It makes sense to feed yourself nourishing, healthy, natural food. The body responds well to it, functions smoothly, grows and repairs from it. There is encouragement from some elements of society and the government to do so but there is an even stronger push - in the form of advertising and marketing from corporate factions - to get people to consume processed edible items that are overloaded with sugars, salts and a variety of toxins (including GMOs) simply for their taste and/or convenience.

We are used to this now, as a species. Many are trapped in a unthinking cycle of buying and consuming foods that don't sprout from nature and are conceived in a factory and dressed with fancy and alluring packaging. It's a modern malaise and has a high cost to the well being of society.

On a parallel track, one less heralded or commented on, is the trajectory of our mental consumption habits. 

There is a huge volume of shrill and sugary distractions being presented to us every day, coming at us from all sides. On the net, TV, radio, magazines, the newspaper... we are bombarded with information and messages - in the form of both news and entertainment - that is the moral equivalent of junk food.

Hard to resist, tasty perhaps for an instant but lacking any substance or value for one's evolution as a sentient being.

It's interesting to look back on your day and what you may have taken in to see how much of it was actually nourishing your soul and how much of it was clogging and clouding your clarity and essence.

Truth is that is imperative that we make an effort to challenge, improve and expand ourselves; intellectually, morally and spiritually. To do this we can only work with what we put in.

Affirmative actions, positive behaviour and healthy interaction with others - any poz interpersonal stuff - is good. So is stuff like meditation, reading books and quiet thinking.

Creative pursuits also rank high. They allow one to get in the zone, touch base with the universal sauce, or source; same diff.

Personally, I get a sweet natural high every day doing my comics and/or writing. It's not always easy but afterwards I feel nourished, a sense of accomplishment. It's my job, I suppose - one with very flexible hours and parameters - plus a decent boss who gives me free reign. 

I'm no saint, though. I squander plenty of time: surfing the net, binge watching my favourite series in the evenings and occasionally leap frogging from one foolish clip to another on You Tube. No one's keeping score. Do what you want. But my advice and the gist of this piece is that it is good to be aware of what is going in to your consciousness. 

Sidestep the avalanche of goo-goo garbage generated by the morally dubious entertainment conglomerates and - like picking fresh herbs from a garden or fruit of a tree - get some wholesome and meaningful content into you and pay attention to your own opinions, insights and intuitions. Consciously develop yourself into someone worth being.

I saw that word today and for some reason it struck a chord and  I began to ponder on it.

I have never been on a retreat. I still may, if the opportunity were to arise and feel right, but who knows. I am not partial to schedules - especially those that involve early mornings. I also don't like being expected to participate in things that I don't wish to. I was a stubborn child and strongly resented having to go to school and all it's brutish, senseless demands.

And yet, one day, I may get over it.

Or maybe never.

This is not what I was thinking, though. What I was thinking was about how to go on a retreat is considered a positive, nurturing, possibly life-expanding experience. But not everyone has the luxury to do that. 

The other kind of retreat - and a more fundamental one - is the kind we do on our own. To retreat into ourselves.

It's a function that is a vital part of our mental and spiritual health, survival even.

Innately, we know when we need to pull back, hide away, spend time alone, gather our thoughts, sit with our feelings.

We can do it with nature, with a book, with a movie, on a walk, a run, with music, in a bar, a library, on the couch, in bed.... wherever. 

Sometimes it is painful, sometimes with tears, sadness, hurt, sometimes confusion or anxiety.

But we go away, pull ourselves out... and somehow, with time and patience, come out the other end, ready again to face the world.

To retreat is important - a good thing. It is a mechanism for dealing with the 'too-much-nes' that comes along sometimes.

Is it not in the moments of retreat that we truly get to know ourselves?

We spend time, we contemplate, we mull things over, we let feelings wash over us, moods blow over, thoughts gather themselves and find some order.

In times of retreat, we are being brave. Brave in a quiet, necessary way. Brave in a very basic human way.

We know who we are, each of us. The world only knows a version. Everyone knows a different version, in fact, based upon their interpretation and connection. 

But we know ourselves. We've been with us from the beginning! And all the way through. How lucky we are to have our higher selves watching over us and protecting our best interests. How lucky we are that we can retreat.

Cause inside us, inside each of us, that's where the real treasures are. When you can accept yourself, see yourself clearly and begin to inhabit your soulful side, beyond the pain and anguish, letting go of the bothersome, old beliefs from the past, when you can sit with yourself in surrender, well, that is something softly, subtly, rather splendid.

When I don't write something here for more than a week, I feel a little guilty. Like - I'm out there having fun, living the artist's free life; full of inspirations and illuminations - and not bothering to take the time to record and share some of it with other sentient beings who are literate and hungry for obscure tidbits from a small town painter/poet.

Well, truth is life has to be lived. I don't want to pressure myself into feeling that everything needs be set down in cyber stone - and it doesn't. My rule of thumb is that when I am compelled to write something, I will. There's a form of natural selection. Other juicy stuff is recorded, in a way, in my daily artworks and comics.

Anyway, this morning when I woke up I was thinking about how linear the approach to life is by mainstream existers. They are programmed to pursue academic achievements, then work achievements which result in the reward of money. Money is then used to finance a lifestyle and pay for buying things and supporting self and family. It's all a big system that has evolved. The problem is that it is very restricted. Life is so much more that this myopic and blinkered view. Almost all the good bits, the juicy bits, have little or nothing to do with this system of pursuits/rewards.

I thought about my own goals, from an early age, teens - how it has been to achieve mind expansion. Expansion. Exploration of multiple paths into the unknown, sometimes unknowable, in order to absorb a fuller understanding and experience of existence as a human. Contemporary social constructs are meager and distracting. They serve their purpose, sure, like to keep the wheels of everyday reality turning but it serves one to venture further afield in contemplation and interaction in oder to be truly immersed in the human experience.

Mind expansion. The mind is where it all happens. The mind is your tool for consciousness. Your consciousness is the framework through which you experience your existence. It all feeds into and of itself.

There's a lot to be said for not being a mainstream society player. For being a fringe dweller. For being an outsider. There is an immense amount of pressure from society to conform and play the game - overt and subconscious. You are not fully encouraged to let loose and go wild on your own version of reality. You are nudged into becoming a cog. You are more useful to the powers that be as a predictable, steady and obedient part of the machine. 

But to what end? Who are you? Who are we all? What are we doing here? What lies beyond this very narrow set parameter that we exist within? If you don't ask these questions - they will never be answered. 

I am lucky. Although I have very little in the form of material goods, I am able to flitter and flutter to and fro at whim. I am not anchored down. I am a free spirit. A wild man. I live in and for imagination and all it's powers. I am a shaman. An alchemist. I am not limited to this time. To these flimsy artificial barriers all around. I seek to discover truth and insight. I seek answers to questions that have not yet been conceived. I want - for all of us - for all humanity - liberation. I want our souls to be free. And big, bigger. I want more love, more joy, more freedom to pervade. These are my goals. This is what I live for. Not for money. Not for approval. Not to own things.

I live in order to experience whatever fantasmagorical and tripped out ride comes along. To be able to hop on board, drop my hat, laugh with abandon, look to the sky and purr like a cat as I am flung into new directions, concepts, visions and experiences. 

Do I achieve all this on a daily basis. Hell, no. Life is fucking hard, man. All kinds of things try to get me, depress me, limit me - reality demons. But do I give up on my dream? No. Not ever. That is not an option. No matter what the circumstance that surrounds me, I am and will always remain a freedom warrior. I will fight and strive for truth and illumination till the end.

And there is no end.

(Wild laugh)

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

My brother Mook sent me this picture of a parking lot in Tokyo yesterday. In it's place, up until recently, was Roppongi Square Building. RSB housed five or six nightclubs, a tiny cafe and a sprawling, ground floor game centre. I spent much of my youth in that building. 

I was a regular at the cafe, afternoons, after school, I would ride my motorbike there and hang out with the cool twenty-something Japanese dudes drinking coffees and puffing away on Seven Stars. I was the only foreigner there, somehow I had been admitted into the congenial gang. Sometimes we would saunter into the game centre and play the latest low-tech, novel amusement machines - bingo pinball. 

I had completely forgotten about playing these machines but suddenly I was reminded how much I loved playing them. They were quite difficult to master - many decisions and stratergies and also ball control with gentle tilting and jousting with the machine. I wish I could play it again. Right now. Getting the ball down to 23, 24 and 25 - sometimes crucial -was a major task and then navigating it into the exact number you needed to line up your bingo - well, when achieved was an ecstatic moment.

The game centre had plenty of electronic games, of course. This was mid to late 70's, so it was all about Space Invaders, Mission Control, Car Driving Games, Pac Man and the like. During the day, on weekends, my brothers, Mook and Rich, and I would go there, if we weren't in Shibuya - which offered more great games centres PLUS pachinko (upright Japanese ball bearing game) PLUS movie theatres with the latest releases. 

At nights the Roppongi game centre was very popular with post dinner visitors and pre and post disco and nightclub revellers. I can smell and feel the boozy, smokey atmosphere right now. Even at their rowdiest, Japanese are quite contained and always polite. It was an awesome place to grow up on so many levels.

And many levels is what RSB had. My favourite discos - Nepenta and Giza were housed there. I would go there at least one night a week. I had a three piece suit and cowboy boots. It was the disco heyday in Japan, Saturday Night Fever created a frenzy and nightlife boomed. I had so many experiences there, across the threshold, that I plan to write a book about it one day soon. I saw things, did things, was immersed. I grew up there. From kid to seasoned night crawler. Roppongi nights. Like no other.

We lived in Nishi Azabu. Our modest home was positioned right in between Hiroo Station and Roppongi Station on the Hibiya Line. Before I got my motorbike and started riding to School, I used to walk down to Hiroo (pictured above) and catch the subway and two trains to school. In the bottom right hand corner of the picture, downstairs, B1, was a tiny black leather, atmospheric cafe called Eruza. But everyone called it Comos. It was where the girls from Sacred Heart International School would go after school to hang out, drinking brews and smoke. A few of the boys from my class would go there after school also, arriving around 45 to 50 minutes later with commute. I was lucky to live close by and would almost always be part of the last group to leave around 5:30 or 6. I could just walk up the hill, Zaimokucho, to get home from dinner. It was the most education I got, down there in that dark, moody cafe. The banter, gossip, information exchange, romancing and friendship that were created and nurtured down there were priceless. 

Even at the time, I remember feeling so lucky and grateful being able to have such a valuable after school outlet for personality exchanges and general youthful exuberance and conceptual rebellion. We smoke ciggies, drank iced coffees, told stories.... there were tears, uncontrollable laughing sessions, serious arguments. But we were cohesive. A core group of about a dozen girls and half a dozen guys. My best friend, Jenny, a Hawaiian girl, was a cheerleader, sports star, academic achiever and very friendly and popular. She was an essential part of my belonging and maturing. She was very kind and beautiful on every level. We never dated. She went out with my friends and I went out with hers. The friendship was more precious, too precious to risk loosing. I was, even back then, in some ways an outsider, a joker. I had long hair and would risk getting in trouble at school if it meant getting some good laughs. In fact, I remember more than a few times, being suspended from school, and riding my motorbike to Comos, spending the day hanging out there reading one of my ever present paperbacks, waiting for the girls to arrive. Jenny would see me there already at three and know I had been mischievous. 

She was equally as playful in spirit but managed to avoid reprimand. We shared a love of fun and people. Her acceptance and embrace of me got me in with the rest of the girls, too. (I was 9 months to a year younger than everyone in the year.) There was a Texan, a Korean, some Japanese American halves, a Brazilian/Japanese at the core. I got close to them all and learnt SO MUCH from them about the workings of the female species. Many times, it was just me and the girls. I would just sit back and listen, absorb, throw in a joke now and then or answer a query, as best I could, about my own gender. It was almost like being a spy. But I never betrayed their confidence. Not once. I had too much respect for what I considered in many ways to be the superior sex. They were certainly more mature and wiser. Plus, they definitely looked and smelled better. I loved being around those girls! I think I kind of knew how lucky I was but tried not to make a big deal of it. Looking back now, I realise I was REALLY lucky. Insights gained then have taken me far in relationships and in generally understanding and appreciating humanity.

Ah, all these memories from a picture of a parking lot. They pulled down the building of my youth but they can't touch the priceless and golden alter of my friendships and experiences.

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

"Miles from nowhere
Guess I'll take my time
To reach there..."

Cat Stevens was a guiding force in my formative teen years. I learnt every word on the album Tea for the Tillerman and would listen to it (on vinyl; end of side A, flip it over and put the needle back down on side B, rpt - a process unknown to more recent arrivals on Planet E) over and over. So many incredibly soulful, meaningful, spiritual songs. All of them as relevant and poignant today as they were when first released in the early 70's. 

Father and Son
Wild World
Where Do The Children Play
Miles From Nowhere
But I Might Die Tonight
On The Road To Find Out

That's just some of them. I'd have a favourite for a few months and then move onto the next. As a rebellious teen, I didn't get any guidance from my parents or school. I was pretty much left to my own devices to work things out. Real world experiences, friends, a steady flow of books, and a few select albums. Cat was number one. He had it all - the inventive, pure, melodic music with the meaningful lyrics. Other faves were Elton John (Yellow Brick Road) and Jackson Browne.

"Be wise, look ahead
Use your eyes he said
Be straight, think right
But I might die tonight!"

Cat was an anti-establishment, anti-authoritarian guy. He seemed, in his mellifluous, calmly charismatic voice, to be talking to my young teenage self, saying, "you are right not to buy into all the bullshit, find your own way." Some of this I had worked out myself, it was innate, but having Cat back me up, with his wisdom, quiet charm and self assurance sure helped.

When you take snapshots of yourself and select your favourite - what are you looking for? Are you trying to see/portray yourself for who you are or are you trying to capture/present a version of yourself that most fits your ideal self image?

Makes sense to do the latter, of course. But a selfie is just the cover. What really is important is what's inside the book. And what is equally important is that - this may come as a surprise - that YOU READ THE BOOK.

The book of self. New pages everyday. Some bits you write, others are written for you. All you have to do is record them. Some bits get erased. Some segments are abbreviated. Some are drawn out. 

What is your story, though? 

These days there are lots of book covers being flashed around but there is less and less content being revealed. Why is that? 

There's always so much going on that things like long, intimate conversations with lucid friends, meaningful connections, investments of time and energy in those in need, etc - have become less prevalent. 

Character. Personal morality. Philosophy. Discourse. Ethics.

In this money focused, ambition driven society there is less and less time for these things. Perhaps because the world has become so thick with information (and disinformation), in addition to entertainment and various forms of distraction (facebook, twitter, insta for starters), it is so easy to just drift along on a raft and never have to paddle or pull over to the shore and stake a claim or make a home. We are overwhelmed by complex systems, wheels within wheels; social, political and physical.

The world now takes it's own selfie, every day, every minute, every second. And we are not sure what to think. It is always changing! It's alluring, dangerous, stimulating, confronting, familiar and foreign all at once. Are we part of it? Have things gone beyond the point where one person, any given single entity - with their views, opinions, feelings, thoughts, outlooks - really matters? Is it all too much? Is the river now a tidal wave, a tsunami? Are we all just hanging on and hoping to land somewhere safe?

We take selfies to benignly assert our presence in the modern day. Look! This is me! Having fun, acting cool, being silly, sexy, wild! I exist. I am living the life. Whatever that is, at the moment. Don't ask. Questions make for discomfort. Questions stir things up. Especially questions we avoid asking ourselves. Those ones. The ones we are not sure we are even equipped to answer. Why bother? It's easier to just float along from day to day. Things will work out. 

Thing is - who are you?

Don't you want to get to know yourself? Look at yourself? See what you are made of? Get to know your true essence? 

If you do, you can, and you won't regret it. To find, you must seek. And the answers will only come once the questions are asked. And no one is going to do that for you. Not once you are an adult, anyway. It's your responsibility. In some ways, it's your primary one. To get to know yourself. Beyond what is on the cover. Beyond the presentation. Open the book up. Look inside. There is a world as grand and magical as you can imagine. There are things there that might make you uncomfortable, even fearful. But the truth is there is nothing to be afraid of. It's all you. 

And you, my friend, you're a flawed and complex, sentient being. Just like us all. Do not judge or condemn. Accept and embrace. Discover. Uncover. Allow. Once you can do it for yourself, you'll be able to do it for others. 

What does this mean in real terms - beyond the new age slogans? I don't know. It's different for us all. What I am saying - to myself, really - is that there is a need for more substance, more fibre, grit, integrity. What good is it to simply exist, without allowing your character to grow, to be revealed, to be celebrated in essence? Why not at least try to sort through your shit and dust off your dreams, pick up the book you have neglected and start to make up some stuff that you will proud of one day. Make a story, live a story, that you want to read. It doesn't matter what the fucking cover looks like, it's what's inside that matters. We want laughter and tears and meaningful, wonderful events to occur. Substance. You hear me? 

Life.

It's what happens.

I mean, I've been paying attention. Close attention. I've been observing, pondering, recording, analysing, interpreting life since I was a wee tyke. Around the age of nine is when I started asking myself the big questions. Like 'What is this?' 'What are we doing here?' and 'Why?'

I remember one afternoon sitting up on the branches of an orange tree doing just that. No answers were forthcoming but I did eat a lot of oranges.

I remember around that same time marvelling at a neighbourhood girl who was thirteen. Thirteen. Thinking: how? And: will I ever be that mature? Plus, she had a dragster.

This procedure: Life. 

Can't be pinned down. And yet we want to. We need to. We try to give it shape and definition. We need borders and structures and clusters and titles. We attempt to make sense of things. We are by necessity satisfied by whatever we can come up with. Even though it is only temporary and illusory. 

Some people don't question too much. They just get into it. Let the adventure and drama play out around them. Buy into it. Invest themselves. This is a perfectly valid response. What else are you going to do? Sit around all day and try to solve an unsolvable puzzle while in the meantime it all passes you by? Doesn't sound wise. But, but... some of us cannot help but divest from the presentation and take a peek behind the curtains. Leave the comfort of the valley home and trek up that mountain. And the next. And the next. We have metaphysical wanderlust. We are existential nomads. Philosophical renegades. Perpetual travellers. Spiritual scientists. We are drawn to the edges of the accepted realms and driven to stepping that one step, two steps further, beyond the boundries. We need to know. We need to know.

The irony is - there is no rush. All is revealed in it's own time. In many ways it is much, much wiser simply to accept the way things are and enjoy the ride. Life will play itself out regardless of how you perceive, interpret it. Why waste time navel gazing when you could be white water rafting or parachuting out of a hot air balloon?

I took this tack for a while in my earlier years. I tried hang gliding, bungy jumping, scuba diving, long distance running. I spent a year eating only raw nuts, I travelled to distant places, I experimented with LSD, I did stand up comedy, spent time with punk rockers, mental patients, criminals. I got married and divorced. I watched my wife run off with a Japanese Elvis impersonator. I shared intense, fleeting intimacy with girls I met on the beach, in a restaurant, on a bus, on the way to the bathroom. I flew to Paris on love's command after a one night stand in Kings Cross. I was hungry, wild, free spirited. During much of this frantic period I remained slightly detached and philosophical, wrote poetry and recorded my musings, but being hyper involved with reality in a demanding way did lessen the questioning.

But then I slowed down. Gradually. 

Living the simple life in an idyllic country town with a population of three and half thousand, I have returned to my ruminations. Attune to nature, mesmerised by it's beauty, surrounded by more spiritually minded folk, I have a precious commodity to play with. Time. Time to think. Time to take my time. Time to play. Time to waste. But I am paying attention. Looking for clues. I am still an agent of metaphysical aspirations. I want to know. I want to find as much meaning as I can. I have more to reflect upon now. More experience to draw upon in my calculations of esoteric algorithms. I have lived more than half a decade. Surely this must assist in my searching, seeking out.

But it doesn't. Not really. I am still a novice. 

I am still that kid sitting in a tree.

I do still love oranges. So juicy!

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

The power hungry are eating us up
The money people have all gone insane
They're never satisfied, never having enough
But we never chose to be part of this game

Corruption rules, lies are the norm
A government we can no longer trust
Now we grow strong, the castle we'll storm
And take it back, for the people we love

I wanna see it all come tumbling down
The system smashed
Oppressors cut to the ground

I wanna see it all come tumbling down
Cause it isn't fair! And they don't care!
Those greedy mogrels, those self serving clowns

The production of destruction
We cannot let them rule
Trying to sell us lies, seduce us
Do they think we're all just fools?!

The food is tasteless now
The air is unclean, polluted
The planet far worse than
It ever has been, the innocent deserted

I wanna see it all come tumbling down
We'll do it better the second time round
I wanna see it all come tumbling down

Time has come for the pigs to run
The change is us and we'll act as one
Eventually, after anarchy, after calamity
It's a certainty, we'll be free, we'll be free

I wanna see it all come tumbling down!

Sitting here watching some old episodes of the tv show The Voice on my computer. I love the emotion of it all. I love how unknowns are given a chance and underdogs are discovered and nurtured by the professionals after they have passed the blind auditions and are selected on vocal merit.

Some of the performances are captivating and deeply soulful. Singers get to express their truth directly, through their voices. It is not something that can be faked. Honesty and soul shine through. 

What caught my attention is in the cutaway interviews, the judges talk about 'being an artist... '. What they mean is performing artist, obviously. But it made me think about visual artists. And the differences between us and performing artists, in particular singers. They make beautiful sounds straight out of their mouths, they enchant, enrapture, transfix and transform people. It is a very powerful talent. It runs so deep and is timeless and profoundly moving. A visual artist on the other hand, mostly labours alone, often in silence; feedback or encouragement is rarely immediate and sporadic at best. We spend years, playing, experimenting, honing our skills and craft, attempting to make images that will express our souls. 

A great singer can sing someone else's song and make it their own. A great artist can only make their own art. What makes a great artist is his or her ability to transcend the norm, transcend the limitations, restrictions, the expectations and create an image, or a series of images, that are so packed full of subtle power, so full of life itself that they cannot be ignored. To do this is extremely difficult and usually takes a long, long time. Devotion, passion, dedication and desire. Desire to journey to the edge of soul and gather up all the good bits, bring them back and throw them out onto the canvas in a act of pure mastery and magic. In it's own way it's just as powerful as an amazing song. Not as immediate, not as flamboyant or as attention getting, but just as moving, nonetheless. 

I've been seeing these images pop up on my facebook page over the last few days by an artist I don't personally know. They are incredible. They immediately move me, I am transfixed and intrigued by them. If I see in a book, or online, someone who's work I really relate to, I will sometimes check if they are on facebook and 'friend' them. Most artists, bless their souls, respond. We don't correspond, really, I just 'like' their posts of new works and vice versa. It's pretty cool and one of the things I dig about facebook. But this guy, the one I am referring to - I don't recall how I came to know his work or when I friended him. I kept seeing his works being posted over the last few days - so many winners! - these were awesome paintings, wow! Thick and fast. I finally went to his page and worked out that his loving wife was posting his stuff. He recently passed away. She wanted everyone to see the beautiful works he had been doing in the last few months, years. It was poignant and sad to realise that he will be creating no more. 

If I think about the feeling I get listening and watching a great singer doing their song and the feeling I get when I look at his works, I realise they both inspire me in different ways. A song, sung in a certain way can bring me to tears. These artworks, on the other hand, fill me with something equally as moving - not as immediate - but more esoterically, more subtly and in some ways, more profoundly. This man is not painting for an audience, he is not performing. He is following his calling, attentively, joyfully perhaps, recording in images his interpretation of the sensation and experience of being alive. He has left behind a beautiful and abundant legacy. I never knew him, but I feel like I do. And as a fellow artist, I respect and admire him for his talent and devotion. I thank him for his inspiration. Conrad Mecheski; you live on through your art, sir, and those of us who are priviliged enough to hear your unique, enchanting song exude from your gentle, complex, captivating images will continue to be uplifted and exhilarated by them for a long time. Thank you.

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!