Sunday, September 07, 2008

la isla

The wind on her neck, warm breeze and all emotions softening in the sun, their edges smoothed with 400 blows; all the histories (herstories, jackonories) of our lives wept in myriad hues through her body and she sunk to her knees in the sand, listening to the sea her arms reaching out on the tides brink, breathing in the shore, feeling the grains on her forehead and pressing her nose. She sighed deeply comforted by the senses.

"Are you Muslim?" he asked her.

The sand through her fingers tingled the base of her spine and she could hear it's silky rub through the ground where her forehead pressed.

Are you Muslim?" the voice repeated gently.

She looked round, not aware who he was or why he asked, puzzled, and then she realised he thought she was praying to mecca. She wondered to herself which way it lay.

"O, no," she said, and turned back into the sea.

wow

long time that i haven't posted on here.

here we go again. watching the producers. the new and revised version. bring back gene wilder is what i say.

o my. have 3 years nearly passed already?? not here. here, time does not exist!

Saturday, May 13, 2006

another day







Which Tarot Card Are You?




You are the Sun card. The light of the Sun reveals all. The Sun is joyful and bright, without fear or reservation. The childish nature of the Sun allows you to play and feel free. Exploration can truly take place in the light of day when nothing is hidden. The Sun's rays fill you with energy so that you may live life to its fullest, milking pleasure out of each day. Such joy and energy can bring wealth and physical pleasure. To shine in the light of day is to have confidence, to soak up its rays is to feel the freedom of a child. Image from: Stevee Postman. http://www.stevee.com/
Take this quiz!








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you never know what is around the corner

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not even if you've been there before...

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welcome back london, beautiful spring let the barbeques begin. things are budding. blossom is falling from the trees and tiny burgeonings of fruit are swelling from their boughs. spring cleaning clears the crumbling cadavers of dust and winter, the scent of birth is on the breeze and eyes are opening after dream-filled sleeps...

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seeds of unfilled memories, persephones doodles, begin to flower, prepare to ripen...

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destined to be eaten, and ... probably ... forgotten...

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love the way the leaves dance .

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lightly, like ribboned garlands round the maypole.

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that's all.

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listening to: John McLaughlin 'thieves and poets'

Friday, January 27, 2006

lucid living

is this sense i have of seeing the impact my perceptions have on my reality, confirm the value of this lesson

40: Liberation

Analyse your situation
carefully. Seek understanding and
liberation


listening to: idir

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

the low miffs

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

whistlestop biography draft mach 1

"a wise woman should only renew her connection with a former lover, if she is satisfied that good fortune, gain, love, and friendship, are likely to be the result of such a reunion" from the kama sutra

For what it is worth... I left school at 16 to go to France, fell in love for the first time, went back to school in England, and left again. At 18 I went to study literature and philosophy in America where I could have joined a coven, or driven the States on a Harley Davidson and macrobiotic diet. I did neither. Instead, at 19 I fell in love again, at the age of 20 just before the assassination of Yitzhak Rabin I went to Israel and pretended I was a messenger from god to a local toymaker, my props a bag of freshly plucked fruit and a song (I'm not proud, I was the puppet in someone else’s joke!). 3 years after I'd left I returned to the UK at the age of 21 to be near my dying father. I worked selling kitchens, and as a waitress, threatened on a number of occasions with the sack for giving coffee and food to the homeless and falling asleep in the streets listening to buskers; with one exception I managed to keep my jobs and upon my father's recovery, I gathered my savings and took off interrailing where I almost met all manner of interesting characters including a sparrow and her lover, a jewel smuggler by the name of Sunny, and a beautiful South African girl called Catherine who had cycled from Paris to Athens... I used the last day of my ticket to revisit my first love in Morocco... as far as he was concerned 'the woman was not so wise', but for 3 months Morocco was my sensual re-awakening where my head began its grateful descent back into my body as I marvelled at the colours and the smells and the senses of my skin and in its own strange zig-zag way good fortune, gain, love, and friendship were indeed the fruits of this reunion, my reconnection to the earth...

re

disi

nte

gr

a

t

ion

i think i'll take a moment here and rest.

Sunday, January 22, 2006

in and out in paris and london

funny, funny, funny. names changed or omitted to protect the innocent!

Fred has just been round with the most curious news in a long while. he was at the pub yesterday, when a woman came over and asked if he and his girlfriend would be interested in exploring the karma sutra. it is to contribute to research for a new book by a well known (and reputable) author (nameless here but trust me he has excellent credentials) which will be exploring the karma sutra for contemporary living...

so this writer is looking for couples willing to spend a couple of days learning and becoming intimate with 2 positions from the ancient manual of pleasure and share their experiences.

what this means for Fred and his other half is an all expenses paid trip to paris, several nights in a 5 star parisien chateau hotel, plus payment for their time and energy.

Apparently there is also a kind of libertine shindig going on at the same time (in i presume the hotel) with costume and everything, where people dress up in louis XVIth apparel (powdered faces, beauty marks, big white wigs and either those intricate bodiced dresses, or fancy tails and knickerbockers) to get down to some serious hedonism and orgies. participation in this is open yet optional (and apparently coincidental, ie. not a part of said author's project)! . . .

well, the positions Fred has been asked to perform are 17 and 19, so we tried looking them up on the internet. we found them in unpostable format (i tried) and they look quite challenging - one is a vertical 69 (actually very similar to the picture here on the stone carving), and the other is ... ... impossible to describe...

all sounds somewhat far-fetched doesn't it? so, in conducting our own research, i found this writers website with a contact email... so i wrote him this...


-------Original Message-------

From: tara
Date: 01/22/06 17:16:09
Subject: in and out in paris and london..?

Dear XX,

Recently a friend of mine has been approached by someone who claims to be working for you, for your forthcoming book. Basically he and his girlfriend have been offered a job, including expenses... A trip into the deep belly of Parisien underground, for a two day introduction into two positions of the karma sutra, and with the aim of putting this new knowledge into practise for you and your literary research. Sounds tantalising, a definite adventure, and one which my dear friend is potentially open to embarking on. It is of course not every day that such an offer is laid on the table by a stranger in a london pub, so understandably doubts encroach as to the legitimacy of the proposition, (laced naturally with sense of intrigue, and a generous frisson of curious fascination).

I will keep this simple, as this leads to the obvious and important question, is this true? And if so, what exactly is the context for this research, if that would not be too much of a violation of your creative process?

Thank you in advance for your cooperation and clarification. I look forward to hearing from you,

With Kind Regards,

Tara

within the hour i received his response:

Hello Tara,

In substance and essentials, yes, it's true. The book is a new look at the Kama Sutra, with modern readers in mind. The working title is within a golden eye: the kama sutra re-lived. It will be published in the US in August 2007.
I need a couple who can "road test" some of the Kama Sutra's suggestions, and discuss the experience in an articulate way. Obviously you are well qualified for the latter and, I assume, for the former as well.
Tell me something about yourself/selves.

As for my bona fides, check my website.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Looking forward to hearing from you,
XX
Posted by Picasa

moroccan mandala















a mural in progress in our living room, something i keep going back to when the mood hits me...
colours are not so great in this photo, but will repost another at some point by which stage it may even be finished!

the hair belongs to my good friend george, whose passion for the planet is balanced with a healthy zest for fine times and good beer...
Posted by Picasa

Friday, January 20, 2006

i said to myself i wouldn't do these any more! dan, this is your influence mr strummer! ;o)

Isis
Indeed, you are 91% erudite, 83% sensual, 50% martial, and 45% saturnine.
This Egyptian supreme Goddess is certainly the most influential deity on subsequent cultures. She was the ideal figure of womanhood, usually compared with the Greek Goddess Demeter or her Roman version, Ceres.


Isis was one element of a Holy Trinity, the remaining two figures being her brother and husband Osiris and their heroic son Horus. She was the Goddess of Magic for her brilliance, as well as the Goddess of Love because of her tenacious devotion.


She is often shown with wings, curving to caress coffins and sarcophagi of many a king. In certain papyri she is shown with her falcon wing headdress, covering her ears. One of her sacred symbols is the sistrum, a musical instrument that was believed to ward off evil spirits. Isis' sistrum was carved bearing the image of a cat and was representative of the Moon.


Isis was the High Priestess and an omnipotent magician as well as the only being ever to discover the secret name of Ra. She invariably carries the ankh, the symbol for eternal life. Her name is, by the rules of numerology, adding up to the number ?2? and she just so happens to be depicted on the tarot card ?Key 2 ? The High Priestess?.


The Fifteen Goddesses


These are the 15 categories of this test. If you score above average in ?


?all or none of the four variables: Neit. ?
Erudite: Minerva. ?
Sensual: Aphrodite. ?
Martial: Artemis. ?
Saturnine: Persephone. ?

Erudite & Sensual: Isis. ?
Erudite & Martial: Sekhmet. ?
Erudite & Saturnine: Nemesis. ?
Sensual & Martial: Hera. ?
Sensual & Saturnine: Bast. ?
Martial & Saturnine: Ilamatecuhtli. ?

Erudite, Sensual & Martial: Maeve. ?
Erudite, Sensual & Saturnine: Freya. ?
Erudite, Martial & Saturnine: Sedna. ?
Sensual, Martial & Saturnine: Macha.




My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:
free online datingfree online dating
You scored higher than 93% on erudite
free online datingfree online dating
You scored higher than 55% on sensual
free online datingfree online dating
You scored higher than 34% on martial
free online datingfree online dating
You scored higher than 26% on saturnine
Link: The Mythological Goddess Test written by Nitsuki on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the 32-Type Dating Test


this is actually pretty cool, you can learn more about these goddesses through clicking on the various links...

listening to: gil scott-heron

london or new york, it makes a world of difference...

you are Captain Beefheart!
Captain Beefheart... you are one of the first
modern fucked-up geniuses. When it comes to
creating, you rank right up there with the
likes of James Mangan, John Wilmot and Edvard
Munch.


Which fucked-up genius composer are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
you are Nick Cave!
Nick Cave... dark and creepy. You're a bi-polar
genius, with equal passion for the most
degrading aspects of humanity, as well as the
beauty & wonder of God and Heaven.


Which fucked-up genius composer are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

my name is peaches
























......... to see in every person somebody different, as complex as a garden full of plants… believing liberty is possible because we can see beyond the present into the infinite distance..........


listening to: Acoustic Ladyland 'perfect bitch' Posted by Picasa

diary of a gaffa-taped hamster #mach 2

i was looking through an old notebook trying to find a phone number, and came across the following... it was from when we took our play to a drama festival in scarborough with our company autumn fish's play, 'the hamster theme park', a couple of years ago...

We run 1st night. Everything flat. Blackouts too long.

Next day we run scene changes. After second performance we find we have knocked 6 minutes off our running time just through scene changes alone. Great. And it shows.

After 3rd performance we strike our set in record time and head for the bar...

Thursday night, or technically friday morning, Chloe and I wander from the NOffice to the mini-bus to a befuddled commotion. Our Autumn Fish walking alarmed and bewildered towards us, an ambulance in the road. Theo (one half of our majestic underscore creation-team) has rolled down the cliff. No, he hurtled down the cliff, and cracked his head on the concrete below. Thought he could fly, or something.

Sam leaves in the ambulance, the rest of us make our way back to the accommodation trying to get our heads around the whole thing.
"He moved his legs", "he was out cold for 2 minutes", "He remembered his name when he came round", "He launched himself off", "so fast, came down so fast", "Theo's dead" Tim said.

I drive us back in silence. Almost. Except Tim is saying, "He cracked his head open, his head smashed on the concrete. He threw himself off."

He looks at us as though he is trying to tell us something very important;

"He was drunk, he threw himself off a cliff, and now he's dead. Splat. Gone."

There is growing discomfort in the mini-bus. They just don't understand this guy's nonchalant and dismissive attitude.

Tim seems slightly annoyed too. "Why do you lot care anyway? You hardly knew him. He's just some guy who did sound on your play. It's not as though he was a friend of yours. He was alive, now he's dead, that's what happens when people roll down cliffs. You're alive then you die. People die all the time."

Silence.

"I knew him, not as long as Sam, but he was a good friend of mine and I watched him splat, 10 feet away from me. Stupid bastard. For 5 years I'll see that image."

People are getting angry. They want Tim to shut up. He doesn't.

"He isn't dead Tim, he was moving and talking when he came round."

"He should be dead" Tim says. "Technically when you hurl down a 20ft cliff you should be dead when you hit the bottom."
That's the mathematics of the whole thing. There are ways of descent that work, and others that are just plain stupid.
"well, even if he's not dead, he deserves to be for falling from that height"

And so Tim's laconic mantra soldiers on... "He's dead." "he's dead" "he's DEAD"...

The heavy diesel mini-bus rumbles on, parks, and shell-shocked Autumn Fish slump tentatively into the flat. Now everyone is piecing together what happened, step by step, roll by roll...

i stayed up until 8 in the morning with tim, talking, sitting, just so he could relax and get some sleep. then, news came from the hospital that theo was stable, and we had to prepare for a day at the festival, defending our creative choices before an arena of 350 judges, trying to be coherent and pretend that it really mattered.

theo was fine as it turns out, and after a few days was driven back to london to rehabillitate back home. he really did think he could fly (aided by medication and 6 pints of beer) - it's not the first time either... apparently he has jumped off a few buildings in his time, hung from balconies, that sort of thing, is like an extreme sport to him... was... in hospital he was reflecting, confused, quite a bit... i don't think he ever expected to really get himself in trouble, mortal trouble, and not remembering really simple things like the name of his doctor freaked him the fuck out, truly. i think he felt like a bit of an idiot and suddenly realised just how much he wanted to live. bemused that he couldn't hear, his fingers would go to his ears where blood was congealed in dark delicate trickles from his drums, and he'd look puzzled - "wh-what happened? what did i do?", he'd suddenly seem so young, a bewildered frightened little boy, just needing something to make sense, some reassurance, someone to stroke his forehead, hold his hand...

theo won the award for sound design... yeah... he's good too!

listening to: nusrat fateh ali khan



Tuesday, January 17, 2006

what an amazing woman...

you're never too old to be young

i came across this on the net... i like it!

"":-
Rose's Dream

The first day of school our professor introduced himself and challenged us to get to know someone we didn't already know. I stood up to look around when a gentle hand touched my shoulder. I turned around to find a wrinkled, little old lady beaming up at me with a smile that lit up her entire being.
She said, "Hi handsome. My name is Rose. I'm eighty-seven years old. Can I give you a hug?" I laughed and enthusiastically responded, "Of course you may! "and she gave me a giant squeeze.

"Why are you in college at such a young, innocent age?" I asked. She jokingly replied, "I'm here to meet a rich husband, get married, have a couple of children, and then retire and travel."
"No seriously," I asked. I was curious what may have motivated her to be taking on this challenge at her age. "I always dreamed of having a college education and now I'm getting one!" she told me.

After class we walked to the student union building and shared a chocolate milkshake. We became instant friends. Every day for the next three months we would leave class together and talk nonstop. I was always mesmerized listening to this "time machine" as she shared her wisdom and experience with me.

Over the course of the year, Rose became a campus icon and easily made friends wherever she went. She loved to dress up and she reveled in the attention bestowed upon her from the other students. She was living it up.

At the end of the semester we invited Rose to speak at our football banquet and I'll never forget what she taught us. She was introduced and stepped up to the podium. As she began to deliver her prepared speech, she dropped her three by five cards on the floor.
Frustrated and a little embarrassed she leaned into the microphone and simply said "I'm sorry I'm so jittery. I gave up beer for Lent and this whiskey is killing me! I'll never get my speech back in order so let me just tell you what I know." As we laughed she cleared her throat and began:

"We do not stop playing because we are old; we grow old because we stop playing. There are only four secrets to staying young, being happy, and achieving success.

"You have to laugh and find humor every day."

"You've got to have a dream. When you lose your dreams, you die. We have so many people walking around who are dead and don't even know it!"

"There is a huge difference between growing older and growing up. If you are nineteen years old and lie in bed for one full year and don't do one productive thing, you will turn twenty years old. If I am eighty-seven years old and stay in bed for a year and never do anything I will turn eighty-eight. Anybody can grow older. That doesn't take any talent or ability. The idea is to grow up by always finding the opportunity in change."

"Have no regrets. The elderly usually don't have regrets for what we did, but rather for things we did not do. The only people who fear death are those with regrets."

She concluded her speech by courageously singing "The Rose." She challenged each of us to study the lyrics and live them out in our daily lives.

At the year's end Rose finished the college degree she had begun all those years ago. One week after graduation Rose died peacefully in her sleep.

Over two thousand college students attended her funeral in tribute to the wonderful woman who taught by example that it's never too late to be all you can possibly be.


The Rose
by Manda McBroom
from the soundtrack to "The Rose"
Bette Midler

Some say love, it is a river
that drowns the tender reed.
Some say love, it is a razor
that leaves your soul to bleed.
Some say love, it is a hunger,
an endless aching need.
I say love, it is a flower,
and you it's only seed.

It's the heart afraid of breaking
that never learns to dance.
It's the dream afraid of waking
that never takes the chance.
It's the one who won't be taken,
who cannot seem to give,
and the soul afraid of dyin'
that never learns to live.

When the night has been too lonely
and the road has been too long,
and you think that love is only
for the lucky and the strong,
just remember in the winter
far beneath the winter snows
lies the seed that with the sun's love
in the spring becomes the rose.

Saturday, January 14, 2006






the cottage & deep house get it together




if you go down to the woods today ...
a teddy bears picnic in epping forest
we played fuam & climbed trees
dined on humuus & beer
skated on thin ice & got wet feet
walked into a pub that fell silent so we stayed
to drink brandy
& cross bridges
Posted by Picasa

i spy with my little eye something beginning with you know something beginning with you know something beginning with you know something beginning with me saying good bye now you know me saying goodbye now you know saying good bye now saying good bye now saying good now saying good saying good you know you know you know

hmm. saying good bye to things is not so easy. determining what one is saying goodbye to can be harder still.
an old poem comes to my mind, suddenly,

here i be waiting and waiting
my thoughts crashing out to the sea
somewhere you are living and being
and waiting and waiting for me
and so we are waiting not knowing we're waiting
not knowing we're knowing we're free
and so you are waiting not knowing you're waiting
for you do not yet know me

something like that, i don't really remember it very well.

well waitings over...

there is a story of a young man in love with a woman... he offers her his heart, he will do anything for her love... and so she asks him to wait outside her window every night for a year, and on the final night he will know her answer by a lantern burning in her window... so every night he waits, sitting in the street across from where she lives, from dusk til dawn he waits under cool stars, through sultry and bitter nights, in blizzards that numb his fingers and rain that soaks his feet, people see him as they pass on into the nights, some spit on him, taking him for a rootless tramp without direction, some bring him hot soup, some sit with him spinning yarns with witty twists and turns, some stop to tell him of their lives, their dreams, their sorrows, some - a few - follow his gaze from a moving distance to a small window veiled in darkness and smile, or frown, or scratch their heads, some - most - don't see him at all as they walk by, sometimes no one passes and his solitude is echoed by the empty streets that too wait for the light of a new morning... 364 nights pass, the lantern at the window still stubbornly silent, and on the morning of the 365th day, with just one night left to go, the young man gets up, turns round and walks away...




listening to: prince ' dead on it' from the black album Posted by Picasa

Friday, January 13, 2006

i love bill forsythe

how do you feel about polygamous relationships? what do you think?

all views welcome

Thursday, January 12, 2006

the choreographic principles of pina bausch, part 1

For Bausch, choreography reaches into the elastic arenas of time and space, her vision is a coordination and organisation of memory, music, costume, lighting, set and movement; a dance between multiple elements to create a tanztheatre of a human condition, a social and personal observation of intimate exploration. There is an emotional yearning and impetus that drives the evolution of her work, and these are essential ingredients in her choreographic overview.

“When I first began choreography, I never thought of it as choreography, but as expressing feelings . . . In the work everything belongs to everything else – the music, the set, the movement and whatever is said. I don’t know where one thing stops and another begins”

As dance theatre Pina Bausch’s is a synaesthesia, one that allows us to see, hear and smell in equal degrees. It is rooted in the senses; she is an artist of water who flows into a seamless tapestry of experience, deriving her inspiration from the oceanic depths of human experience contextualised through both society’s and nature’s reflections.

Bausch emerged from expressionism, taking up the trails left by Mary Wigman, and Rudolf Laban. Laban’s profound interest in the affects on movement of psychological and emotional states was a direction shared in other areas of performative studies; the Strasberg school of acting was also seeking subtle gestures of integrity, a movement away from the grand emotions and mythical themes of more traditional forms of theatre, and most relevantly those expressed in classical ballet. Bausch did have a personal background in dramatic dance technique, (the psychological style of her tutor at Julliard School, Anthony Tubor, built upon emotive gestures), but it was Kurt Joos who became her mentor, with his emphasis on the individual’s role in society as impetus for movement patterns, and on individual expression. No doubt his politicisation of dance inspired Bausch’s own direction towards socio-political observations within her own work.

Bausch’s work is psychological in a sense, it is a narrative of that which moves the body (rather than what the body moves), but a narrative whose telling is experienced through the sum of its parts, rather than a logical linear sequence of events; she exhumes the struggles and tensions within, to undermine fear’s power of oppression in the open airing of performance and draw the simple beauties of life and its minutiae into the light. She may reject the label or box of meaning, so long as there is a meaning to be found within the mind of the spectator, a resonance. It is in a sense to heal. Therefore her choreography is a process of delving into memory and emotion – her aim is to create a holistic organic work through the exploration of fragmentation.

Her background is important in understanding her choreographic principles. Her work is in no small way a rebellion against the superficiality and deception she found in classical ballet. She criticised its training rituals, how it alienates the body from its own impulses. She broadened the concept of dance, releasing the term ‘choreography’ from its narrower definition as a series of connected movements. “To understand what I am saying,” Bausch says, “you have to believe that dance is something other than technique. We forget where the movements came from. They are born from life. When you create a new work, the point of departure must be contemporary life – not existing forms of dance.”

The dancers themselves are imperative to the development of Pina Bausch’s performances. As with William Forsythe, Bausch has a core of dancers that she works with over a period of time. These dancers “provide the material, the building blocks, from which Bausch must then select and edit, reconstruct and build. They are the consciousness of the piece rather than merely ciphers for the explorations of Bausch as auteur”. The process of creation is highly collaborative, where all contribute their own experience toward the metaphoric construction of the whole. These building blocks are carved from the raw materials of the emotional lives and memories of the dancers, investigated throughout the rehearsal process.

Here, Pina poses questions to be explored, little images to stimulate the dancers’ creativity, such as imagining ‘a symbol for freedom’; ‘a song to a tree’; ‘playing games to subdue fear’; ‘setting a trap for someone’; or alternatively she may ask “When you cry, how do you cry? What do you do when you cry? Many different ways of crying. What do you feel, what sounds do you make?” From here may arise a dancing with fingers, the isolation of memories, all of which are tools of choreography to be translated into picture and sound. Through the noting down of what they feel, and the answers to these questions, sequences of steps are born, to be tested and filtered, thrown out, repeated, reordered, repeated, until natural movement is transposed into that of dance. These improvisations are worked through and condensed until their integrity resonates in aesthetic form.

Maria Shevtsova describes part of this process in her term movement trouvé, where an accidental movement or stimulus might be seized upon and developed into a workable motif. Pina Bausch holding her baby in the rehearsal room inspires a copycat exercise that reveals a poignant physical dialogue between two adults; or the exercise of taking a sentence and playing, acting with gestures to express what had been written down – not with the face but with gesture, expression through the body.

Thought is creativity, Bausch affirms, working and thinking about things. With curiosity comes problems, yet it is integral to creativity, and understanding people, life. It is essential to ask ‘Why do we dance?’ Movement is derived from experience itself… ...

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

on the street, stories

stretching out beneath the sun
sky chiselled, weathered lines etch
well-worn paths across their faces
(what music do they hear?)
eyes glisten with the memories of places
that have born their footprints
under rain through eclectic roofless nights
(what futures do they see?
what dreams turn with him
through the night?
what fire warms the hungry heart?
......................what promises of light?)

Sunday, January 08, 2006

listening to saul williams 'twice the first time'
i believe in inate goodness, of life...

i don't want to explain myself, my meaning, words tangle me and unravel me all at the same time.

i believe that nature always recuperates her own rhthmn. the balance always redresses.

how,
that's up to us

that's up to us

what's up with us?

i
believe
good
things
are
possible

i believe in
love

i do

i believe in the light that a smile can bring

how beautiful to forget
sometimes
to forgive

how beautiful

to let this ,,, this,,, smokey mist envelop me
let the slips of my fingers rest
without correction
because maybe they are taking me somewhere that i want to go

wisdom is found in so many things that breathe true
the breadcrumbs are eaten because even if the trail could be followed they still wouldn't take you back to where you were left behind

to where you left

to where you were
exactly


listening to flea from the red hot chilli peppers, bass solo
i am going to be strong.

i can't question, not now, not here.

not for the moment.

i have got to be strong.

believing in
me.

there is hope in these sounds, these rhythms that beat around us,
friends on drums
friends on drums,
just

jamming
absently.

i am going to be strong,

like i was pushing out into this world
before i learnt to breathe.

i don't know the answer to the question that my heart has asked me every day for the past so many years so many so many so many

and i am tired

and happy,

happy,

i
don't
know
the
answer
and
i'm
tired
of
asking

so let it lie so let it lie


listening to: prince 'pussy control'

Friday, January 06, 2006

expectations. i guess i'm learning about expectations,

letting go.

sometimes my head, my feelings, seem such strangers... cordial, polite, acquaintances at a dinner party. perhaps. perhaps not a dinner party, but housemates. that respect each other. but don't quite get it. or have different timetables, their own... lives... their... own.. their own space...

their own different rythmns of introversion, extroversion.

sigh.


listening to: blur 'park life'






Which Tarot Card Are You?




You are the Empress card. The Empress is the archetype of the Mother. She creates and nurtures life. She represents the abundance of Mother Earth. The Empress is capable of using nature in a productive way. She espouses art for art's sake. Her planet is Venus, and she embodies love of beauty and a strong value system. Here is also found initial sensation. This is the first really physical experience of the world that The Fool has entered. The Empress has a rich understanding of the world based on her five senses. In a reading, The Empress represents pregnancy, actual or metaphorical. She indicates an act of creation and a sensual experience of beauty. The Empress is a nurturing force that wishes to see the product of her experiences reach the next stage of development. Image from A Photographic Tarot http://www.bluewitch.com/healingtarot/healtar.htm Deck
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Tuesday, December 06, 2005

Dogs On The Shore

You. Ugly distorted contorted deformed and defamed
You. Beautiful shimmering light glowing peaceful open.
Let me kiss you
Let me weep into your hands
Let me give you this smile to
remember me by.
You, walking by me, can we dance?
Can I touch you, touch me? Gently
This is my body this is my thigh
Contours of soft mountains
and valleys, mystical caves
I would like to hear your laugh
Running into the echoes
Of these rivers running through me.
(Half a day and half a night
We have spent together now
Since the last time we met
Many landscapes ago)
I would like to smile up at the stars
Breathless with you on an ocean bed
And marvel, sshsh, - save the crack of the waves and our embrace, -
at the twinkling lights out of a shaded dark night sky.
Holder of mysteries
Whys melt into the moonsoaked ripples,
Questions' whispers drowned out by the sea
and your moist breath on my skin
These tears wet on my cheek are the splash of the tide
Rising and ebbing like the love overflowing from inside
Guardian of miracles, asker of riddles
Unfathomable, holder of mysteries.

kundalini vexed

Restless stirrings
Unknown quantities
Let me burn
- these fires know
no limits
unquelled yearnings
for the ultimate climax
Let it ebb and rise again
Slain dragons of deceit
and frightened horses
crashing back into the waves
This world is beautiful and green,
unplucked potentials
screening paradise in the palm of my hand.
The ultimate restless surf
screaming to ride the pinnacle of
this ocean's desire
Fire burns untold stories behind
the retinas of my dreams
- lucky charms chime me to sleep
where i walk worlds we've never seen before.

Quiet now,
.....Soft now,
...........over now,
...............Sated now,
(melted back into the earth)
higher now,
.....flying now,
...........crying now
for nothing more than the taste of salt;

wondering now

................................wandering now

seeking nothing more than breath

DO YOU KNOW...

that words are the pictures drawn around nothing
that dance this illusion of
movement
The truth lies in the darkness,
in the space
between words
A flicker, that paints
a moving picture
of stillness

Saturday, November 05, 2005


still of me in short film in progress at the moment

Sunday, October 23, 2005

Mark-ed

Damp curls of dis-satisfaction brush across my forehead
An itch that inches under my skin
Bristling, persistent, it's hard to scratch.
Then I catch a softness in your eyes,
A half-light falling across the quiet melody of your skin,
And I forget the questions that cool sardonic silence
Asks me outside the cloister of moist kisses.

Winter's fingers strum the night's complacencies
As we lie dreaming of endless Summer,
Rain drumming on the in-breath...
Then, Sun soaked dew, remembering the soft grey morning mist...
(I feel it play against my skin, light velvet touch of new-born days...)
Calls forth a song from parting lips,
Unfurling buds, like tiny rainbows,
Burst quietly from beneath an evening's shadows.

l'amour, it graces me moving through me out to you. merci. it's kind of irish.

My passion disturbs you sometimes.

"je t'aime", i said.

"C'est ton droit..." I didn't hear you. A lust for life blurred with the music, the buzz of the people around us, flowed out hot lava from a volcano shining out through the space of my eyes.

"What did you say? Je n'ai pas entendu"

"C'est ton droit,"

I laughed. This made me laugh. This love, it is my right, i was, i am, free to love.

"Oui, je sais," j'ai dit. This too made me laugh.

Here too i laugh. And cry just a little.

How do you feel when you surf? For me, it is like the surf is within me, rolling and crashing into the shore beyond me. I felt like a child, bewitched by everything...

Monday, October 17, 2005

imagination painting pictures

i pull on my socks and your breath is warm on my neck, your kiss tender and warm steeping love into my cells so that when i breathe it condenses with the crisp air and hovers there before dispersing into the sky and settling soft and clean onto the skin of strangers...

absence paints pictures

I like big afros. Tight butts and big afros are just about the coolest combination. Something about those frizzy little curls and succulent round buttocks . . . simply love them . . . male, female, it's an aesthetic thing.

Sitting outside Goldsmith's Cafe, the world driving by, rumbling, clanking, whistles softly murmur and a beautiful sun weaves into my jumper making me slightly too warm but everything is bathed golden and hazy and, oh, so sensual . . .

Earlier I slip through the streets like butter, softly melting into my footsteps. A beautiful black man with natty little dreads plays football with his son. I watch them, walking slowly, eyes following the glittering red ball that sparkles as it bounces from foot to foot. The beautiful man smiles across at me and invites me to join them... I wonder.. but I grin back - "no, thanks man" and continue walking. A missed adventure perhaps but the sun lazies me and I prefer to look from the outside in.

I've been posing, naked, an artist directing me for his pencil to trace my outlines. As I lay there I thought of you, your hands stroking round my curves, drawing me into my mind's eye. Little wisps of smoke puffed up from a wood-burner like small coughs and its smell wrapped me in Autumn, sketching me into silk mornings of crisp dew light and musky duvets.

Friday, September 02, 2005

and you replied...

J'ai finis de bosser tard - un peu k.o. - vive les couleurs dans le ciel et les papillons - - - c'est toujours l'ocean que je vois dans tes yeux, lieu de paix ou l'on voudrait s'evader . . . s'installer . . . respirer . . . kessque tu fais? Au fait c'est comment l'heure chez toi? La vie est pleine de mystere. Tu est a Londres mi. septembre . . ? Je t'embrasse.

Thursday, September 01, 2005

Life's mysteries

how is it that i think of you and still butterflies dance, embracing me in summer n'importe quelle couleurs les ciels . . ? C'est une mystere . . . bisous . . .
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