winter #8

winter is for
playing house
for baskets of pastries
for breakfast in a sunbeam
and for gemma's orange socks

and for trundling banjo riffs
for bread rising,
a roaring fire
and a rolling boil of mulled wine

seven

furtively, tentatively
without dexterity
fishing a teabag
out of my scolding, torrid tea

a conversation with Cat

a conversation with Cat
about a relationship with art
addictive
meretricious
sometimes destructive
sometimes ecstatic

I'm transfixed by the way her long fingers move
in nimble rhythm with her words
eyes alight with inspiration
her curly hair falls in front of her eyes

Cat says: 'everything begins
with light and lines'

letter to my ex: part three

Remember how when we slept

We always had to have one part of our bodies touching

hand to hip, knee to calf, thigh to thigh

Remember that second summer

And your house baked in the heat

Remember those nights we never slept

Remember lying downstairs on the cool tiles

tangled, sweaty limbs

remember that week when all you ate was apple sauce

remember that week when all you ate were cupcakes

remember that week when all you ate was me

a girl in a blue dress

circumspect, cautious and suspicious
delicate diligence and determination
a furrowed and fervent brow
brightly belligerent
puffing perfidiously at her pipe
tepidly terse
reticent and reclusive
quietly contrary

twenty

the long road to Toodyay, lined with thick white trees like bones

the sounds of the Toodyay train, trundling wheels, whistling like a kettle.

the smell of onions cooking. that glorious moment when they soften from that harsh white to an inviting heady brown.

writing while standing up next to the stove, a desperate, capricious scrawl

Denise's laugh

Denise has a raucous laugh.
deep hearty belly laughter
a cacophanous cackle.
I think she likes to shock people with the things that she says.
She tilts her head back,
opens her mouth wide
and I can see all of her teeth.
Something happens in her eyes
they light up for a moment
her pupils dilate
almost like she even shocks herself

Zoe's house

Zoe has a cupboard
full of little things she collects
she says she knows they are odd
but she cannot let go of them

i wonder about her eyes
i wonder about the way she sees the world
i wonder about her colours, her thoughts
the way she defines beauty
i dont know the words to ask
so i just smile and wonder

she has two cats
two guitars
a banjo
drums
and a piano

there are colourful crochet blankets around the house
and a yellow and blue bathroom.

Zoe is so natural. She is very beautiful.
It is the kind of beautiful I am drawn to
with the full force of my heart.

Zoe has freckly skin
Zoe has beautiful arms
Zoe is slender and soft and graceful.

we drink tea, eat avocados
and she listens to me blabber on about life philosophies
because i want to engage with her
and that is the only way i know how.

she says
when there is open space
the opportunities are amazing.

a morning

it was your birthday
so i stole the sky for you

a pack of gallahs soared above me
a heavy mess of pink and grey
a thunderous mess of beating wings

i turned my head.

(for gemma)

On Greek Mythology

What was meant to be a brief comment on Greek Mythology which turned into a number of torrential tangents.

On living creatively

I want to expand my ambit of inspiration. seek new sources, new means. new muses.

I think I am in a perennial (just found out that perennial has two 'n's and only one 'r' - i thought it was the other way around. English is cheeky) pursuit of living a creative life. living as creatively as I can.

I just want to be surrounded by creativity... this ubiquitous and omnigenous force.

I want it to be so foundational, so inherent, to influence every element of my life.

I think I seek a state of.... comfortable creation. I don't feel exactly happy with the way I expressed that. Because I don't want 'comfortable' to indicate that it is not challenging. or dynamic. I dont want it to sound ... lazy. easy. mediocre.

What I mean by creating comfortably is... my desire to create does not conflict with anything else. it is unhindered. and active. that inspiration is closer, and ... redolent... and prominent. Accessible.

Anyway, this is all ancillary discussion. What I want to talk about is something new in my "creative development" (I always wince a little when I say that)

On Greek Mythology

On one of my many capricious solo roadtrips south earlier this year, I found an Encyclopedia of Classical Mythology, tucked in this tiny op shop.

I think I am drawn to old stories. they have a certain ... quality to them. maybe its a physical thing. maybe they are really... bare and exposed.

Maybe it is why I like antiques. there is some inherent quality. it is rich and redolent. something about age, something about time.

It almost feels... religious. ritualistic. you know that feeling of being in an old church. It is religious. not in a constructed way. in a glorious renaissance painting of a naked woman eating fruit kind of way.

it's interesting to see... values, concepts, that transcend time in a historical context. I think there is a contrast there, it produces interesting light and shade.

Greek Mythology is... so big. there is nothing meek or mild or mediocre about it. Nothing is held back, nothing is reserved. Actually, no... I dont think it is about NOT reserving, I dont think they had a concept of holding back, a concept of humility, a concept of what should be said, what should be done.

it was all very instinctual, very physical, very visceral.

maybe because it was earlier society, less social construction, a less developed a less constructed idea of morals.

Rage was apoplectic. passions were usurping.

and unhindered pleasure was celebrated.

It is such fertile and faithful inspiration.

I am drawn to things that be to their capacity. and Greek Mythology has an unapologetic capacity.

So I have been reading through these amazing stories and myths, and writing poems about the characters or situations I am drawn to. Like... Eos, the goddess of dawn, who is doomed to desire, and carries people she falls in love with away on a winged chariot. Who wouldn't want to invoke that, for a moment, for the time and space of a poem?

On seeking new inspirations

And it has been great inspiration for me. A totally new experience too.

Writing is very visceral for me. very solopsistic. I write for my own truths.

And I always thought I would lose so much if I sought to write with any other purpose. That it would be somehow diluted.

But I have really enjoyed writing with a new purpose. Writing to seek someone else's truth. Or maybe... to explore that truth in myself. To let it come out to play.

On everything being relative (thanks Soph)

I like that what I thought inspiration was is in flux. I like to think my sources, my muses are expanding.

At one point in my life, a few years ago, I was very frightened by the idea that I was not entirely aware and certain about every part of me. I knew exactly who I was thankyou very much. I was completely developed and there was no uncertainty in me. For some reason uncertainty about myself felt like weakness. Felt like I was somehow less than complete, less than whole. 

That was a long time ago, but something Soph said to me a few weeks ago made me think of it again. She said: ‘We are relative’.

Heraclitus says ‘verything is in flux, the way up is the way down’

Sal Kimber says ‘gotta move like a rollin’ wheel. Gotta trust in that rollin’ wheel.’

(that’s a nice friend-philosphy-folk farrago of quotes)

Anyway, further tangential torrents. Basically, Being in flux, having things evolve and swell within me and around me... it does not scare me anymore. It is very exciting, on a deep foundational life kind of way. I love that how much I have to learn overwhelms me. And I don’t think it means that I am any less than whole. I think there is wholeness in seeking wholeness. I can be whole in my seeking of myself.

Teddy

Reasons why everyone should aspire to live like my dog.

1. He takes naps in sunbeams.

2. He has a boundless capacity for excitement.

3. He fills his capacity for excitement, frequently, unapologetically.

4. He doesn't just wag his tail, he wags his whole body. He feels joy and excitement with his whole body, all of his limbs

5. He is so generous with affection.

6. He asks for what he wants

7. He knows what his job is - to guard the house - and he does it well.

8. It is very easy to win Teddy's affections. He knows who he feels comfortable around is very free and exposed with them (literally, he lies there on his back with his legs in the air)

Eos and Eros #2

I would have come for you
tantric with trepidation
for the desultory dawn.
I would have stolen you
a winged and wondrous thief
and carried you to the top of mount Olympus.
In pinioned and prurient pursuit
I would have come for you.

And there
untouched, far from the sight of the world
I would take you
we would have laid in the sloping scree

laid among the debris

the stones falling like heavy rain
the crags, the carnage, the chaos

the very mountain side would erode and crumble

beneath the force of my passion
we would clutch at the detritus
we would moan in the dust.

Eros

A prurient prisoner, a salacious slave
I am doomed to desire
it's heaviness and lightness
it fetters and frees me
it delights and deludes me
Eros, bittersweet, ebullient, exalted

dilettante

delighted by
desultory desires
fickle fleeting fantasies
and vacillating
vertiginous
vagaries

words of disorder

words of clangor, carnage and chaos

tumultuous
vertiginous
oscillate
erratic
obstreperous
rampant
torrential
mercurial
apoplectic
catatonic
balkan
synesthesia
vacillate

A poem about sex.

I love that you have stairs in your house

I love your giant book case 

I love your nervous hands.

I love your quiet intensity. It makes me blush.

We talked about Chomsky and Satre.

And I jumped cross legged on your bed. 

It was raining outside

And you fumbled with my buttons

And it made me laugh

Even more thrilling 

Than than the rhythm of urgent tessellation

Even more thrilling 

Than a collision of hips

Is the curve of your elbow,

The angle of your shoulder blade

The space of skin between your neck and your chest.

A collection of special things #1

conversations about life defining moments in your red car
conversations that are life defining moments in your red car

the way my heart flutters every morning. how thrilling the mornings are. how much it excites me to be awake.

My brother wearing a giant scarf on his head. His 'incognito' look. Maybe that would achieve its intended purpose if it was not the loudest scarf I have ever seen - red and polkadotted.

Bryan kisses. I will miss these so much. neck nuzzles, feeling his prickly chin against my skin. whispering in eachother's ears. holding his face in my hands and kissing him twenty times on the lips.

winter #7

winter is for facilitating reckless desires
winter is for seeking for myself what i need

letter to my ex: part two

I remember that look in your eye

whenever I was upset with you.

You knew

all you had to do

was slide your hand up my skirt

and I would capitulate

letter to my ex

Remember that time

you told me that

I broke you

from wanting you so much?

Me wanting you was the only thing we were good at.

It broke me too.

on honesty and intimacy

sometimes i worry that i intimidate people with my honesty.
But I just want to be... accessible. I think that is what honesty achieves. it removes barriers between people. it removes pretense, it removes performance. it establishes a vulnerable and free space.
but sometimes I worry that by being honest I have the opposite effect. That I distance people with my intensity, or something. It is a fear of mine.

I just... want to always seek new levels of intimacy. new ways to engage. new ways to explore. deeper ways to learn people.
to be so real, to be so honest, to be so raw.
I want to live my friendships to a certain line. I want to keep pushing that line.
I think being honest, I hope that creates an environment for people to feel very free in, to share of themselves. I don't know how else to facilitate the conversations i desire. the connections i crave.
Because that is what I want, to explore people, to learn them.
details are delicious. stories, simplicities and silliness is seductive.
i want to be free and ... strong... with my parts. with my details. i want to give people that trust. that special trust. i want to give intimacy, with mirth. mirthful intimacy. bold intimacy.
it is so joyful, it is so thrilling. to be so vulnerable with people.
i think such strength is gained from that vulnerability.
from giving so wildly. so freely.
and hopefully it will encourage reciprocation.
that is what i seek from my relationships, that is what i seek from myself, and that is what i seek from my life.

wild intimacy

an external force

Lately I have been feeling deprived. And it worries me, because what does that mean for my pursuit of wholeness? For my pursuit of being for myself all that I need?
If I feel deprived... that means there is something I am not giving to myself.
But I have realised that what i feel deprived of - desire - I can't give that to myself. I can cultivate, and nourish and... just seek myself, belong to myself, be as fucking whole and and fucking full and developed as I can be...
and i do. i feel a great sense of self worth. I don't need anyone else to need me to testify to that.

But I can't give myself desire. it is an external force. this feeling of deprivation... it is not coming from me.

desire is an external force.

So I have identified what I need. and I think I am learning to be OK about identifying what I need, if that means someone else needs to facilitate the fulfillment of that need.

my friend Bea says to me 'a man is not an island, fee fee'

i encourage people to need me. why can't i give them that in return? why does it feel like the scariest thing in the world to need something outside of myself?

It has been a long time since i have felt desire.
I feel... so acutely, 'friendship-desire'. which is.... more divine. the most sublime. i am rich for it. It surrounds me. it ensconces me. The people in my life and what they give me, the way we create together, how we seek eachother... I am so rich for it.
But physical desire is different. and I think the last person who really did... want me, was Belinda. and i was so addicted to that, to her desire. and it was the most destructive thing.

So I don't really know where to go from here. I dont know how to facilitate this need. And I don't know how to do that and protect myself from my weaknesses at the same time.

Saturday at the Hugo's

Yesterday morning Mum danced around the kitchen.
My chest hurt for laughing so hard.
My chest is where I feel all the heaviness,
and it just dissipated with laughter.
Mum will do something ridiculous... and John and I will just look at eachother and laugh.
hearty laugh. belly laugh. a laugh that fills my lungs, that reverberates in my chest. a laugh that rings in my ears and folds my body over.
we are big laughers in our family. My dad has the most glorious giggle. His whole face scrunches up and he stamps his feet. its almost like a series of hiccups. 'a hi hi hi'. it completely takes over his whole body. it is such a joy to witness.
John... has a booming laugh. its comes in staccatoed bursts, in groups of increasing numerical order.
HA. a HA HA. a HA HA HA.
i imagine it rolling around in his belly like thunder.
So John and I laughed at mum. and it filled my chest so that there was no room for heaviness.
Mum is so free. so insouciant. so ridiculous. it is the most positive thing to be around.

I gave mum and dad a poem that I am thinking of submitting to a magazine. Usually mum is funny about reading and critiquing things. I would avoid it, because she would focus on one little detail, and not the whole thing.
and that is not what i wanted from showing my parents something important to me. i just want to share.
but this time, she gave it back to me and said
'it is perfect. i cant believe someone so intelligent came out of my womb. it is perfect. dont change a thing'
My heart swelled. it was everything i wanted. It was all the support I needed. It was so beautiful. so generous.
I was brushing my teeth and I had a mouth full of toothpaste.
it dripped down my chin.

I had woken John up to come with me on a field trip to Theo's. I needed my partner in crime. and of course, as always, he was there for me, there with me, to facilitate my desires. even in its recklessness.
like the time he drove 10 hours with me, to and from Albany, while I went to see Kasey and Shane, and he just hung out at the backpackers.
His generosity and selflessness .... It is unparalleled. He is my hero. I wish i could be more like him.
We went to buy a banjo. I had decided that i needed it. That i would surely die if I did not buy one imminently. So I did. I told Mum, and she was all for it. and John came along with me, bouncing alongside next to me.

We are all seeking special things for me.
It is everything that I need.
Almost everything I need.
It is everything I need to be ok about the fact that I can't have what I need.