamation of concepts
Agreed upon, accepted


Going with the flow is expected
Acquiescence is encouraged
And by all means, when it suits you
Use the paths already forged for your progression


But when you come across
Elements of standards
Moral, philosophical, practical
That demand you compromise your behaviour
Go against the grain of your innate awareness
Resist
And forge your own way


Investigate your natural instincts
Through research, discourse, quiet contemplation
To lead to a more expanded understanding
Of what things are
Of how things work


You’ll quickly see beyond the construct
Move beyond the fences
See that society can so easily restrict and limit us
Box us in
Categorise us for it’s own advantage


Through fresh concepts, words and actions
Express your essence and your truth
Illuminate your unique take on life, the world and everything
Formulate your reality to suit

​

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)

My reading has been almost exclusively autobiographies over the last few years. I read about one a week. Recent ones include the true life tales of UFC fighter Ronda Rousey, Aussie actor Magda Szubanski and... I can't quite think back further than that at the moment... (I have become much quicker at discarding information that does not serve an ongoing purpose. Like a juicer: I extract the potent, nourishing and useful nectar and jettison the rest. Sip, sip.) If a book does not keep me interested, I stop reading. Think of each chapter as a station on a train track. Sometimes, even after the reasonably thorough sifting process done at the library (of which one in three books of interest actually gets carried out), I will still get off a train and switch to another about 10% of the time. 

There is not a limitless selection of autobios available, so I really do, sometimes, if nothing new has appeared, have to dig deep into the stacks and consider random possibilities. I am reading one such book at the moment. I can't remember what it is called, in fact, I don't think I even really cared much about the title - because the synopsis and reviews were enough to snag me - but it is about a guy who has spent his life playing computer games and simulations, beginning in the late 70's/ early 80's with the most basic of such games (in a style similar/based on Dungeons and Dragons).

The interesting thing about this guy's story (so far) is that he was only seven when he convinced his father to buy him one - which was aimed at players 16+ (not due to adult content but to do with development levels). When he talks about how his very young mind stumbled into these worlds and tried to make sense of them and navigate through them, it is truly fascinating, in a large part because, his mind is still that young that he is also still trying to assimilate and navigate through the parallel world of 'reality'. 

The games, in these early days, are visually rudimentary, but involve advanced and sometimes complex thought processes and decision making, where actions have consequences. If a then b. They are often about survival in a challenging two dimensional landscape and are about navigating through conceptual terrains while attempting to collect 'life force' to use against increasingly dangerous foes and scenarios.

One of the most mind-blowing things for him was when, after months of play and having achieved double digits in power, he somehow skipped ahead and ran into a troll who was so fierce that he could usurp power from a player, with one violent pummel that would cost 390 points. He could not imagine such a thing. Until he came across it. The concept of even amassing that many points (and all the game time, processes and procedures necessary to do so) for him at that stage were near inconceivable.

So, I'm right into this book! He also talks about the relationship between 2D worlds and 3D worlds - making an interesting and valid point that 2D worlds are often more satisfying because their natural limitations, in fact, allow for much more imagination and interpretation and, as well, can be less distracting. Where I am up to now, he is about ten years old and has found (when not playing a game) a preponderance to wander, through his neighbourhood for example, seeing maps and worlds and possibilities templated over the existing structure and finding that time has disappeared, three, four hours at a hit, without him being aware. 

As life often does, when you find a new interest in something, suddenly, you discover connections and related offshoots all around you. So I find myself his evening watching on YouTube: the 2016 Isaac Asimov Memorial Debate: Is the Universe a Simulation? Headed by Neil DeGrasse, a panel of five physicists, astrophysicists and philosophers discuss that nature of reality and ask some interesting questions. I am actually just 29mins into the 2hr presentation currently, and actually paused it to write this because my mind was stimulated and I felt the urgent need to say a few things myself (to myself). And to you (reader) as well. But I know nothing of you and cannot with 100% certainty even assume you exist. True, from responses to my past posts, I do know that these pages do get a three or four thousand weekly hits (according to numbers and graphs on my site home screen - which I find it convenient to believe has some basis in reality), so, at least on some level, I can be pretty sure that this will be read. But for the moment -as I compose it - it is just me.

So, what I am doing is attempting to create a simulation of my mind scape, using these words, to convey it firstly to myself, for clarification and amusement - as well as a kind of progression/record - and then secondly to a group of others from my species who will then interpret them for their own amusement, nourishment, awareness expansion and then will extrapolate upon them in their own multiple and limitless ways. Which in itself, is not dissimilar to that kid with his games. This is not technically a game, but in some ways it is. I am doing it for fun. I am making something up. There are set boundaries - it is an artist's journal, a creative's meanderings that has been posted on the internet on Sunday, June 26th, 2016. Did I know where it was going when I began writing? Not really. I had some idea of a theme. So, in a way it is a journey that I am going on. And you are following in my footsteps. You are curious, too. I am curious, interested in, intrigued by the contents of my own mind and how I have processed information from the minds of others - that writer, the panel - and I am putting it into a fresh context and through some original filters and re-presenting it.

How will you process it? I wonder. Will there be some new thoughts sparked inside your consciousness that bring some fresh excitement, new ideas? I'm sure. And so, on and on, we pass concepts to and fro between each other, in an infinite variety. And with the internet, now, it is so much quicker and more powerful. Indeed, within just minutes of my completing this process of my recordings somebody else will likely be absorbing them! No old school time gap between a hand written journal sitting on a desk for months or years, then being edited, assimilated and finally printed/distributed into a shop or library that stores volumes of thoughts collected in 3D tomes for absorption. No, it's now instant. I'm going to click a button and here it is. You have it. (And so on...)

One thing I noticed while watching (listening to - I soon realised there was not much need to be visually attentive and traversed to other tabs with the audio in the background) the panel was how clunky we humans are when we attempt to verbal express things. As well as the distractions of voice, personalities, surroundings, there are so many barriers to expressing the often magnificent complexity of thought that takes part in our minds. Even in the short bit I have seen so far, I can perceive, so much interference and distraction going on and have to sift through for the juicy bits. I do believe that we are actually SO much smarter, more aware and advanced than we are able to actually express. I guess striving to get better at it is part of the fun. And that is why I write stuff like this, here; for fun and stimulation. As well, to connect. We are in it together. This wonderful world, er, simulation, er, whatever you want to call it.

I was just doing ordinary things yesterday when around 5:30 in the afternoon, as I was walking up a regular street, I got a burst of a feeling of how extraordinary ordinary life is. 

These feelings are most poignant when they come out of nowhere, hit you by surprise. It's a bit like you are coming awake in a dream and realising it's not a dream but real.

Nothing happened, per say, I just suddenly realised how miraculous it is to be present on this planet and participating amongst my fellow humans, many of whom were walking by me, each with their own dispositions and outlooks (often readable from their faces, their walks), in this amazingly complex and impossible to truly comprehend matrix we call reality.

Everyone was going somewhere. We're a busy species. Everyone, from what I could read on their faces (assume), was thinking about things in their life. I could suddenly see and feel all the mix of emotions and thoughts streaming around me. Life - the whole thing - is so immense that we tiny little humans with our personal stories and agendas are essentially insignificant. Our stress and worries certainly are. And yet, at times, they consume us. We get caught up. Everything we think is important we truly believe to be important. But it's not. It's all transient. Life is actually just a cosmic ride. 

It would help us all to shift our perspectives. Easier suggested than adopted, of course. But, really, really, we are shackled. We are victims of our own minds.

How to self liberate? Step one: know it is possible - and desirable. Two: try. Take yourself out of yourself and just observe. Remove attachment. Surrender. Be in the moment.

It all becomes a string of cliches - and this is a pity because the substance and power behind those words is key. It really is the way to begin to unleash your own truth and find a wider, more soulful understanding of what it is we are doing here.

I'm no guru. I'm down in the trenches with the rest of us. In it's own way it's comforting, familiar. But in another way, it is sad and wasteful - of our true potential. We are magnificent beings, much more than we realise. It is a dream we are living. And we can wake up into it. 

When you get a moment, as in 'get' a moment - hold onto the feeling of what can be. Find the hunger for it, for expansion of consciousness, for a taste of enlightenment. It's what we are here for, as a collective, all in it together. We're each distracted by our solitary stories and only rarely break free to see the grand beauty of the big picture. But it is there, it is there. Right now. Right here. Reach, reach!

Everyday things fill our time. We go to the supermarket. We make food and eat it. We wash ourselves, our garments, our bedsheets, our pets, our cars... We chat with each other - in person, on the phone, at work, at home, in the streets. We walk around a lot, to and fro. We drive everyday. We sleep regularly. We empty our bodies of ablutions. We sometimes read. We look at the computer. 

These are all regular things that we do daily. What time is there for anything else? What grander achievements can we expect to slot in to our busy 'basic maintenance' schedules. 

There are also things like balancing our finances, paying bills, post office visits, health checks, dentist visits, maybe a course or a fitness class. Something of leisure.

The list goes on. Being a human is busy work. There's a lot going on. Demands. Expectations. Duties. It takes effort just to get from one day to the next. There's always something on top of the regular, too.

Invitations to events. Dinners. Functions. Arrangements. Family obligations. Friends in need.

What time do we have to make plans for a better world? Let alone implement them!

Didn't we think, when we were young and fired up, full of bluster and idealism, that we were going to make a difference? That we could do great things, great things? 

What happened? 

Life happened. That's what. Life doesn't go the way you think it will. Some bits do, of course. It's not all random. But, overall, mostly, things turn out very, very differently to what we expected. 

There's another sticky factor - our beliefs. The hodge-podge mix of input we have brewed up in our heads over our individual evolution into some kind of system/structure that we use to assess and quantify reality and it's never ending stream of new challenges.

What side am I on? Is this group good or bad? Is such and such an action justified because of this or that personal prejudice?

As well, for the religious, there is a whole world of expectations and pressures.

Our world view is in constant flux but at the same time, somewhat rigidly defined. It's made up of all kinds of things that we have filtered and filed. It's got flavours of fact and fiction and we are accustomed to it's taste. We stand by ourselves - as in we believe in what we believe.

But the truth is - it's all just a construct. The space needs to be filled with something. So we fill it. Are there better ways to be? Surely. Are we perfect - or even close? Surely not. We make the best with what we've got.

In many ways, it's a miracle that we all still function on a daily basis. Those in networks - family, friends, work - have a slight advantage. We humans need support. For the loners, the mavericks, the outsiders... it can all get too much.

What I am sharing here is my realisation that the difference between the internal narrative of 'what life could be/how I wish life was' and the external manifestation of how life actually unfolds is, upon examination, immense.

We are not only mortal, with limited powers, it appears that on many levels we are completely inconsequential. 

We do what we can with what we have. 

No wonder many choose to default to fantasy and escapism. The imagination, dreams - they're good places to go. Things work out there. Things, those great things we thought about long ago - and maybe still, those great things are possible in the inner realm.

For now, that will have to suffice. 

Just a little spark is all I need
Like this morning
I was awake
More awake than some mornings

Just a little spark
I read a word
Just a single word
That lit a fuse

Ignited by passion
It's not a predictable thing
Passion lives in a world of it's own
With it's own rules
With no rules

I think of Raymond Carver
His words
Chosen
Select
The effect
Sublime

I think of the artist
Say Picasso
No, Van Gogh
Or Hockney, yeah, Hockney
The colours presented
A miracle to behold

I think of a lifetime
So much struggle
By the time we realise
It's not the game we thought it was
It's too late
Too late

So any spark
Be it in the morning, at night, at twilight 
Forget the cocktails
Get up from the patio
We're gonna dance
We're gonna dance
Cause this may be the last chance we get

I lived, till the age of ten, in the bush, in a house my Dad helped build, on the edge of a National Park, in Wahroonga, Sydney, at the time one of the most outer suburbs of Sydney.  I went to the public school called The Bush School. I played up trees, under waterfalls, up and down cliffs, down tracks, by rivers. Basically surrounded by and immersed in nature.

When I was ten, the family moved to Tokyo, Japan. It was the complete other end of the spectrum. A sprawling, seemingly limitless city, brimming with buildings, packed with people. Electric, dynamic, pulsating. Criss-crossed by a massive, super efficient train and subway system full of an industrious, busy, kind and benevolent culture that was, in some ways, the polar opposite to my own, I found myself in a new playground of a new paradigm.

I'd always liked exploring, with my brothers, out in the bush. We would go for long walks, adventures, just the three of us, or with our mates from down the street. We would peg rocks, catch lizards and tadpoles, climb gum trees, leap over gaps in rock formations. Tokyo offered a whole new kind of exploration. We would cover ground on foot, by bus, by subway, on our bikes and on our skateboards. Then, later, by motorbike.

In the early years, Shibuya, Tokyo's zesty and youthful hub for fashion and entertainment, was where we would go to watch movies, play in game centres, have a cheap meal and peruse shops with the latest toys and gadgets. From our home in Nishi-Azabu, we could be there in half an hour. It was our favoured destination. It had a friendliness to it, an interestingness, an inviting accessibility. 

There was a wide variety of cinemas to choose from flash and modern to el cheapo dingy. The Shibuya Bunka Kaikan alone, housed four. As well, it had a rooftop game centre, a great bookshop, a supermarket for movie snacks (chocolate covered wheat puffs, coffee milk, dried squid and big fat, puffy twistie like cheese slugs called Karl - were the favourites) and a poster shop. Movies in Japan are always screened in original language with subtitles - a godsend for visiting westerners as all TV was in Japanese language. My brothers and I for many years watched one or two movies on a Saturday, then another with the P's on a Sunday arvo. There is no rating system (G,PG,M,R) whatsoever, so we had unrestricted choice. Watching Taxi Driver at thirteen was an eye opener, almost mind expansive. The same for The Exorcist, the Godfather, Lolly Madonna War and The Wild Bunch.

We loved playing pinball and video games and would spend countless hours at Game Centres. It wasn't till half way through our time there that video games were even invented. I vividly recall my first game of Atari's ping pong - a vertical line on either side with a bouncing ball between them. Green screen, ball accelerating incrementally with each return hit. Then of course, there was Space Invaders, Mission Control and Pac Man. Car racing, shooting games, Galaga. Still, we had an ongoing respect for pinball mastery and would alternate between format offerings.

Japanese people are very thoughtful and especially kind to children. At no time were we ever in any danger or did we come across any difficulty. We were all fluent in the language and humble and respectful in return to the people of our host nation. We always made friends with the twenty-something part-time workers in the game centres, joking around, and would often be rewarded with free games and tokens. It was an idyllic existence for three young Aussie bush kids. From Wahroonga to Shibuya - we were transported from the grounded dirt and big sky free style playground to the electrified, connected, built up, efficient, magnificent wonderland of the East.

                     --------------------------------

PHOTO: Shot by Naoki Leonard Fujita - a friend and maverick photographer and cameraman- who lives in Shibuya. See some of his amazing work here: https://leonardfujita.wix.com/imagemaker

I always wanted to work in the movies.

When I was fourteen or fifteen my father formally called me into their bedroom for a discussion. I was having a few issues at school - trouble with accepting authority, occasional truancy, playing class larrikin, detentions and suspensions. My grades weren't great, I rejected the concept of homework (they can make me go to school but once I am out, my time is my own), I chose not to participate in after school sports or clubs.

Not your ideal student, I now see quite clearly. But at the time, I was instinctively rebelling against what I perceived to be injustice and domination. I did not choose not belong. I did not belong. The rigid, intense, result-oriented system did not integrate well with my free spirited, easy going nature. Teachers attempts to force me to comply only resulted in a stronger sense of anarchy in my young spirit.

I wish I had been there, the me now, to support and nurture that young fellow.  He wasn't a trouble maker, not really, he just had a sense of freedom and fun. He truly had not interest in chemistry or physics class. He knew that studying those subjects, as well as Latin and Religion, were a waste of his time. I would have said - if he has to be locked up here, why not just let him do art and English, drama and choir all day. And a long lunch. Maybe leave a bit earlier. Come in a little later. Four days instead of five.

I know now that the me then, was essentially the same as the me now. I wasn't someone who was going to be changed or melded by a bunch of strangers. Especially not by austere, sometimes deranged, sadistic, even perverted, assholes.

In the few subjects I had good hearted teachers (English, Art, Geometry, French) my attention giving and grades were pretty good. I just found it impossible to tolerate bullies and dictators.

My father, bless him, was a very different kind of person to me. He was an achiever, he thrived on rules and structures, he did not mind following, behaving. I was, in his estimation; a failure. If not already, then destined to be one if I kept up with my rebellious behaviour. I know this because he told me so.

"What do you want to do with your life? What is your plan? What do you want to become?" were the questions I was asked that evening, at that meeting, which felt serious and important, formal. Both my parents were there but my father was leading. They were worried about me, he said. The school had rung again. (The truth is mostly I tried to keep out of trouble, ie, not get caught. And  mostly, I succeeded. The reprimands and punishments I received were a minor fraction of my actual infractions. So, I was actually, in my own way, quite canny and intelligent. I also was aware of having been selected for and invited to attend a special school for advanced intelligence children after testing. I decided I did not want to go, when given the choice, because I did not want to leave behind my friends. Regardless, we soon left Sydney for Tokyo.)

"I want to make movies", I replied, after giving it some thought. The answer felt right, in fact, it felt like the only possible answer with any veracity. At that stage of my life, I also liked collecting comics, listening to radio drama, drawing, writing stories... but I loved movies. They were powerful and captivating things. Enthralling. If I had to be involved in some sort of formalised activity - well, that would be it. At least it wouldn't be boring.

"Movies?" My father scoffed. "How can you say that you want to make movies? What makes you think you can make movies?"

Oh. I have to answer. 

I had actually made a few Super 8mm films by then, but nothing elaborate. I did not have any feature credits to my name... In fact, I did not even know exactly how the process worked - screenplay, rehearsals, actors, director, producers, art department - I just instinctively responded to the question with honesty and optimism.

"I love movies." I said. And do what you love, right? Wrong.

"Just because you love movies doesn't mean you have any talent or will ever be able to work in movies. It's a very specialised industry. I'm talking about work. A job. What kind of job are you going to be able to do when you leave school? If you keep up the way you are, you'll be working in Woolies at the checkout. Is that what you want?"

"Er, no." I replied. (Thinking: it wouldn't be that bad. Standing behind the till. Playing with the machine. Chatting with people...)  But I said no. And it wasn't my dream, nor my goal. 

"If you don't start behaving and doing better at school, you will end up nowhere, with very little..."

The meeting was adjourned soon after. I agreed to try harder. I accepted that my answer to the question of what I wanted to do with my life was not acceptable.

I feel sad now. If only I had been encouraged. If only in that rare, important moment, when I was point blank asked what I wanted to do with my future, I had been listened to, heard. Things could have gone so differently. Why ask a young boy that question then squash his heartfelt, impulse response? Obviously it did not fit in with my father's agenda and world view. It was not about my life. It was about his life. And about curtailing the disturbance that my behaviour was causing. And, just like the teachers I hated, trying to make me into something I wasn't.

That moment was a very long time ago. That was the moment that a father inadvertently condemned his son to a life lead with an attitude of underlying defeatism, surrender, displacement.

                 ------------------------------------------------

Cut to me at twenty. At art school. Living in Sydney. I still loved movies. A year before, I had been to every cinema complex along the main street in Sydney seeking employment. Just fill out the form, I was told by unenthusiastic lady ticket sellers. I never heard back, of course, from any of them. It was a closed shop. Those jobs paid well, vacancies were rare and often handed to friends and connections. Being an usher was considered working on the fringe of show business. It required wearing a bow tie and a fancy jacket, dealing with the public with class and efficiency. Nobody walking in off the street was going to get in. That much became clear. Still, I really wanted to work in a movie theatre. Better yet, a multi-theatre complex.

One afternoon, while with my brother and my girlfriend, perusing the books at the old Gould's book shop in it's original location in George Street, directly opposite Hoyts cinemas before heading downstairs to Crystal Palace to play some snooker, I had what I can only describe as a moment of pure, unfiltered inspiration. I was zapped, nudged by some energy, given a specific mission.

"Wait here guys, I'll be back soon." I said, and ran out the door. I crossed the street. Entered Hoyts. "I am here to see the manager!" I pronounced with premeditation. 

"Do you have an appointment?" the lady asked. 

"Yes!"

"What's it in regard to?" she asked.

"About working as an usher."

She checked her big red diary. Slight frown.

"You're a bit early." She harumphed and climbed off her high stool. "Wait here." She trudged half way down the corridor of ticket sellers and disappeared into a doorway. She reappeared with a message. "Mr Cesarro will be out in a minute."

Whoa. I can't exactly say things were going to plan, because I didn't exactly have a plan. Well, I did. I wanted to get a job there. But I hadn't exactly anticipated speaking to a manager. He appeared, beckoned me. We went in through some glass doors, then another security door to his office.

Suddenly, I was being interviewed for the position. My instincts were honed enough, from years of talking my way around a subject and out of trouble at school, that I was able, much to my surprise, to charm my way into an immediate job offer. I was to start in a few days time. Two shifts a week, Friday and Saturday nights, to begin with. I was to go immediately to see the head usherette, Laurel, and get fitted for a bright red jacket and receive a call sheet, instructions and a torch. I walked across the lobby, almost floating. I was nearly there. One final test to get through. The manager had called ahead, so she was expecting me. It all went smoothly. I winged it. I was in.

Mook and Bianca could not believe it. How??? Really? Yes, it happened. They were happy for me - and it also meant free movies for them, at least twice a week. And I loved it, too, even more so. I had accessed an environment, an institution that I had long desired to infiltrate - the dark pantheon of cinematic wonders, the arena of entertainment, manufactured fantasy. It wasn't yet the level of actually making movies - which was still my ultimate goal - but I had forged through the first protective industry layers of obstruction, using will and wit and temerity. I was no longer just a paying member of the public, I was in the club. On the fray of show biz. Movies were free, now - all you can watch. Not just at Hoyts, but due to a reciprocal agreement, at any and every cinema across the city. Not only that, but I would be surrounded by cinemas (seven), immersed in film, connected more closely to the world of my early predilection. Finally.

I was working in movies!  

Fragments of memories of experiences long gone
Fading but not forgotten
Fortune's favourite song

Keep pushing that replay button

Did you ride high in the sky that day?
Did you holler with pride, screech with joy?
Was the whole world yours for that moment?
Tell me, was it unreal, did it haphazardly happen?
Your one of a kind, unique and special favourite story?

We all have them stored away safely

Some shouted out in barrooms 
Some still secret between just you and them
A few even made the papers maybe
Some just make you want to go back again

But you don't get second chances
In this showreel, fluttering, fleeting
And no returns, no two time burns
The drums just keep on beating

So move on to new peaks and pinnacles
You haven't finished until the end
Do not be dragged down by the mundane or the clinical
You've got the reputation of your lifetime to defend

Fire up
Loosen out
Grind and grind some more
Chin up
Crush the doubt
Power aid your core

With every thousand new dreams
One true adventure is born
Honour your primitive need
To be ignited, invited, reborn

You are still breathing, aren't you?
Then there is hope, there are chances
For in the end, you want to be there laughing, wild eyed
As your skeleton does it's majestic final dances

He's come alive through facebook. It's his form of creative expression. He posts pictures of wonderful sunsets and beaches, advice on health and well being, funny slogans and ironic comics. All stuff sourced from other facebook pages. 

Most of it is pretty good. I don't know him that well but have come to know him better by his posts. They don't directly connect with me but generally they are of reasonably good quality. I can feel his joy in posting them. So I keep him on my feed. Why not. I care about the environment, eating healthy, and enjoy the positive slogan, too.

He used to have an ordinary job, then he got an inheritance and now he travels the world, in a modest fashion. (ie not fancy or wasteful, less Vegas more Nepal.) His girlfriend used to be a lesbian before they started going out and before that, when I first knew her, she was going out with a talented and somewhat mystical/deranged saxophonist dude. I saw him down at Bondi a few years ago, after a decade of not seeing him and he was even weirder than before. Still wearing lots of medallions and big rings and still with unusually configured facial hair. I went to see him gig once in a boutique hotel in Double Bay.

Come to think of it, lots of people I used to know are now just characters in a narrative in the recesses of my mind.

As well, many of my life's most formative and memorable experiences are now also just stories. Many, many of them, never told. Not yet, anyway.

My favourite post from the original guy I was talking about is a quote from OSHO. It's this:

'You are nobody. You are born as a nobodiness with no name, no form. You will die as a nobody. Name and form are just on the surface; deep down you are just vast space. And it is beautiful.'

Each new day 
brings
it's own sensations, smells, flutterings

It springs
forth from the night

After respite
We are called to action
Could be challenge
Sometimes satisfaction

Each new day
promises
Hope, joy, fulfillment, adventure

We expect
Reward for our efforts

We anticipate
Arrivals and departures
With equal parts
Of soothing and sting

We feel things
Strings of things

We react and adapt
To

Each new day
surly
surrounds us
astounds us
whirly
confounds us
compounds us

Luckily
The sky is blue
And the sun gives warmth
And animals
Do their thing
Each new day

Choices, a lot of them
Perception, assessments
Intuition, responses

It's called being alive
and

Each new day
reminds us
relentlessly

Without judgement 
Or imposition
That each of us 
Is a mixture

Of confidence and surrender
Wonder
Acceptance
Suffering
Trust

and Hope
that

Each new day
Will be a little better
Than the one left behind
Washed away
Like our dreams

Did it ever really happen?
All of this, all of that

Each new day
Reminds us
Relentlessly

That we will never, ever know

As an artist
Uncertainty is certain
Just being is a burden
You wanna break free
Show the world how to see
How much better it could be

As an artist
Vision is pure
You search for your style
The obvious is obscured
By the crap you were taught as a child

As an artist
You yearn and you hunger
You are full of hubris and anger
It doesn't come easy, not ever
To enrapture you endeavour

As an artist
You strive for you own kind
Of perfection
It may look messy, insane
But they are your rules, your game
And nobody can tell you what to do
What's true
What's meaningful
Or necessary
Is that a cricket ball or a cherry?

Some days you hate everything
Nearly as much as yourself
Other days almost heaven
Somehow
It's going to work out
You tell yourself

As an artist
No lies
Except whenever
No limitations
On the number of limitations
Courtesy of society or self imposed 
You lack propriety
You jump on toes
Just to hear the crunch
A shot or a joint before lunch
Some days 

As an artist
You yearn to escape
You need to unwind 
The fucking jumble of gibberish
Awash in your mind
You wouldn't mind
If it wasn't so awful
You wonder what it would be like
To be normal 
Sometimes 
But not for long
You don't need to belong 
You don't want to belong
Now do you

As an artist
Your pain
Is everyone else's gain
Especially after you're gone
You'll be celebrated, idolised
Or forgotten
Who cares
You care
Stay strong

As an artist
You have no choice
But to do what you do
To follow that path to the end
And trust your intuition
That you vision will see you through

Today, at least
Your pain has been released
Onto the canvas
Down for the count
Breathless and speckled
Staring, mouth agape
At the new creation on the easel
A fresh image to appease you

It's easy
As an artist
To tell yourself anything
To sell yourself short
To yell on the inside
To inseminate and abort
In blindingly quick succession

And details too decadent to mention

But at least you have one thing
Of which you can be certain
 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

As an artist

I don't have to tell you what that is
Now do I

Lighten up!

There is an abundance of things to be stressed about, enraged about, feel hard done by.... and I'm not just talking about our current government.

Sometimes it seems like the whole world is on the brink of collapse. And maybe it is.

I think its great to join together with others and join protests, take action against injustice, offer support, etc. But, as well, on a personal level, you want to avoid getting over burdened by fretting about events that you can not change and that are beyond the scope of your sphere of influence. There is just too much bad stuff going on at the moment that to take it all on mentally is just going to bring you down.

So, what to do? 

Seek the silly.
Favour the fun.
Follow the path to the pun.
Grow your own mirth.
Group giggles.
Funny accents whenever possible.
Jigs, slapstick, loud farts.

There's a lot you can do. The list goes on. I am not advocating ignoring reality, I am suggesting that you augment it with a fair share of lighthearted enjoyment. As often as you possibly can.

For in the end, whether the world eventually balances out and becomes the utopia it could be, the natural, just and egalitarian kingdom we all want it to be, or whether it all explodes in a flaming ball of human greed and foolishness, you may as well have a snicker or two along the way. Like a school day. It's mostly a bunch of useless bullshit being heaped upon you; play truant sometimes, have fun with your friends, cause some disruption. Cause just like when you make it through school and realise that it was all just a construct of control and oppression... well, so is modern day life in our society. So give it the finger, ignore the bla bla bla, zone out, dream your own dreams, slip out the back door and go find some sunshine and freedom to bask in.

Like Ghandi once said, "Fucking hell! What's the point in endless suffering?!" 

And soon after, decided to never wear a business suit instead and wrapped himself in his bed sheet. Good man.

As a sentient being there is no escape from feeling and experiencing life. We like to believe that there is a reason behind it all, a justification, a validation for our demanding and formidable journeys. But what if there is not? What if this realm is truly just a harsh and difficult existence? One that, for reasons beyond comprehension, has to be experienced? Nothing gained can be taken with you. Any relief from the never ending demands are just temporary and fleeting. In fact, they may only add to the magnitude of suffering that is to come. 

Buddhist teaching says that life is suffering and I have to agree. It just seems almost too hard sometimes. I don't see what the purpose of this enforced series of procedures is. Endure, endure, endure, then die. OK. What was that for exactly? Some lives have extended times of loving and beauty and freedom and joy, but from what I have witnessed; most do not. There are times of comparative relief and short periods within a day or a month or a year or a life that are not stressful and demanding but mostly, it's just hard going.

I have engineered my life to have as few demands and stresses as possible. I try to have plenty of free time to pursue art and writing and thinking and just being. I have time for exercise and connecting with nature and relating with good people and play. And yet still, there is a heaviness, a constant, sublime feeling of uneasiness. Sometimes it's simply because life itself is so much to comprehend. We are mere mortals. Puny. We are specks. Star dust. Flippity-floppety little human entities. What are we doing? What are we really here for? It seems as though there has been a mistake made along the way in evolution, we've taken a wrong turn. If this is of our own spiritual creation, our own devising.... why would it be like THIS??? 

I find it hard to abide. Really. Sometimes more than others. And, of course, I acknowledge the incredible beauty that surrounds us, the dignity of fellow beings, the miracle of life, the gorgeous glory of newborns and children, etc. But I still feel that there is a quantifiable imbalance. Life is not what I imagined it would be. I thought that the struggle during teen years, through the twenties.... and on... would lead to some kind of resolution, a settling. Some kind of peace, mental and spiritual. But I have found no evidence of this. Am I missing something? I live in a great country, in a wonderful, peaceful, friendly small town, I have a supportive family and great friends across the globe. I have my health, physical and mental. And yet...

I'm raving, I know. But that is what this forum is for. An occasional ablution is necessary. Even this writing, though, what is it? Little symbols that form words and concepts. You can read them and get something. You can hear my soul. Is it singing or is it screaming? Am I a madman shouting or an ordinary man who is questioning that nature of reality, one who is not content to turn away, one who is compelled, often despite his own wishes, to face the immense, throbbing, pulsating, infinite series of vibrations and molecular clashes that form a never ending cacaphony of thoughts, images, sounds, sensations and experiences? 

I am screaming. Silently. Am I calling for help? No. Not really. Am I looking for acknowledgement? No, not really, that either. Then... ? 

I am trying to express the complex nature of my relationship with life. It is compelling. It is complex. It is relentless. I have travelled through it for 53 years so far. No bad. It's been quite a journey and there have been plenty of times and experiences that I cherish and am thrilled to have had. Plenty. I am not complaining. I am not bitter or angry or resentful by any means. In fact, I am grateful. But the fact remains, that between when I get up each morning to when I go to sleep each night, there is a series of thousands, tens of thousands maybe, of feelings, FEELINGS that pass through me, some lingering, some flashing, many of little consequence, a few profound.... FEELINGS.... that make up my day. By the end I am tired. As I go through it, I am challenged. I cannot name these phantoms, I cannot categorise everything - although I often try to in an attempt to come to terms with it all. 

I have to believe that surrender, surrender is what should be done. Let it go. Let it be. And I do that. I really do. Still, still, still...! Can you hear me? I am a sentient being hurled into a life form that has become comfortable and familiar, not only second nature, but first nature. I acknowledge that I am a person. Humble, vulnerable, fragile. But with powers to take it on, whatever. With a will to live and endure till the end. A will to survive, to thrive. I am weary, I am wounded. I admit that this brand of reality is not what I would have chosen. I'd like something more like heaven, all the cliched juice with a bit of sauciness and some thrills. I'd like more of the good stuff and less of the pain. I'd like better endings, more satisfying middles and unlimited new beginnings. I would like, you know, utopia. Bring it on. Seriously. Like now, already!

So, if it lays up ahead for us all, waiting to surprise us, reward us for our hard work, our labour, if it is our destination. Well, then, OK, I will continue to endure this weird blend of exquisite suffering until then. But seriously, it better be there up ahead.... or I'm going to be one disappointed corpse!