My boy

My boy will be sensitive, kind & fair.

He’ll protect those who need it & empower others with his words & actions.

He won’t belittle anyone for trying & he’ll meet them where they are. He’ll know that through his actions he can make things better; for himself & those around him. He’ll have company for the lonely & time to those who need it. He’ll be strong when the room requires a presence. He’ll be soft to the lost & polite when he starts new conversations. Eager to let those who are uncomfortable, refind comfort.

My boy will treat beautiful things with wonder & interesting things with grace. He’ll make mistakes disguised as lessons. He’ll try new things.

He’ll include those who haven’t been invited & if he can spare a dollar to someone less fortunate he’ll give it with a smile. My boy will be open minded. He’ll learn that flaws won’t define him, nor will regrets. He’ll learn his way by going through. He’ll chase knowledge, knowing that it runs infinite.

My boy won’t be perfect & he won’t strive to be, he’ll be human – a generous human that leaves warmth behind him just like his mother does.

My boy will create. He’ll be encouraged to find his flow state, without judgement or interruption. My boy will find the calm in chaos & won’t let his temper prevail over his judgement. His fears won’t keep him idle.

These aren’t expectations- nor are they rules. My boy will be all of these things, many more & many less & it won’t change a thing.

He’ll go to sleep every night knowing he is loved. The rest will take care of itself.

My boy will be here soon.

C.f

October 16, 2025 | Categories: Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Chasing My Tale.

I’ve written this many times & delayed ever completing it – to void succumbing to spite. I’ve had a tough year in some ways, & it’s cathartic to write. It’s just been hard to start talking about my first ‘big idea’ in past tense.

We so often reflect with rose coloured glasses, romanticising things to appear different than it actually was. We mask the feelings by doing so, reducing the weight of those reoccurring burdens, the questions we ask ourselves when we’re low.

I remind myself always, that value is value, regardless of price. Vincent Van Gogh said “If I am worth anything later, I am worth something now. For wheat is wheat, even if people think it is a grass in the beginning”.

It’s easy in memory. There is no heartbreak without loyalty first.

The acceptance of the past washes the face like warm water. It’s easy to digest. It’s not easy to forgive, but accepting is peaceful. It’s quieter – which is isolating. I’ve been isolated for awhile. I feel like the sum of my parts is lost – as if holding more weight outside of myself. There are parts of me that exist, which took more than I am capable of alone.

I really grieved the end of my company, like a death. Losing the version of myself that was attached to it by default. The outlet for my ideas. The conversation starter. The proof to the outside world that I’m ‘enough‘. My entry ticket to the arts community. My ticket to more. It was hope.

I’ve seemingly trapped myself in a room with my younger self. He hates me, just as I hate others for not trying. I owe him more than what I have to show & even though I loathe the idea of giving up – I just can’t continue the way it is. It’s not serving me anymore & I’ve become more bitter than the beer.

I don’t blame him for his anger – because it’s hard to explain to youth how things change without living it first. Those same people in your favourite photos don’t hang on the wall anymore. You never see failing & when you do it’s never pretty. The beauty in struggle becomes the obituary photo. You never see past the passion. That behind it all, you can lose things you love; & maybe even parts of yourself. How it hurts to be a part of something losing. It’s hard to separate from the ideas you could only see going one way.

This isn’t a pity party. I’ll make more money. I’ll have more ideas. It’s a lesson from my time, energy & ideas that came to life. The truth without romance. The dominating part of my life for 6 years.

This has been a loss – both financially & personally. Firstly, of my first big idea that came to life. I’ve left this party with my tale between my legs. Searching for new people, or company in old friends. There just simply are more cynics than dreamers & I’ve found company in both. It’s easier to find a conversation with negativity.

When it’s over, there are signs. Ideas begin having no weight beyond seconds & minutes. Or they weigh months & years – an overwhelming task that seems exhausting to get off the ground, especially to someone in debt & with more mileage. I wanted the hard task, I chose it, but I wanted company in the journey – because when you’re by yourself, you lose the value. You even become self destructive in search of it.

I felt so worthless in this pursuit, because there was no validation along the journey. You never arrive. You become a burden to yourself, & then you become accustomed to it. Then you get desperate – which is vulnerable dialled up high. It allows you to become taken advantage of, where you become accustomed to low standards by others. I allowed others to disrespect me – or I was desperate for help & settled for what I could get. Pennies on the dollar. I don’t think I realised it even happening until it broke a barrier & I saw it appear in ways that made me question love & loyalty. It made me very self destructive, as I didn’t have anyone else to blame & the anger went inside. It even at one point became dangerous. I’ll never be in that headspace again, & the irrational version of myself will be contained. A rational headspace cannot be attained by an irrational person. There are many versions of death we don’t talk about openly- but one is of your younger self.

Disposition is important, how we see the world & not how things may be. We can choose to see the best, or the worst, or even the middle. I keep telling myself- choose your words, choose your timing, choose your battles & most importantly choose kindness. You don’t know what others are going through. The problem is, I stopped listening when the advice came to how I spoke to myself. The world sees me a certain way, & I it. I just couldn’t figure it out- in a way that worked.

I’ve tied so much of myself- at least what I like – my position in this world, my disposition, my dreams – into a vessel that didn’t get the opportunity it so clearly desired. I’m cautious to use the word ‘deserved’- because I don’t think it was. I think we are a sum of all parts- & I think it worked the way it was supposed to- even if I hate it. Why? Because it didn’t win & maybe winning wasn’t it’s purpose. It needed a village & it only got some. We can only see that in hindsight, a reflection that gets delayed by time. Feeling stuck in this position, does nothing to the impatient voice inside that criticises non-action. Non-action by a default, is an action- so the disdain begins from alternate possibilities that could’ve been, whilst standing idle. The wise man reflects to the naive version of himself, powerless to save him. The past has all the answers, the present has the problems. The future?

The reward is now in breaking free, with my tale between my legs & an ego-less approach to the world.

It has taken months to destroy all of the collateral in my house. The slowest of deaths. In December of last year I moved the entirety of the business into my home. Every fortnight of recycle bins, filled instantly, every avenue to dispose of a dream. I’ve kept so many keepsakes & put them in a box. Out of sight, out of mind. You’re impatient to get going, & even more so to remove it once you make the decision. It’s been a long funeral.

I’ve worn so many faces during this journey. Naive, confident, hopeless & hopeful. Walking this path, my ideas culminated under one. Just because I want the best for people I love, I assumed they did too. I think that’s my best quality – that I want others to succeed. But when your main company is yourself I lost that. Why? I hated myself, because I hated everyone else. I hurt thinking of those days & how hopeless they felt. I would be kinder to him now. I needed to toughen up, & not let the anger drive. One might call it, a spiritual crisis.

(I watched this movie after some hard days & it felt like he was talking to me here. I had my head on the pillow & will never forget that feeling).

Once you stop trusting yourself, you stop dreaming new ideas. They get shot down from within. Age has a funny way of winning when it comes to open mindedness. The older we get- the less we ideate, or maybe the room to ideate is smaller. But that can happen from circumstance also. It always comes from within. The inner circle, the inner monologue, the insecurities. It ultimately comes back home. Who you choose, what & why – that’s you. Who you surround yourself with. It makes the lessons more painful. But it’s a lesson we all must learn when creating. Not everyone believes, nor respects your ideas. I hope someone you love believes in you, supports you & if they don’t, it’s okay to do it without them.

“You sensed that you should be following a different path, a more ambitious one, you felt you were destined for other things but you had no idea how to achieve them and in your misery you began to hate everything around you”. – Fyodor Dostoevsky

Some look for roads to follow them & others venture off where the flowers grow. If you’re looking to grow, follow the flowers. 

As someone who ties their value to the wins, this has been incredibly difficult. So I’ll keep it as short as I can, for time doesn’t favour the sorry- & misery loves ‘company’. I just wish it wasn’t mine. 

The person I was & the person I am lives in the same body. That includes my younger self. He’s around. Your ideas are chosen by who’s the strongest ‘you’ at the time. YOUNGBLOOD was chosen by the younger naive version of me, & unfortunately it didn’t work. The older, wiser version knows this. They don’t have to agree. I remind myself, most ideas die. Those that live, even for a moment, are special. Some actually come to life. I’ve held those in my hands. I’ve consumed them as much as they’ve consumed me. I’ve felt their weight & they’ve supported mine.

Off the path, into the field.

What’s next?

I’ll continue to burn the leftovers of YOUNGBLOOD into the ground, & use its warmth to survive the upcoming winter. The barren, cold, powerless months of climbing out of this hole. During these months I’ll remind myself why the fire is warmest close to the flame. Crystal Ale was my Icarus.

I said my ego was destroyed a long time ago, but the truth is, it wasn’t completely. I know that now. My ego lived within the purpose of having something I was proud of next to my name. It wasn’t in my job, or my degree, or any other accolade. It was in telling company, about my company. That I was a man of action, one who would chase his dreams. Losing this has been the hardest pain I’ve dealt with, because every part of my soul doesn’t want to let it go. My brain refuses to let that position open up, & I’m trying to fill a void with no vacancy. It has a massive part of my heart inside – & it’s why my heart is broken, because the youthful dreams, present purpose & possibilities will sink with the body as it gets lowered into the past. The weight became too heavy & I need to get stronger, or better help. I’m so sorry it didn’t work out, I really did try.

I’ve enjoyed bringing YOUNGBLOOD to life & sharing it with others the most. I’ll forever be grateful for the lessons & when I have kids, I’ll tell them my story of starting a beer company. There are no excuses to not trying, because I’ve seen what trying can do. The potential & lessons will come back around. I really did love you & will miss you dearly. I never took it for granted. Thank you for the lessons, in business, dreams & finding out who’s on my side.

I’ll really miss having you around, but mostly I’ll miss how you let me think about the world.

YOUNGBLOOD BEER. 2018-2024.

December 27, 2024 | Categories: Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Growing Pains

Even if it still happens from time to time, it’s true you don’t realise when moments ‘end’. When the ‘always’ is replaced by ‘sometimes’ – soon to be ‘never’. We have so many in life. The tiny deaths of who we used to be. The moments of youth that end without goodbye. The last drunken kiss, the last uni class, the first serious job. Like with ideas, or details, they fade with time & can expire (ideas definitely do).

The youthful writer who exists within grows up. It’s a loss without grief we disguise as ‘growing up’, because the grown up has bills now. The deaths of so many interesting ‘when-I-grow-up‘s’ are replaced by regular 30 year olds who work jobs their youthful selves would’ve never chosen. We never mourn the change, the tiny death, because most of the time we’re in the same boat & it’s considered normal to concede. Most of the time.

Growing up, I had grand plans fueled by an energetic youthful romance, constantly searching for stories with love beneath the surface. Drawn to the ‘story‘, feeling like a character, searching the same trails for different results with only possibility ahead. The child playing with shells on the beach, with the boundless possibilities of the ocean right there. Happily in a relationship now, those days feel somewhat foreign – yet the romantic is still here. I don’t romanticise broken relationships, as if they were Shakespearean love tales anymore. The alternate realities used to feel possible, maybe better than what was everyday – but now those options are much less because I’m happy where I am. They sold hope to escape lonely nights or post-fight discomfort.

They don’t tell you that growing up means losing friends. On average the average male will have 3 close friends by 35, compared to 15 at 21. Most people change, & you’re likely to also.

But what if you don’t shift entirely? What if you don’t change that much?

Like 19, at 33 I’m still fundamentally the same person who feverishly avoids the mundane, unoriginal options we can fall into day-to-day. Maybe I’m avoiding ‘growing up‘. I won’t allow more than 3 days to pass before I revolt to something different. New recipes, new music, new something. I need to shock the mind by doing something unfamiliar. It used to culminate in a reaction that was energised to create something interesting, possibly littered with mistakes, drama, texts, sex (when I could get it) & hangovers. Shortly they seemingly disappeared & whilst some of these indulgences remain, they’re likely to continue leaving slowly like a bad hangover. The tiny deaths of the irrational, paving way for a new thought process.

So what happened to the energy when the romance shifted? The motive had to go somewhere, like a new addiction replacing the previous. To keep up with the threshold of ‘interesting’, the risks had to be bigger. Unlike your youth, time isn’t on your side. Responsibilities didn’t weigh as much back then, but when you age, time becomes the obstacle. The beginner at 30 is treated with skepticism, the 21 year old is simply ‘young’. I’m currently in the ‘young enough to start over, old enough to of settled down’ category. Since I have no intention of killing my attention span living online & living solely for the weekends – the challenges had to be tangible & not toying the line of fantasy from youth. Daydreaming costs time & I simply don’t want to waste it.

This path lead me to a beer business (first time I tried the beer was when it was made) & working for myself at 30 (never made that work before)- the ultimate strategy for continuous trial & error. Unpredictable, challenging, risky etc. Especially when nobody takes you seriously. 6 figures to walking dogs to pay rent. I guess I found my story.

We’ve all daydreamed lives not lived. Eye contact from the girl across the dance floor. Winning money from the lottery ticket. Picturing the perfect escape through daydreams of hope.

It’s because ‘hope’ might be the strongest drug of all.

It’s so powerful because we never see the other side of the ‘best case scenario‘. It’s perfectly untouched. We don’t dream of the rejection, the disappointment – that’s usually reserved for reasons we do innaction. With hope, we preserve the idea without breaking it. It remains possible, like Schrödinger’s cat. If you don’t open the box, whatever is inside is presumed both alive & dead. It’s potential, eternally positive, if only if it happened. Maybe it will? Ignorance is bliss, & there’s bliss in indecision. Can’t make a wrong decision if you don’t make one! Can’t stick to a plan if your plan isn’t up to you!

Those who hope could be called dreamers, yet those who live in hope are dreaming. As the lizard king Jim Morrison says – “WAKE UP!”.

They’re called risks, but in hindsight they’re recalled as opportunities – another prevailing lie the dreamer tells themself in perfect hindsight.

The preserved idea of risk without taking it is looked at as positive. Dreamers either lie blissfully unaware forever, or the hands of time rudely pull the sheets away suddenly & it causes a deep disruption – where you realise time has past (& so has your prime). Most mid-life crisis’ are built by regret & a scramble for the youthful energy.

“When you’re young, you have ideas & no money. When you’re old, you have money but no ideas”. (Shoutout to How-To-Make-It-In-America fans).

The energy shifted when my age started with ‘3’. The new search for romance was called work, still fueled by the undercurrent of love. I was determined to find the love within, purely because I hadn’t ever envisioned my life as it was going before that. I always told myself I wanted to do that path & the timing lined up to finally become who I said I was. I never wanted to be boring. I wasn’t making any stories, & if I did, it lived in escapism (drunken weekends, holidays etc). I was simply an extra in the scene – & I always thought me & mine would live like Vinnie Chase. Far from the dreams of my youth, the routine was grey & predictable. Searching for saturation, for ikagai, for what the books & movies swear existed happened when you left the comfort zone. The story. We always said we would at least try. To be honest I just wanted to find a way to make things, make enough to live & share it with those I love.

Soon the older (drunken) voice sung about work, not romance. I never predicted I would lose those who helped inspire possibility – but maybe that’s the role they were destined to play. The math says it’s bound to happen. We always think we’re immune but the law of averages prevails.

What they don’t tell you is how lonely it is. 

Some people look at art, others imitate, few create. The modern art paradox of saying “I could do that”, to someone’s work, then doing nothing – but feeling accomplished. The living embodiment of “you are what you do, not what you say you’ll do” (Carl Jung). The burden the canvas bears in public domain is to open yourself up for judgement & watch them hate you for trying. Then you start to hate others for not trying at all. A twisted cycle of isolation. It’s easy to throw stones when you haven’t dared enter vulnerability.

It is true that opinions are only loud amongst crowds – yet nobody is really yelling. Maybe you feel like it’s overwhelming. Maybe someone let you down, tricked you & you’re left to clean up the mess. We put the megaphone to the words & we create the echo. Who gets the blame? The person who sold you a story, or the fool who listened? People can both be nice & an asshole simultaneously.

Those who claim to love the art, don’t love the struggle. Those who only see time as an investment when they’re getting positive reinforcement. It takes guts to stick through the empty exhibitions. Your best customer is someone you don’t know & your biggest hater is someone you do. Freedom from the path = isolation from structure. Most people = structure. With youth you can be the eternal romantic, the short term thinker. Yet it runs out when eternity has a mortgage. You can stacking up the attempts until it starts to make sense. Eventually you’ll escape the bubble of ‘new & exciting‘, become yesterdays news. Then eventually if you stay with it, it turns again. Equity takes time. Reputation takes time. Skills take time. It goes from hard, to normal. The subject, the story & the writer. The next chapter written from the present lesson.  

Hope is a drug, laziness is the overdose.

I’ve always found things out the hard way. I don’t trust easily, but when I do – I’m in. He swings big, he misses big. It took me getting a little older to understand heartbreak lives outside of romance. Losing friends, getting older, being let down by those you trust can be ruthless. I never understood why people don’t do their own thing, but I’ve soon gained clarity on why most people don’t venture too far off the path. I understand now – you avoid the isolation & can live high on hope – it’s easier.

Like a junkie, my failures have come solely from hope. The poison pill you thought would get everyone else but you. Hope that things would be what they used to. Searching the same trails for different results with possibility ahead. Eventually the bubble pops.

The eternal optimist within moves on, as there is belief that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. A light pointing into the dark, hoping to hit a mirror. It’s still there, even after the hope leaves because with time you build proof. The eternal optimist within has the quiet power to whisper a lions roar. 

Free it. Through ideas, through like-souls (mirrors), through the stories of those who have failed then prevailed- feed it. Walk through the night & by morning the path will become clearer. Don’t let the drug of hope claim another overdose. Be who you say you are & it’ll work out.

The Magnum Opus awaits – it’s not time for the greatest hits. Light outlives heartbreak.

“I know it was you Fredo. You broke my heart.”

August 4, 2023 | Categories: Uncategorized | Leave a comment

évtized

The day disappeared when you did. I don’t think I’ve ever been so relieved in grief. How long does it take to live a life?

I get sadder every year you’re not here. I guess I have to try a little harder to keep you alive.

When the dates get further away, I overcompensate more. I yearn technology, but memories fade.

I really hated being Hungarian as a kid- it was so different & nobody acknowledged it. It’s so ridiculous. Now I wear it like a badge.

But most, I miss sitting in the same room. I’m grateful to remember the sounds, hopefully I get to keep them. We cough the same.

As the time grows, so does the burden – gratefully. Time spent, time passed. I would’ve loved sharing a beer with you. I tell myself you would’ve been polite & then told Mum the truth over the phone in Hungarian.

The weight of introductions is something I miss the most. It’s so selfish on my behalf, it just vouched for so much so quickly. I can’t do it justice. It’s hard to own the room in the same way.

I really haven’t felt the same since you left, & I haven’t been able to do you or Momma justice. I don’t hate being Hungarian anymore.

It’s unfair how the card games slowly had less seats. They really were so nice, I can remember their smiles, entering the room to mischief after school. I often try to catch those thoughts. I have dreams of walking into those rooms. I remember Mischi had such an infectious laugh.

When you shared the loneliness of outlasting, I didn’t understand. I still don’t. I can’t imagine how that felt. The last man standing is a hollow burden & a lonely wake. Only the strong survive – almost cruel in age.

They always said we looked alike, more as I got older. Dad said I had your ears when I was born.

When you die twice, it happens when you leave, and the second when someone says your name for the last time.

So Janos Bedi, I really miss you. Thank you for being my grandfather, so much so, that it hurts thinking about you.

emlek.

July 21, 2023 | Categories: Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Account-ability

So much of this journey is predicated by money.

The number beside the name, or that on your paycheck. How much you can consume in the world.

Cliche as the saying – ‘it’s just the way it is‘.

What is the cost of opportunity? Is it more expensive than money? It’s cheap if you have spare hours, but costly for the time-poor. Freedom in time comes from money.

The stresses of validation hide behind titles on LinkedIn. The business has more equity than the individual, so we clamour onboard. The business values, above those building it. The ship sailed, you’re either onboard or watching it from the shore.

What’s more important, the flower or the soil that grew it?

Drinking water or getting wet? Medium rare or burnt out?

The worth you bring, in exchange for a token with systemic value. A job that gives you said tokens, in exchange for your mind, time & ideas. Accruing annual escapes in pockets.

The broke man doesn’t drive the BMW, or does he? Does the debt count, or do we buy the surface? What about the asset worth nothing until it’s sold? Like stocks – they’re worthless unless you sell right? So they’re worth nothing unless you exchange it to someone else.

The linear between money & value is a broken concept – it’s entirely synthetic to appear like worth. It can be faked & we often buy it.

So where perceptions = reality, is money = value? Is freedom from life’s struggles going to cost you 5 days & 40 hours a week?

“Work a job you love & you’ll never work a day in your life” – every motivational sentiment when you leave high school.

What do they say to the 33 year old? Get a job, probably.

The priceless sentimental heirlooms have low dollar value. So the same system disrespects the value of valuables on an individual level? The societal cost is what lies on the insurance form, which costs money to write. Am I losing my mind or finding worth?

We learn individual behaviours to work for our dream jobs. Maths, science, art, physical education. Then we enter a system where someone else decides what days you can take off, & when you’re worthy of a promotion (here’s a hint, it’s usually when someone leaves). The constant influx of retirees, graduates & those in-between.

I’m trying to redefine success, or atleast what my mind often defaults it as. Delayed gratification, with unmitigated risk of ever reaching it. A betting universe, where the dice game is my future & the odds get further out each game. A resume without titles, just experience. The future me holds no value unless the purpose paid off. Jack-of-all-trades, master of fate. It’s confronting to think about, something I try often to run away from.

The wisdom you gain on the journey, doesn’t eventuate unless the product does.

So much is left in the gamble, as the lessons of a fail often counteract the wisdom of the journey. The lessons aren’t taught unless the teacher succeeded. Hard to sell thoughts without the resume, no? Not worth a cent unless it’s sold. Do we buy failures? The isolation of a journey where you’re the stock, not the buyer.

The corporate ladder holds more money on each step, but what’s at the top? The mortgage of all your time, in exchange for a mortgage on a home? Do we buy books of the 9-5 story? Is there more value in titles over substance? The paycheck over purpose? The wisdom or the wage? I honestly don’t know – but it’s valuable to think about. I despise the idea of a boring existence, but the safety is appealing. My canoe is leaky at best.

“Whatever you do in life will be insignificant, but it is very important that you do it” – Gandhi.

You don’t appreciate time until you understand it can be taken away. $100 million for your health? Not a chance. How about the cost to not do what you really want to try? 100k with 2 weeks paid leave get the job done? The game is a trap that gets harder to leave & isolates those who aren’t aligned.

I’ve never been here before, especially as an adult. My funds are low. I got close last year, around the same time. I know I’m privileged & I know I’m better off than so many less fortunate. It’s a motivating factor – as when it comes to resources to help others – I’m scarce outside of time (which I selfishly need right now).

We are products of our environment, which is how my reflection comes through. So many want ‘the best’ for you, where ‘the best’ = safety with slight freedoms. It’s appealing, especially with my quiet account, with low returns compared to the community I keep. It’s been hard to live 3 years off the ship – but I appreciate value differently now. It’s lonely in the leaky canoe, but it goes where I go.

My biggest fear is time, both in wasted, procrastinated or avoided. The accounts are low, yet the accountability is high. Even if the ability of accounts aren’t. ‘DIY or die’ – a mantra.

Look forward & not sideways – another mantra. Beware, it’s difficult, especially to avoid challenges presented by a superficial system.

It’s not worth losing your head over. Self awareness is here, the gratification is late.

The most common deathbed regrets are a combination of ‘not living as your true self‘ & ‘not spending enough time with your loved ones‘. If money buys freedom, why not freedom from these regrets? I don’t want to end up here & I hope you don’t either.

So what remains to address? The most important reality is the perception, albeit internally, we have of ourselves. Regardless of what you present publicly – (as a broke man who once drove a BMW). You might be the only one that knows, but you’re aware of the facade. The attitude mirrors the body possessing it. Insecurities lie when the presentation hides truth. When you’re insecure, you assume everyone is a liar. The compliments feel hollow, as you don’t believe them to be truth. Find a space that feels like home & own it.

I hope you’re on the path you yearned when time was rich & I hope you find peace in the journey, even in pockets. I’m figuring it out as I go.

Your purpose has no value unless you lose it. Then it’s worth everything. It’s value lies in the sentiments your future self will enjoy, so look after it & thank yourself later. The only way out is through. Be who you say you are, not what you say you are.

C.f

March 8, 2023 | Categories: Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Larry Bird, Scottie Pippen

33 today, yet I still feel young. I don’t feel any different to 25 – just in the perception those hold of me. Time served on earth = expectation. Like the naive 18 year old, thinking 30 is old. Blink & the clock hands seem to skip forward at light speed. I still feel the same.

Age is a number that carries restrictions. Placed merely on our shells, the clock progresses another hour but the battery hasn’t changed. The source of how we measure time doesn’t change – it ticks seemingly infinite. It’s where the movement comes from – without it, we lie still. The construct of expectation is linear with time. Success, or success relative to your age isn’t real.

It’s impossible to avoid, especially as each year passes & we look sideways instead of forward. It’s enforced by standards of which I choose not to accept.

Fact is, I’m 33. The whispers roar ever louder on this day.

The future ahead is promising, just like at 25, just like at 21 – just less naive & more challenging. The battery hasn’t changed. It’s funny how we count the hours, not the hours inside the battery behind it. Time is valuable, a resource & a story. It heals, it takes & it is infinitely going to continue regardless of if you do. Charge the battery – that’s what navigates the shell.

I’m grateful for another year, grateful for this pit I’ve fallen in to. Grateful for the challenge that lies ahead to get back in control. Leap into the void & get your purpose checked. The goals stay above, the only way out is through & the only motion is forward.

I hope you have a great year, challenge yourself, find hunger & stay true to the path that remains above you. It’s guiding you in a way that reflects the purpose of your journey outwards to the world. Trust it & don’t stray for long – you might not find your way back. The battery hasn’t changed. 

“who’s coming in second?”

C.f

January 26, 2023 | Categories: Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Hail Moments

The days in the car, contemplating if it’s worth it – it is. I came up with the email subject- Hail Mary – the longest shot with disproportionate outcomes. That’s me, man. Lottery tickets. Hope. You gotta try.

I really don’t like working for other people. Not for the usual reasons. I naively think I can do it better, or I just don’t care as much as you do – there’s no in-between. Not very pragmatic. I’m under my own spell.

The ethos I’ve had since 2020 is persistence & consistence.

I haven’t shared the results out loud much anymore, but it’s a governing arch that hangs above my head, guiding me when I question my purpose. Why? Because it’ll pan out. Huh? trust me.

My gut speaks fluently in purpose.

You’re doing it because it’s what grows you, dummy. Leave the nest. You hate yourself when you don’t try & you respect trying & failing more than not trying. It’s not rocket science.

I’ve never been so certain of myself & lost within my friends.

The era is defined by kids – a beautiful list of new beings that will clear out our accomplishments with their own – the seeds that grow. The milestones live by talking – something that we don’t even effectively accomplish as adults. Don’t mistake my selfishness for a lack of enthusiasm, I haven’t lost track of my own goals compared to a tiny human. I wasn’t raised within a house of praise, so on my own quest I’m building a foundation. I refuse to pass on the expectation.

Selfishly, I’ll focus on me. It seems so shallow to even discuss, but its my truth. I want kids, & they’ll be my world – I have so much love to give – I’m just aware of how much that love will cripple me. I haven’t finished setting up the landscape for my own blueprint yet. Society dictates Father Time, and I’m not immune – I look forward to that day when it comes.

For now, on the cusp of a great win, take a breath. No celebration. Get back to work. The milestones have shifted with the energy.

I’ll call my parents & share the news – salut.

The pursuit continues.

“fuck outside opinion & fear” – Jeff Buckley

C.f

May 20, 2022 | Categories: Uncategorized | Leave a comment

No (e)Quit(y)

The thought entered, and as I felt the words in order, I knew the answer. Is it worth it?

Maybe the lessons alone are enough to justify it all. I’ve made some mistakes & learnt naively that if you expect grandeur, they’re usually delusions (to start). If it was easy everybody would do it, huh.  

My ego is gone, man. Business wise, it’s vanished. Not confidence, but ego. The thing that makes you believe your talent alone can win any fight. It doesn’t.

Grinding to gatekeepers, who quarantine my brand from opportunity without the utmost semblance of returned respect. No facts, no logic, just opinions. In this twisted system you will create something and have to beg for the chance merely to show it. Some people won’t even give you 2 minutes when it took you forty five just to get there. It’s pretty wild, and often infuriating- but it’s something you need to learn. No words will justify it to those with ego, because most people don’t know until it happens. Being younger I would’ve thought “nah, not me. I’d get that sale”. Lesson, meet learner. Despite all this, I still know I’ll get them, but the process to do so will consume me long after the rejection has actually happened. It will take resilience, when once it would’ve been burned like a bridge my ego was trapped on. Strategy, options, planning – it’ll get you the revenge win, but you won’t get to rub it in, you’ll just wear the work it took like pasta sauce on a white tee – not pretty, but everybody knows you’ve eaten.

Experience is truly something you can’t buy, like respect. They’re hand in hand. Just like persistence & consistence – they equal the other, with time. Experience becomes equity, if it’s learned. Perspective is just how you know, it reveals value, simply because it happened and you did it. You’ll realise the people who tried to take advantage of you when you knew less, but only after. Maybe you didn’t double check something the first time, out of trust. Won’t do that again, will you dummy? Your dream might just be someone else’s invoice. On the flip side it’ll show those who gave great advice from the beginning, when it’s proven through time to be true. They cared. You’ll learn by blindly beginning. Novice experience will be preyed upon by those who aren’t as secure, watch for the wolves in sheep’s clothing.

I had dinner with a friend recently who asked me if it was ‘killing me‘. More so, my soul. 3 and a half years in. Wasn’t expecting the question, but my answer was no. I just didn’t expect it to be so difficult.

Would you still of done it had you known at the beginning it would be this hard?

I can see that fool now- with a smug confidence that still lives somewhere inside. That motherfucker still thinks he could make the NBA. I’m built like that, somewhat irrational. The question is rather, what would you do differently? The true value is in using those answers.

On the eve of the biggest risk for my business, can I do this? If I tell you, it’s yes. It’ll be showing you that’s more difficult. Let’s see how delusional I really am, as the only way to really know, is to know. It takes time to build buildings. Equity isn’t attained by quitting. He swings big, he misses big. Get off the track when the train’s comin’.

“Empty your cup so that it may be filled; become devoid to gain totality.”

– Bruce Lee

C.f

April 5, 2022 | Categories: Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Are you listening?

When you’re born, the number of people older than you never grows. 

We’re born into a system that updates as we age, phasing out the old & bringing in the new. The older generation above us are exactly the same with us, as we are with those younger. It’s a closed loop. 

Earlier this year a younger friend, that I’d had many conversations with about ideas (mostly his & his own grand visions) told me he was watching me with envy. He was holding me accountable in a unique way- as influence. I was so grateful, because what a blessing it is to share our own experiences, even in my small tally- that could inspire someone else to do something themselves. Change the trajectory, open up their mind to new thoughts. The younger generation are the future & to influence a thought process in the way I used to speak with my best friends at his age- what an outlet. I cherish it & I’m grateful he listens to my confused narration of what I think life should be. I always liked hearing how eager he was in finding his purpose- not some bullshit job to make money by falling into the system of debts & burdens. But this really fed my own purpose tenfold just talking to him.

I could see advice was lived, not hypothetical. That’s new. 

He bought books & suggested some back. He changed his actions & had started planning an escape into his own idea. I can’t stress enough how fucking good it felt to offer something other than enthusiasm, a nod, or an ear for a change- a conversation with weight. 

This whole ordeal really opened my eyes to the next generation, atleast the ones that speak & live with ambition.

But in reality, there’s another side, & I’m just as hyped on that.

I’m ready. 

I like the competition.

These young hungry cats have to climb the ladder; just like I did. They’ll earn stripes & achieve.

They want the scalps, targets, goals & accounts that we currently have. Whatever KPI metric holds weight – they’re aiming for it.

Maybe it’s to get six figures. Or be the boss of someone. Maybe it’s to steal your idea & expose it to more eyes. Maybe it’s to get an account. Maybe it’s simply to get on the radar with a boss. They’ll go the extra mile out of gratefulness for opportunity, just like we did before most got complacent. But you know what?

They gotta fucking beat me at it. 

You gotta outwork me. 

I’m a believer in keeping things individual, as “your race, is your race” & we run in different tracks, not against each other (all the time). There is a lot to go around. But I see it in my industry of work all the time. There is an abundance of talented individuals who are fucking good & they’ll overtake you- either by network or through perseverance. 

I see them in field, I hear about them through friends & I see the work accumulating online. Just as I’m chasing the guys in front of me, I’m being chased. And you know I’m not trying to make myself an easy target. I want to win, more than anything. 

There are days I sit in my car filled with dread & this is what I think about. 

Nobody is paying me to do this, I got here from an idea that was created by me & some friends. You cannot care the same as I do, because this has my fingers on it. My reputation. My money, time & energy. This is my purpose, right now.

This shit isn’t easy- so a lot of people will quit or stray to the easier path. The one commonly followed. The ones who persevere are the winners.  

I’m coming for your neck because I know eventually there will be a time that someone will overtake me too. It’ll happen to us all. They say father time is undefeated when it comes to sports. Kill or be killed. Aim up.

So with this blessing of observation, I’m so grateful. We are the company we keep, & the environment we surround ourselves with. Better make it good, huh? What’s more important, the flower or the soil that grows it?

I miss those moments with my friends, because they don’t last. We are naive in the present & nostalgic when it passes. The wild thinkers of their 20’s often tame by 30. I’ve seen it. Soak it in whilst the influence lasts & allow yourself to mourn potential lost- it’s normal to feel that way. But if you don’t burn out, blow up.

There is no ego. There is no agenda. There is only purpose & passion, everything else is a perk. 2021, you’ve been a bit- but it allowed myself to grow & expose myself to the deep end for the first time. The safety net was gone in 2020, and the swimming began in 2021. I hope 2022 is the deep end, because I’m building a boat.

Hello my purpose, I feel you, I see you & I’m pursuing you with everything. I’m coming for your fucking neck. Another lap starts tomorrow. 

C.f

December 31, 2021 | Categories: Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Lucid Screams

When did you stop believing the world was ours? When did you grow up & stop believing?

“Growing up” didn’t mean this.

At least what it turned out to be.

You’ll lose friends.

I wouldn’t of believed you, merely years ago. I would’ve called you a fucking liar –

“that’s my brother“.

me, 5 years ago.

Forgive the confusion, I haven’t been here before (without the company). They left, physically after the mental. My right hand, is my own. Looking around brings the isolation to louder terrain. Isolation is always louder when you overthink, huh?

What part of the imagination has broken? What changed? Unfortunately, the people who wore weight in reality- they left. Lucid; they felt real. Who would’ve thought.

Watch what people say, not what they do – I hate how accurate that is. Don’t be fooled by delusion, OR what you wish to be true. The photos & moments last, but the sentiment is glitter. It hangs around, just not substantial – more annoying.

I never wanted to be here alone, but here I am.

I’ve long deleted many posts on this site, as I grieved for a long time & spoke to third parties that asked me to accept the independence. The advice is always to ‘grieve’ or confront. Bullshit – shit made it worse. I didn’t want to accept ditching the plan we always believed, because I still believed it. I allowed the excuses to creep – I made excuses for them too. Convincing myself – I was the bearer of bad news & the messenger. Once a witness, now a listener.

They don’t tell you, that you’re just lying to your younger self.

I’m not getting any younger, & It’s been a hard two years, but:

It’s going well when we aren’t competing with things we never saw coming.

To my younger self: Hang in, I promise we’re getting there.

You’re growing.

C.f

November 19, 2021 | Categories: Uncategorized | Leave a comment

My Sweetheart, The Drunk.

Escapism at its happiest hour. Part imposter, part narcissist – poured into glasses that romanticise everything.

The Chapel Street Kerouac – without the books (he wishes).

Why does he do this? The lack of routine is certainly a factor. Being your own boss is liberation without reward & motivation comes equally from desire as it does necessity.

So where does indulgence come from? It quenches a thirst that begins within the ideal lucid dream & awakens in self loathing. What a cycle – what a lob-sided trade! – 10 hours of ignorance in exchange for the next 4 days of your mental wellbeing.

I’ve lost days to my ignorance, always have. I’ve unfortunately been here before many times. Functioning, fuelled by escapism on behalf of my realism, I delve into a liquified mind to achieve my kicks when I can rationalise doing it. Undoing that is half the battle, but I’ve done that before, too.

See you on the other side.

A kiss on the forehead for your hangover.

C.f

February 23, 2021 | Categories: Uncategorized | Leave a comment

The Youniverse

I’m searching for another independent thought. An independent voice to speak back to me. Not something that waits, or plans with no regard for action.

Show me, don’t tell me.

I have this overarching guide that sits above my head. I don’t know exactly how to explain it, but it’s always there, and it shouts when I work. It’s always governed my thoughts, and when mixed with intuition, it let’s my whole being know when I’m close, and guides me in that direction. It’s a map to somewhere you’ve never been, or heard of, but you know when you get there. Only found with process, not plans. Starting out of focus, then slowly getting clearer before click.

My creative process is destruction. I start with something, and then I break it with ‘me’, and my desire for what I want it to feel like. It really makes no sense, and I’m sure everyone has that internal ‘focus’, hanging above them at all times like the sky. How the fuck do you know when to stop? How do you capture a feeling of ‘done‘? Which part to leave in, and which part to delete? There isn’t logic, and two people could start identical and finish miles apart. Jackson Pollock said “How do you know when you’ve finished making love?” In reply to someone asking him when he knew he was finished with a painting – probably the closest, or if you simplify it, it’s when you just know. Your body, mind, surroundings, universe whatever you believe in, all align. That’s the guide above you, and it’s driven to find things that you like. Maybe the feeling it gives you. Mine is strong, and until recently, I struggled to find it internally through my own design. I needed help.

So with that, I feel like I’m indebted to the world. I belong to the process of many other people who were able to teach me aspects, or images, or feelings.

Not because I’m superior, or in any way above anyone else (I’m not, neither are you). But because I’m here, and I can do things. Why wouldn’t I do that? I’ve loved what has come into my path simply by ‘trying’. The mixture of idea, vision, and then finally with time, the skill to accomplish it. I wouldn’t be feeling like this, if I didn’t know what not feeling like this was like. It’s a unique gift that comes when you invest time. I’m nowhere near where I will be, but for now I’m learning the the universal language of creating and using it to learn more from amazing people who speak it fluently. I’m starting to hold a conversation.

So, as I search to understand more worlds in the universe of creation, my thirst for where my mind goes to drink is almost unquenchable. Being able to finally make my ideas the way they look, and getting the satisfaction that comes with that (momentarily at least) has been a grateful revelation. I have to thank many great minds, the internet and at this moment, time in solitude, for helping me get here. I’m enjoying piling up the pieces and sharing – for nobody else, but because I want to, and I like it, and I made it, myself.

Put it out to the universe and you’ll find me doing the same, I’ll meet you there.

C.f 

 

May 6, 2020 | Categories: Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Dead-ication

These past few months were rough. Capsizing in a boat in torrential downpour, amongst wind that shifts the objects not fixed to the ground or heavy enough to lay inanimate on shore. How did I get here?

I just turned 30, and I began writing this the night before. I was pouring myself into words, a culmination of the storm striking chaotically through my thoughts. I had a panic attack, and then became consumed by it’s lingering repeated threat for months after. The mind is so powerful, and mine let me know that I was ignoring the whispers and decided to yell. It took my conviction and turned it into questions. Mentally, it was all about weathering the storm to hopefully get back to who I was accustomed to being, with no regard for what the future would look like until it was resolved.

You don’t plan for a future when each day is a battle.

Chaotic, a little emotional, confusing. I digress, it was the easiest way to start. I often spotlight my flaws and failures, but on the cusp of a new decade, the approach became the steps I took to get better, hoping that I don’t need to return here to find out again.

I never really thought much further ahead than 30. I see kids, and other images, but not on the timeline, as they aren’t targets, but assumptions. It always concerned me that I didn’t think too far ahead. I felt ominous, but it’s probably because I idolise so many tragic tales who I’ve already passed in age. I don’t really feel 30, but that all depends on what 30 feels like, which is different for everyone, obviously. The expectations change on the audience. Young kids think you’re old. Old people tell you they’d kill to be 30 again. Context, and perspective, ultimately a sign not to be too influenced by your audience as it’s always changing.

Breaking down the number 9 is the last step for turning 30. It’s the last single digit, so when you see this number it often represents a cusp. The clock is about to tick over and start at the numerical base again. Makes you think of a list of items and goals as a theoretical and emotional deadline approaches. Who enforces this? Is it yourself? There is no answer, maybe it’s just easier to say time is the decider. The most valuable currency, after all (before energy and money – of course.)

29 taught me resilience, as I needed to grasp weakness and stare it in the eye. I cried for the first time in 5 years. I received lot’s of different advice, and most was cut from the same cloth:

“You don’t get rid of it, you just deal with it”.

Anyone who knows my personality, knows that isn’t my approach to anything. Build the wall and I’m going to run through it. Except, that headspace wasn’t there, and if it was, I couldn’t reach it. My mind was a shaken watered down version who found belief in these statements. What? Forever? Like this? Please no. 

How can I be so different to how I had known myself forever; where was my madness of conviction? That false sense of security that felt real, now seemed like a lucid dream. Something that I yearned to return in reality.

There was a lot going on in a short timeline, and I guess I was looking in a crowd for a resolution. I couldn’t identify it, so it felt more overwhelming – anxiety. I lost some close confidants near me, some who I held dearly and wanted to help – pain. My motivation dropped when I wasn’t around people who had ambition. I said it to an ex once:

“hang around with shit people, you become one.“

Mediocrity was tapping me on the shoulder, as was it’s close friend, complacency. The safety became appealing. My creative drive seemed to vanish overnight, and it took all my future thoughts. My notes of old lost the context. Days were a blur of nothingness, frustration, resentment. How do I find myself, where did he go? It wasn’t like I wasn’t looking, but my impatience ate me like an apple. I couldn’t stand to wait, so I didn’t know where to start. Truth be told, there is a way to get rid of it, but it’s not a defined path. It’s long and winding, however it’s worth it.

So, to find the old me, I had to take care of the present self first.

The mind is powerful, it creates the blocks that stop you, which is the ultimate pain of entrapment. Falling into the middle of the ocean at night, without any direction where land lays.

Instinct is often the first choice, so follow it. It’s your outer layer that surrounds your body, it’s fighting for you, not against. Once it leads you and you discover that you can trust it, the ability to break down blocks returns. The land will appear, and the fear of drowning starts to recede, slowly, slowly, slowly. 

My typical approach of aggression wasn’t the way, and neither was alcohol. They’d worked for awhile, but as wisdom grows in time, so should patience. Lay still, lean back into the water and listen to your heartbeat. Now breathe. Emotions last 20 seconds, and we amplify them, or we let them pass. Choose the ones to let pass methodically. Hear them, feel them, and release them. Light rain, no thunderstorms.

I was the one who built the wall, nobody else. Of course it’s going to be more difficult. That’s the thought process. But, if you built it, you can go through it. Your mental hands can only create using the bricks that exist inside, so what made them, was made by you. Acknowledge them, and break them. One by one. There’s a fine line between breaking it down, and having a break down. Don’t forget.

As much as you can weather the storm, you are the storm.

C.f

 

February 8, 2020 | Categories: Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Grow

When you start something, you usually find this superficial pride in merely talking about it.

It’s ironic, as most who talk, rarely act. The mere act of talking about it satisfies the brain to believe the rest will fall into place. It’s a false sense of gratification. Yet, if you were looking for feedback, would you take food to the table when the people you’re asking to judge you aren’t eating? They can criticise, but they have nothing to lose. They’re immune to the loss, yet benefit the win. Don’t be fooled.

They can be convincing too. Like a cut through cloth, they find it easy to break down those who have made things real that didn’t exist before. Originality is often shunned when there is no comparison. Usually the comparison is close, but not that close. Top level won’t find it, but if you dug a little deeper, you’d find it.

It isn’t perfect, but it is real. I like it, and it fit the mould I built, as if scratching an itch that only I felt. Others too, but it sounds better that way. There was no other motivation, it wasn’t fuelled by money, or status, or anything else. That shit means nothing if the your mission has no substance. You’ll be discarded from your industry and that’ll be it. Decision makers don’t buy hype, they buy stories, experiences and people.

That isn’t particularly a shot at anyone, but more of a reminder to myself on how much is still to be done. Don’t judge yourself to harsh, don’t be fooled, just work. The highs & the lows, they can’t be controlled, but the work can, so keep going, man.

This world we live in, is filled with fake praise. Fake honesty. Fake everything, as we yearn for the approval from others who stand on insignificance, based on a following of lifestyles that don’t exist, and lose focus on what actually feeds oneself. Wages that feed mediocrity. What if I told you, that ideas cost money? Things you suggest, cost time. Most would shudder doing the work. That’s cool, because weakness exists in leaving ideas to waste. Recognition follows those who invest, even in bad ideas. The learnings grow the brain like roots. They penetrate the ground and begin the flow.

When you choose your meal, nobody else really cares what you’re eating, but they will if they’re comparing it to what they’re eating. That’s as close as I can get to hitting it on the head.

Anyway, it’s cool, and it’s brutal, and that’s at the same damn time. Things that can ruin a morning, fuel the afternoon. Podcasts have replaced 90’s hip hop. Lunch breaks are filled with to-do lists. At first I loved the independence, now I hate it. There’s nobody else to blame. Liberation exists in that though, as controlling the choices is what motivated me to start.

Who am I kidding? I love it.

Keep going man, keep going.

C.f

 

April 27, 2019 | Categories: Uncategorized | Comments Off on Grow

Any-Me’s

Your biggest enemy is typically any version of yourself that doesn’t feel good.

Maybe it’s all the energy you invest, time wasted, critical analysis, to figure out what other people are doing and using it as a tool to bring yourself down by comparison.

Maybe it’s that you just don’t understand what your purpose is, and feel that what you’re doing isn’t meaningful enough yet.

The measuring stick always changes. We hold ourselves to a high standard for what we believe we’re capable of. If you think you’re capable of more, and you receive praise for below it, you’ll feel shallow. Our ego’s are usually tied to effort and ability, but we solemly use the latter to the fullest.

I used to feel it all the time from my parents. My creative endeavours weren’t understood, but a 9-5 was pride in their eyes. Different generations have different focuses.

What I really want to touch on, is probably a greater personal breakdown than the inner enemy inside us all (of comparison or complacency), but rather loss.

Loss is commonly the feeling of missing out, or grief, or maybe that hollow feeling you have when you crave something that isn’t in reach. Maybe it’s rejection? Theres so many unique ways it can find you.

If i’m being honest, I feel it the most when I think of my family. It makes me angry, and a little lost. It keeps me constantly repeating the same memories over and over, until I’m sure I got them right, or close enough to when it happened. Forcing myself to find the details by concentrating on whatever cues I can find. I focus the most on sound. I can close my eyes on any plane and hear my grandfather cough. I feel a pain in my chest so deep that I cannot put into words. That nobody can see me properly without first seeing him.

If I’m being more broad, I really feel it more as technology evolves, as the desensitising of our everyday communications. Our responses are so plain to 95% of interactions anyway, but I see it happening more and it hits the same nerve as loss.

“Hey, how are you?”

-“Good thanks, you?”

The conversation usually begins & ends the same, and even if you aren’t feeling ‘good’, you reply it because that’s whats normal & easy. I’ve become more and more aware of stuff like this lately. I guess I’m looking for meaning in things that I didn’t care about before. I have a feeling of loss from the deep minds I’ve encountered before in real life. Not just the authors of my favourite books, or messages in film, but day-to-day in person moments. Lately I find most people too consumed in their own tedious tasks that they only skim the surface when talking to someone else. I’m a passenger on their conversation, I’m never in it. It’s fluff.

Where did this really fall off?

Maybe it’s my reluctance for alcohol and nights out? That plays a part.

Alcohol got the best of me for awhile and I found out that you can in fact be broken and function simultaneously. However, I persevere that it exists sober.

This feeling of loss makes me crave it like an addict from a variety of angles.

Work, home, in strangers and in ideas.

I’ve often found it in books, paintings and photographs, but that isn’t something I’ve been as drawn too lately. I want to take a step even further away from that. Before the work, and find where people were at before any steps were taken. When ideas were feelings. Or scars.

There was the idea, or intuition, that existed before the product. Let’s meet before it all.

Before the photo, someone was looking through the lens. Before the painting, the canvas was empty. Blank pages of a published book. How do I get to right before then? It has to mean something if it’s strong enough to form the final. I feel it all the time. You get where I’m going.

What is that person thinking about then? What motivates you? Not a pay cheque, or your colleagues, but the inner fibres of pure creative ideation.

That’s the conversations I’m searching for, before the outcome. Not just the finished work. So many people can talk about things, and can ideate from others, but what ever happened to the conversations of passion that were sparked outside of employment. Not strategy, but pure blissful unedited freedom that hit a nerve within someone else? It’s so fucking rare, man.

So as I search for depth, I’ve created a method to co-exist with a mantra of mine:

‘time spent waiting, is time wasted‘

It’s essentially this, which can be applied to more things. I believe in consequence of action, and non action. Such as, waiting, in both a positive and negative sense. An example would be if you have an idea you think is good, and don’t act, you’re simply waiting for someone else to beat you.

That fear should stimulate you, rather than your own personal fear of loss. Reality and history has shown, if it’s any good, someone else will do it. They’ll get to it before you.

If you’re not going to try, wait and see. If you relate to that for an idea in your mind right now, that should make you feel unsettled.

If that’s the formula for ideas, how do I extend this into other ways to find depth? They say patience is a virtue, but I’m impatient. My sense or urgency exists for no reason.

Ideas turn into work. Strangers become familiar. Passion becomes projects.

The only constant is change.

So as my mind searches for depth and meaning in normal tasks, I revolt when I don’t find it. I feel lost, and feel the loss of time in bad ideas.

I hope that doesn’t sound cocky.

I find that so much time in life, or what everyone tells you is ‘normal’, is just listening to other peoples problems about stuff that is completely in their control. I’m not full of great ideas, or interesting topics, but I don’t hold anybody else accountable for what I desire. If you don’t listen to me, I guess I’m boring to you, but I feel so often that I listen to others discuss their issues when to me, the answer seems simple. Just fucking do it.

I guess I’m looking for other deep humans, who don’t identify with social constructs, and other tedious excuses. I don’t think I can paint how many pictures changed after someone decided to save or buy a house. The way I see it, someone else will live in that house after you die. If you want substance, leave something behind that isn’t going to stop the rest of your ideas from being able to grow.

I’m looking for other people who agree with me, so I don’t feel alone with my thought.

I feel the loss, of something that I’ve felt before in others that I don’t feel anymore. I feel sad for those who lose it. I guess time makes most people less ‘dreamers’, and more serious. More conscious of society. More strategic in the boardgames of life. I think the only thing that will get me there is my seed, but I look forward to that when it happens.

So my loss is not only yours, but mine. I miss the deep souls who’ve turned shallow. I’m sick of listening to everyones work problems. I’ll listen. Deep down, I’m stewing. I’m looking for my escape. I want to have conversations that make me feel or inspire. I want to talk about things that matter.

So after work tonight, I put myself in an environment of young interns. I had a few drinks, and spoke freely.

I pushed them to thought by asking them deep questions that I had no idea would lead to. Not from a sense of hierarchy, but purely because when you’re 21 and speak, you genuinely believe it. They started sentences and somehow finished these huge dreamy sentences.  I loved seeing the complete conviction. It’s before ‘reality’ bites I guess.

It’s this beauty that exists in people who haven’t been written off into a corporate grid. At 21 you genuinely feel capable of anything, like a job, or an experience, or a goal, regardless of what anyone else has told you. When you find out for yourself later through experience, it is tarnished, and eventually vanishes in most when they take more humble steps to progressing through life. It’s this crazy thing that disappears so quickly. When do we start accepting normal? Or boring??

At one point we think we can just stumble into where we think we should be, and the next we start talking about climbing the corporate ladder, pending on our boss recognising us, and others who are older opening roles for us to move in to. At 29 most people start facing the sense of reality they deem to be normal based on their peers in society.

To be honest, I don’t think I ever lost it. I have this sense of security for my imagination, that it defeats reality when I’m forced to fight internally. I still dream, constantly. Maybe too much. I write them down, and pending my mood when I read it back, sometimes I feel so cliche. Like, how lame are you? And other times it hypes me up. It’s like music, context of environment is the same. It gets you differently. But as I said earlier, listening to the message and writing the message is so different; writing is believing. Listening is accepting.

When I turned 29, I remember weighing it up.

‘I don’t feel 29 though…’

It’s because 29 is supposed to feel so grown up and different, or allude to others that you are because of the number. I have all the tools to play that card, but I really don’t care or feel it, so it’s not really organic & authentic. I still search for things, and feel depth in scenarios, I just don’t experience them as frequently. I guess that’s why I feel a bit of loss.

Like a junky slowly dropping dosage of an addictive substance.

The double edged sword exists in my constant state of non-satisfaction. I wish I could find it, but I can’t. It’s probably why I can’t sleep. But it’s also why I want more. I said a few years ago, that realising I could create was the biggest hurdle I every had to face. As soon as I realised I could create, I kept changing my mind and never finishing something properly because I would start something else.

Now my loss is not in starting something and not finishing, but searching for the same symptoms in others and not finding it where I thought it was.

C.f

February 8, 2019 | Categories: Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Insomni-Ache

Have you ever romanticised sleep? Staring at the ceiling, wondering how it’s possible to be this tired, but seemingly stuck awake? How ridiculous, to be so tired, you can’t sleep. Frustration seeps through the cracks in logic. This doesn’t make any sense. My mind is awake but my body is asleep, and it was the opposite during the day.

The birds outside sound the same, no matter what age you are. They never change, even though they aren’t the same. There is so much consistent beauty in this world. We become immune & desensitised when we see it too much. A little nostalgia brings back the real feelings though. Nostalgia of refreshed mornings that taunt in the distance.

It makes me reminisce to waking up on Saturday mornings years ago, ready to do anything. I wonder all the time if I’ll get there again, with that kind of unknown hope of each day potentially filled with a random kind of excitement. No structure.

I mean, if I wanted to, I could.

I’ve pictured myself on boats, planes, trains and buses somewhere in the middle of a foreign country. How did I get here? Steve McQueen said ‘I would rather wake up in the middle of nowhere than any big city in the world‘. I guess I could be homeless. Since I was little I’ve always documented spots I encounter, and mentally plan it as shelter if I was homeless. Instinct, maybe.

So let’s say I was on a bus, in the middle of somewhere, how would I avoid the normalcy of the questions (my girlfriend, where did I get the money, my job, my bills) and avoid the system to see where it takes me without those limitations? That’s the feeling, even if it’s unattainable anymore, that the Saturday mornings created, with 2 parts imagination and no responsibility.

The first tram arrives. It must be close to 6am. Damn, it happened again? Eventually the frustration comes back and I’m further from sleep than I was distant in my fantasy.

The light eventually enters the room from outside, and soon the ‘time to rest‘ window closes, leaving me to enter a new day the same way I finished the last. Sleepless.

Even those who dwell in isolation will idle through the morning hours alone. The mind puts the body in jail. It feels like 2 people having a conversation next to you whilst you eat alone. Whatever they say is going to steer your thoughts, as you’re a captive audience. But why are they here at such a strange hour, eating now? I guess if the restaurant is empty, the voices seem louder.

Precious sleep, you allude me for now. I’ll get take-away, or just away, next time.

C.f

 

 

 

 

November 28, 2018 | Categories: Uncategorized | Leave a comment

My Burning

As I’ve gotten older through many professional roles, I’ve always been told I’m a perfectionist. The detriment to being a perfectionist is time. It takes more time to make something ‘perfect’ (it does exist; in the eye of the beholder). The key to unlocking my capabilities at full potential then lay in finding things, skills or people who can help me save time without loss of quality. An expert who could get inside my head and understand the process and execute. That is key to any vision; process & time for the result.

So why is it so rare? The ability to get inside someone else’s head, without needing hours of structure/teaching & to just simply ‘get it’.

It’s usually so much simpler than that when you’re only at work for a living:

‘I need this done’. ‘Here are your goals’. ‘KPI’s and budgets, hit these targets’.

Most people work as helpers for big organisations, striving a mix of their own strengths into a ladder of common goal. Maybe striving to climb the ladder over time. It’s letting someone or a group dictate your entire life schedule and career. Don’t you think it’s a little crazy that as grown humans we have to ask permission for leave? How is that normal?

So if I was a perfectionist, why put in the extra effort when it costs me time on production? Why watch tutorials and read about problems when it doesn’t need to be fixed? Why are you reaching out to people for help, knowing that it will take so much time to explain the process when it could all be so plain? Warning signs, usually it means you’re channeling what you want to do into the risk-free availabilities you have inside your job. The reward still goes to the common goal, not you. You still need to ask for permission, and like art, not everyone will understand why you’re doing something what could be seen as unnecessary.

It’s why we place such value on people’s work with superior talent. It’s very rarely duplicated in high volumes, as time restricts the effectiveness through age and ticking clocks. If their were 50 James Dean’s all at the same time, he wouldn’t be remembered. Basquiat died at 27, so his body of work died then too. It all comes down to time. What you do in the time you have is what you want to be remembered for, if remembered at all.

I know things need money. But what’s after that?

I would kill to have the money I have now, with the ambitions and romance I had at 21. I felt like I was going to change the world, all while using my old soul to write poetry to the girls I yearned for, or make music, or a skateboard brand, or play basketball somewhere, maybe make music and tour. Heartbreak was coldblooded, and felt like it would never go away.

Over time, all of these things changed.

It happened again and again, that things got simpler as I had the variable of more experience. I made more money. I had goals and took smarter decisions to reach the steps to get them in time. But what does that lead to? To be a cog in life? How can I influence anything if I’m 1 of 100’s of moving pieces inside something. The burning was to move at will, 1 of 1.  I’m 27 and 21 seems so distant in mindset. It’s easy to speak a creative dream but to actually do something is another story. At 21 the world seemed infinite with time. You’ll always have more. Structure places us in cogs of High School, Uni, marriage and homes. But how about we just simplify this instead of what the school system/life steps has taught us:

We learned to talk through failure, and learned to walk by falling down. That is the variable. Yet we get to an institution where failure is now bad. Grades are given for creativity by one person who marks it. I got a HD and a P2 in essentially the same course with 2 different teachers. One stressed fundamentals, the other stressed freedom. It was photography.

We’re dumbed down to fall into a system and it works on the majority of people. Einsteins famous quote about judging a fish by it’s ability to climb a tree – is essentially half the TV programs that numb our minds. MasterChef should be subjective because I fucking hate tuna, but my girlfriend loves it. We would have two different opinions. It’s like reading the newspaper and seeing an article on something you have expertise in. You see the writer has made many errors and you disagree, thinking this person is an idiot. You turn the page, and read an article about something you have no previous experience about, and believe everything it says.

I don’t really care for money. I like the superficial things, but I don’t want to be superficial to get them. Would I rather the safe route, which daily gets more appealing, or the romantic madness that comes with trying something that steals my time in a positive way? Investing in something that will buy me the freedom from regret later in life. The drunk hangover story I tell when I’m feeling fresh. The pain that leads to the story. Where is that anymore? Where is the burn?

I grew up with strong people, with kind hearts and was never handed anything easily. If you knew my mum, there is no such thing as an easy question. My current status inside employment makes my parents beam with pride. It’s satisfying, and easy to forget that I don’t feel challenged or completely passionate about the work. I don’t burn for it.

Now I need to find what will give me that sense of pride, even in small pockets of time I choose to dedicate to it. I don’t want a complacent life, I want to burn for ideas. To use my young blood whilst time classifies me as so. Before I have the responsibility of children to blissfully consume parts of my time. Mark my fucking words, the burn of competition that fuels me to do things better than par for no reason will work in anything I choose to invest in to, and only in the past 2 months have I become so very aware of how much time exists in each day, by moving to a new city. We are consumed with conventional nothingness for hours everyday. So turn your damn phone off and do something, those games are day-eating-beings. Buy whatever gadget or pay whatever person who will help you save time to achieve something you like because the feeling will in fact fade and go away if you don’t act, and complacency will get you. Words are pretty but action isn’t. I’ll leave you with this.

Remember in school, when the teacher would ask the class a question, and immediately you thought the answer and said nothing, only to see another student eventually say the same thing and get the kudos for being right. That is happening right now, except the other student is your time, and fear of failure is slowly turning you complacent.

Watch out for the coffins with scratched ceilings.

C.f

 

 

December 22, 2017 | Categories: Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Boredone

As I began to pack up my necessary clothing items on the night before moving, it probably hit the most.

Man, change can be scary.

I like where I live, my friends, my comfort zone. It’s something that is difficult to alter, without force. So what was forcing me?

Potential, or more specifically; wasting it.

I speak to a variety of creative individuals in different places, both professionally & locationally, and surround myself with great people with ambitions at home. But what separates those who talk and those who do? Potential exists in both. The rat race of life can sink you faster than anything, it’s slow day to day but routines are formed in months and years. Restraints that shouldn’t exist anymore, such as the commodity of needing to buy a house after securing a job, ‘settling down’ with someone leads to marriage and kids (and you better buy a house). All these things can get you, and grab you easier when you’re in your comfort zone. The pressure to do the attainable is far heavier than the idea to do something more. These things should and will always be reachable when the rest of your life has a groove & timing is right. This is necessity for change, when you reach here.

Properties will come, and love, and children.

They all have restrictions, either financially, stability of environment and family, but what about before that? It’s time to grow myself, before I grow anything else.

I was so bored at times. I would look at my phone hoping to see or receive something interesting. Work was easy, I was able to work creatively within a restraint of someone else’s approval, and get paid. I was really bored some days, and needed a challenge just to see glimpses of what I was capable of doing. Truth be told, many of these things aren’t necessarily changing drastically, but the environment and people I meet- are. That is everything. I’m not bored driving home because I literally have no idea what exists on any of the streets yet. Even getting a coffee is new. So why did I take so long to put myself here?

I was caught up in work, and hoping it would just happen to me, without the idea that it would. Maybe I’d think & speed forward a few years and all the change was just better and awesome. The idea in my mind eliminated ‘the process’, and just showed results. I didn’t proactively think I would be somewhere else, just wanted to. I never did enough about it. It’s easy to realise you’re wasting potential, not just of yourself, but of what else is out there, and I’m barely moving 10 hours down the road. I don’t like to imagine if I did this years ago, where I could be, but instead plan ahead now and enjoy what I’ve been able to thus far. My base is stronger than ever and it’s probably why leaving gets more difficult.

I’ve always had this painful realisation that started when I was about 17. I began trying creative endeavours, and my photography class was so satisfying. I realised I could do anything, and it was rewarding to try and talk about with anyone who would listen, but individually you never complete anything fully because you get distracted by the ability to create something else. Orson Welles said “The enemy of art is the absence of limitations”. Honestly, you can get by with most things without using your full commitment. It’s 90 percent without the extra 10 of ‘no turning back’ or safety net. So I started dabbling in many ideas and never committing to reaching it completely, just visioning how it would happen and feeling like I could, without the risk; researching busy people I admired who did these things. That’s a bored way to live, man.

So if my life was a startup business, my mind was to become the accelerator for reaching my goals, in real time, rather than what I think I’m capable of later. A change of scenery to eliminate one facet of standing still. The extra 10 percent.

Adelaide is home, and I will always love you. This next chapter is Melbourne, and if I grow the way I plan to, it will lead to the next step on the ladder to where my capabilities take me. Knowledge is the only thing you can chase infinitely, but you won’t get far if you look in the same place, so get lost.

C.f

 

November 3, 2017 | Categories: Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Where my Time goes, to Think

“When was the last time you felt like this?”

My mind went deep into my dreams to talk, but I woke up, which ended the conversation before I had time to hear the answer. I walked over to the window and watched outside quietly move behind the glass wall, which kept me inside the 25th floor. A few cars crossed the bridge, it was nearly 4am. The people in their cars, what were they doing? Sometimes I find myself wandering into the car, just to find out where my imagination would reveal ‘why I was driving so late’. Just like my dream, I transported to the car on the bridge, I saw the dashboard and streetlights. I felt the chair. But I soon realised I was in the passenger seat, and wondered why, which snapped me out of the daze.

I touched my phone to see the time, and my chest & face briefly appeared in front of me in the glass, floating above the water on the other side. Why do I feel so full of strange thoughts all the time? I feel like I’m wasting them sometimes. Like, if I figured out a channel to make them useful, I’d feel with more purpose.

I remember when I started this site. It was a communication tool, mostly, and not just to myself. I didn’t want to forget the way things felt at the time, because I knew I wouldn’t always feel like this. Nostalgia traps windows of those feelings, it’s like holding a lobster (they’re biologically immortal) but holding it by it’s back. It can’t grab you, but can try.

I don’t remember the last time I was nervous. It’s not an arrogant comment, but I truly don’t remember being nervous. I get anxiety sometimes, but it’s usually self-inflicted. Maybe I drank too much, maybe the fear caused from a non-decision. I love to be in control of things, it burns me to lose it. But nervous?

A few months ago I was turning right at a set of lights, waiting for the light to change into orange to complete the turn. There was a large 4WD in-front of me, which semi blocked my vision, but I knew I would wait until it was safe to turn. The light changed, the 4WD took off and out of nowhere a red Ford came flying through the red light, splitting between the 4WD & me, forcing me to swerve into the otherside of the intersection to miss it. It was probably going 80km/h and the red light camera flashed. I saw the face of the guy driving, he looked angry. As I completed the turn, the 4WD had pulled over. He must’ve believed a crash was imminent. In the milliseconds, I didn’t think at all. Not one thought popped into my mind. It actually gave me anxiety thinking about it afterward, that I didn’t feel anything, just moved. It’s why the search for capturing how to feel is so important to me, on retrospect it can be even more moving.

I hate the idea that mistakes can be made which can alter trajectory or lives. It creates a sense of urgency whenever I feel the pinch of deadlines, because the control has a timeline, yet it forces you to do something. Shouldn’t that be all the time then? I’m very impatient,  and recently when I was driving behind an older person, I had a thought. Are they driving so slow, because they weren’t ever in a rush anymore? Is being in a rush correlated to age? When does the clock tick over to calm?

As I’ve gotten older, I find it harder to correlate my thoughts into depth. It seems the more brief I can communicate, the more authentic it can be. I once needed 10 words to describe something, now I just need the first.

It makes me feel that most people around me don’t speak ‘real’ in text anymore,  it’s like music. Words are becoming lost in an overly stimulated world, that half of what actually works is only top-line & vague, whilst raw honest thoughts are more likely to be misinterpreted. The guy who writes poems is intense, whilst liking someones photo or syncing on tinder is exciting. The top-line superficial generation are easily fooled by profile pictures, It’s really not that complicated anymore. Only fools don’t know that words mean more.

How can I possibly write in such a way that is read the way it was written? Take the a-cappella off the drums, and tell me does it make you feel the same? No. How do you write something that has beat? It’s hard. I want to reach you with written words, because I can be the most vulnerable here. To be honest, I don’t really care, as I can speak the language of the shallow; I just enjoy the depth when I swim further out.

It’s why writing is so subjective, and honest. The sad song on the radio can make you relate to something, because it has tone, emotional instruments and if done well, pain comes through the vocals. But to write, to genuinely write and make people feel, seems brutal by itself. It seems more distant to reach people, when the message is dependant on your mind creating the scene, rather than a filter. It’s why there are emoji’s, bitmoji’s, and social media – where ‘romance’ is broadcast. I’ve always felt, the line between romance and cheese is split by a toothpick, and social media is most commonly fake – #nofilter. Romance is about listening and the nervousness of love- not likes.

They say you fall in love hardest the first time, and you spend times searching for the feeling again if you lose it. Searching for the same feeling, but with someone different. Please tell me that isn’t Einsteins theory of insanity? It’s less genuine when you place it like that, which I didn’t mean to, but what is the variable? Put that a-cappella on a different beat and it will sound different. That’s better. Einstein probably had it better when he said –

“No problem can be solved from the same level of consciousness that created it.”

See, I am a romantic, stick with me.

So maybe the 4am reflection was to remind me, that in-front of the phone, I’m alive? Being the passenger shows me that I don’t have control over where that person was driving, which is trust. Being nervous is a good thing, it shows you really, really care and don’t have the control you’re searching for. And the answer to the question in my dream isn’t meant to be known just yet, it’s not that easy.

C.f

 

 

 

 

August 24, 2017 | Categories: Uncategorized | Leave a comment

I’m-Patient

She said I found a way to bring her back together with her soul. It was through music.

The same music that made me yearn for creating, must’ve worked for her too. Maybe our minds just spoke the same language. I always looked at her and wondered if the dark eyes were strange and hungry like I painted her to be. It’s kind’ve funny to think the language that truly connects everyone is silent.

It’s because we assume, play-out or ‘hope’ (during silence) that who we’re looking at is just how or who we think they are. When someone begins to talk, that can fade away. Until then, they’re who we create them to be.

I have many unresolved issues, but I’m extremely impatient, so I push them out with new ideas. It’s like choosing the silent chaotic imagination when it’s loud outside with direction. That outside noise can be a blur of faint sounds, but if you choose to single out the drop of water hitting the drain, (instead of the thousands of peaceful drops around you), it’ll frustrate you awake every single time. But hey, it rains sometimes. The flowers grow and the cloud you float on becomes your ship above the wet floor below, there is peace in that thought process when the sky lights are off.

Before my current role, I wrote creatively, much, much more. I had ideas all the time and documented them like precious drips of gold, scared to lose even the most mediocre idea in-case it was potentially life changing ‘one day in the future‘. I still do this, but I sift through them tightly and let the strong ones spill out when I sip poison and wear gold teeth. It’s how I have confidence to navigate them through other opinions and not get lost in the twists and turns.

I studied black and white photography, which I’ve always felt strongly towards. What existed in these tones were so much more evident without colour. The mood it created, they don’t resemble reality, but they were taken in real life. It translates to my current colour photography, and it’s what I best find to suit my aesthetic. Pastel meets neon. I want to create moods based on how I felt, that don’t exactly exist quite that way. I seem to only search for these when I’m away from comfort. The photo’s become even more of a moment all upon itself, and just like a painting, I’ve planned the way I want it to be remembered, which is different for everybody. My most recent photos had more in this category, as they need to be impossible to lose. I’ve mentioned a Picasso quote before -“everything you imagine is real“.

Do you know, we never even had a photo together? Makes you think, how little public trail can exist for people who have great impact on you. The message wasn’t online, maybe some texts, but it’s importance is invisible because it doesn’t have a trail for anyone to see. It’s silent again. How can you possibly measure the meaning of something without even having a photo to prove it exists? Trying to talk to someone, and bring them flowers, when they can’t smell. It still looks nice.

I find myself asking questions all the time, on how to challenge myself in the available windows I have to create. I get distracted on my phone too much- sometimes I read about anything. Recently it was dead Presidents.

What’s my purpose, my message, what burns through my veins or even is worth trying to bring into my personal reality? It doesn’t matter if I don’t show anyone. I have so many though, so why not. But, how many are smart? How many are rational? How many can wait, or how many are aimed at people who can’t smell?

The answer to all of these is subjective. Who taught me to think this way? Why am I fueled to not do something that pops into my head based on any real reason? Isn’t there a million reasons not to do something? One person might eat breakfast, and the other doesn’t. Who’s really defining what’s right? There are basic rules which are common sense, but what about for creating? The cliché of having no rules actually exists, unless we’ve created them in laziness. What is the purpose of most art? Why did Jackson Pollock create huge paintings with layers on layers of paint splashed chaotically across the canvas? For people to look at? But what purpose does that have? For money? How could you know beforehand it would sell? The rational is, essentially nothing. He did what satisfied him and it opened up other people to do the same. Yet the man is remembered and will be forever because of how and what he created. Surely it’s more intelligent to say ‘why not’. Modern Art is often critiqued as “I could do that if I wanted too”. Yet, you haven’t, and it applies to anything you wish it to.

I’m guilty of lying to myself about what draws me into things. In the present day, it doesn’t phase me. But what about when I look forward? Credit for work always seems to play a factor. It’s what I yearn for in some way, shape or form. My ideal future involves recognition or value on something I have created or helped create. Andy Warhol had periods of complacency, until he was simply told to ‘paint what he loves’. He painted money. If you don’t do anything, you’ll be remembered as a person. But how do you reach people after that? Money isn’t my painting, but I’d definitely paint potential & praise.

I’m impatient, yet I go periods without doing anything. What’s my rush if my goals are standing still?  You don’t need the extra drink, you don’t need more money, you can create more time, so now all you need to do is try. Gravitating towards anything that gives a sense of happiness. It represents disconnect from yesterday, as it makes the quiet have a voice. A blank page splashed with gold.

C.f

May 23, 2017 | Categories: Uncategorized | Leave a comment

The Care Factor

Funny isn’t it, how life works in channels of ‘thought process at current second + action + environment = substantial moments which change the trajectory of where you’re headed’. So much is caused by who you interact with, and their own set of variables which interact with yours. It’s the eyes, with a warm flirt and body language, vs tone, aggression and influence. It causes us to smile when we hear a song, or to hurt uncontrollably at loss when we touch a piece of jewellery.

The natural filter of right place, right time/ wrong place, wrong time, and what it means to you at that exact moment. What’s possibly the most convincing is the late night thoughts which enter your mind after dealing with one of such situations, or thinking back, as you lay peacefully silent whilst your mind screams at you it’s verdict, do-over or burdens.

How lucky I was, or how unlucky? Maybe it’s a blessing, or maybe it’s a burden. It’s scary the lack of control that can wash over almost any moment, almost instantly, changing the direction of everything in the vicinity.

The crossroads of what mindset you have and how you choose to react, or who you interact with.

I was feeling low last Monday, and as I washed my hands in the basin of my office, I looked up and saw my moustache which I’m currently growing to raise money for men’s health. On the way home I went to the supermarket, and I greeted the service assistant with a warm smile. She quickly shuddered a cold glance, she was a obviously having a bad day. I was polite and said please & thank you. She gave me a look at the end of our interaction which was rude, cold and intended to state her disdain for her moment.

I felt drained just from her presence, and as I walked away I was convinced how much dislike I now had for that person, given my intentions of pure warmth. Would I take it back though? How was I to know she would be so cold? “I wouldn’t of changed my intent” is what I decided on. I’ve said it a million times – kindness is the strongest and I am no different to anyone.

It made me reflect, maybe that’s part of this whole issue I’m trying to raise money for? Even in my dark days of anger, disdain and low tolerance, I can cope with people like that. But what about others who couldn’t? People can be solemly swallowed into pits of darkness that seem so deep, that nothing can pull them out. What would a meaningless encounter do to someone who already felt low? Why would anyone honestly inflict such an attitude based on their own moods, to someone else? It’s part of the fucking problem, where these selfish individuals create an environment that whoever enters is impacted, and based on their current headspace- it can actually cause a ripple effect. What if it happens twice on the same day? Bad days hold weight. They can feel like stones being place on heavy shoulders. Our culture preaches awareness, education and acceptance. But how can we save someone who is caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, in an already wrong headspace? It’s a doomed battle. You simply can’t control people who selfishly place their own space onto others.

Some people I’m in close vicinity to frequently, drain me, to the extent I vow to protect others from them. They have the ability of complete social ignorance, to the simplest, easiest pain-relief type lifestyles for everyone around them. We are only as good as how we treat others, even on our dark days. What we’re willing to do to brighten someones day. And what we’re willing to do, to attack someone else’s. Even if it’s actually harder to do the latter.

I grew up watching a protector impose his will on any darkness. I think the truly dark people have the ability to cope with it, as it’s something that is used creatively, or constructively, or simply controlled. I have a dark side, which I tether through in moments of complete isolation. People who can embrace the darkness appreciate the light, and in doing so protect others who simply are more vulnerable, or can’t take it on a certain day, or need constant reassurance through sickness, war, violence, bullies – you name it.

It’s quite a job, but it doesn’t ultimately feel like a burden, you just kind’ve need to do it. It might even be selfish, as walking away from someone in pain would damage you so, that you are acting to clear your own conscience. You can take on the pain of others and it won’t distinctively drag you down. Protection at all cost$. 

I grew up in a few different places, and so I was constantly being thrown into new environments. As children we find safety nets in familiarity, like our Mum or Dad, family, or simply people we trust, which is easy in innocence. Mine was my Mum when I started school, as I was in Sydney and she was always the loudest and most protective. It was always interesting to see other kids try and get to me, through that channel. Maybe when they saw my warm embrace to her after school, they saw a target.

Instinct mixed with innocence, that to truly hurt someone you need to hurt who they love.  My overweight mother was a target, all through school years. I grew up dealing with petty kids who would look for weakness in channels I was sensitive about, although I never let them be publicly known. During high school, I came home one day, and by chance checked the answering machine, as it flashed with 2 messages. Some 15 year olds from a former school, who were former friends, called my house to berate my mum, trying to attack. It infuriated me. I deleted it all and she never knew. I witnessed someone I know drive onto my front lawn in the wet cold, and rip up my front lawn. I saw all their faces in the car, and their laugh. I felt so powerless against a group of bullies, doing things for kicks to hurt someone who truly hadn’t wronged them at all. I have rage to this day from those people. Had it been today it would’ve turned out differently, but I was not yet large enough to defend myself properly. It’s also worth noting that this behaviour vanished upon my eventual growth spurt. Regardless, It’s always been the biggest chink in my armour – you can get to me through the ones I care for the most, but it’s the only topic that truly engages my fury.

I was punched in the face in year 1. An older kid pushed in-front of me in the handball line and I stood up for myself, making sure he couldn’t set a precedent. He punched me in the damn face. Mum came and collected a 6 year old with a black eye, who didn’t regret a damn thing. There’s the ultimate pride in sticking up to someone, knowing that in doing so you’re going to receive immense pain. I haven’t changed. I had my cheekbone fractured defending comments against my family, by a bully much bigger than me. I still have the scar, which wrinkles when I smile.

I can’t really tolerate weakness, more specifically if it comes from laziness. Some people don’t act because the mere act of trying isn’t appealing or worth it. It’s easier for someone else to do it- or maybe it’s not worth the possible disagreement with a stubborn person who speaks louder than the rest. People can be so intimidated by volume, but I see it as vulnerability. The louder someone needs to talk, the less their words have to really say.

Many people look for fights, and use volume and their own ‘thought process at current second’ to pick one, regardless of who it’s against. It’s a shame really, because life won’t be remembered through these moments. They’ll be the ones you choose to avoid discussing further, and possibly ruin perfectly fine friendships. Don’t shoot the only person to reach out and try to help you, because they’re the only one willing to engage with you when you’re angry. If moments like that mean so much to any individual, than I simply have no time for them, and will protect those ones I love from doing the same.

So where is my perspective? Why am I so righteous to write about these things? I’m not, not at all, I’m only human. But perspective is a beautiful thing. It can come in such perfect times, or when we choose to look at them in a certain way. Maybe it’s more like ‘thought process at current second + action + environment = perspective.’ Maybe Perspective is where substantial change alters the trajectory of where you’re headed. Investing time in the things you want to do, with who, and as quickly as possible. To protect yourself and others from the everyday dross of negative moments from selfish people. Or maybe it’s simply infatuation with the potential of good things that weigh more.

Of all months to draw my perspective on importance and the small actions that add up to weigh lots, who would’ve thought it would’ve come from a moustache. Education and awareness is beautiful, but to fully understand how to make a change in these issues, we need to stop creating meaningless negativity out of our own selfishness.

C.f

http://mobro.co/stevadordali

River Phoenix by Michael Tighe

 

November 21, 2016 | Categories: Uncategorized | Leave a comment

The Week’ness

Hands resting against the inside of his legs, leaning into himself, the folded figure of a deflated silhouette rest amongst the concrete steps. The yellow globes and street lights peaked through the window, catching deep eyes- shut and quiet, as if on purpose; closed off against anything that might or could approach. He was struck down by the density of being lost amongst the various personalities inside, with doubt winning and creeping into the vault of his mind like vines up a concrete wall-overcoming the fixture that’s walls were built to beat all the elements.

He felt exhausted. His anger was low-but close to him. His veins pulsed through his forearms and all lay motionless around him. The night was still, like he, crouched in the middle of a concrete stairwell.

The sounds approaching outside didn’t phase his demeanour, when usually it made him alert. The noises approaching to the bundled over figure got closer, bit by bit- yet he didn’t move from his crouched over position across 3 different stairs. Legs outstretched, hands inside, hair in face-eyes hidden.

The stairwell opened, a broad figure appeared and entered the stairwell. He wore a cap to cover his grey hair, slightly frail but his figure was strong. He had power but seemed vulnerable entering the unknown space. He hadn’t been here before. An eagle rested peacefully on his shoulder, eagerly looking around as if unbothered to be inside. The old man entered cautiously, approaching the silhouette who didn’t alter upon the close quarters of the stairwell now having a new figure, so close together.

The figure slowly began to look up, revealing a slight snarl which glistened against the light peering through from above. The old man recognised the figure, they had met before. He knew who was in the room-

“You shouldn’t be like this.”

His voice was deep, strong and didn’t waver amongst the uncertainty of the situation.

The figure continued to look at the old man, his deep eyes staring straight at the old man, slightly trying to intimidate him as light draped across half his face. He remembered him instantly, and felt no need to feel threatened; even slightly calmer to see familiarity. It had been awhile. The old man spoke again-

“I know you.

I know your blood.

You’re not like this-stand up-”

The figure didn’t break a stare, his eyes now burning with the potential of rage and ready to roar. It spoke for him.

“STAND UP, FIX YOURSELF” He roared at the slumped figure.

The figure broke a smile, exposing a dimple to the side of his mouth. The frail old man had distracted his mood, albeit briefly.

The figure looked the old man right in the eye, and began to speak.

“I’m not going to fight you old man, why are you here?”

The old man changed his stature, he began to puff his chest and you could see the calm reply wasn’t expected-

“Who have you become?

I have seen the things who fell before you.”

He paused.

“I know what built you. I’ve seen your eyes change before. I know the anger you have. I know the power you possess. I know how you feel.”

-he paused, before exploding

“I KNOW WHERE IT COMES FROM”

The figure grew livid, he saw the old mans eyes. He felt his blood boil. The helpless feeling consumed him, that the old man who he began to feel had disappeared for good, who appeared to not know him anymore- was right. He watched him cough, as the anger had worn him down. It was a distinctive noise.

The figure stood up. He felt tall, yet kept eye level with the old man. They were about the same height.

“Don’t do this to yourself. The war isn’t on anyone but inside, it’s you against you. When you realise your worst enemy is yourself, you won’t lose again.”

The figure soaked in the close range, he wasn’t used to feeling less than what he was capable of. Doubt never crept into his mind. His walls were on the verge of being broken down.

“Don’t forget who built you. Your eyes have not changed what they see, but only how they see it.”

 

The figures eyes glistened, as his teeth snarled towards the old man. The power had shifted. The sentence clicked a trigger that blew up inside of his chest. The memories screamed at him, reminding him of who he knew to be. He felt the reflections come back. He grew more attentive to the noises outside the stairwell. The words out loud were released, yet they only reminded him of how much control came from within. The perspective was back. The power was back. The confidence. The strength felt undefeatable. The concrete wall does not lose to the vines.

The old man slowly exhaled, briefly leaning forward, as if drained by poison spilled from his own anger with the figure, who mostly stayed silent towards him.

The figure helped the old man get more comfortable on the stairs, their roles now reversed. He looked down at the old man, now struggling with energy.

Does his heart not pump blood, and do his hands not get cold? Why would his values not be as real as the words he spoke? The fire burned within, and like a shot of adrenalin, he was ready to leave the confines of the stairwell.

Suddenly, his eyes opened. How could something seem more real when his eyes were shut? The purpose of the conversation prevailed, even if the words weren’t actually spoken. The stairwell was empty. The figure snarled, grabbing the door handle with ferocity and ripping it off the hinges with rage, breaking it for the sake of reminding himself of the power. What a luxury it was to feel this, given the moments he had almost lost it. Never again.

C.f

August 15, 2016 | Categories: Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Grateful for Great-Fuel

[The first time I release my thoughts on here and the first time anyone reads them, merges for an instant and we think and read the same words in the same order, drinking in a thought that once was only inside my head. You’re reading my movie. You’re singing my song. Regardless if you agree, hate, love, or disagree with it. Just like paintings that hang in a gallery – you see and feel something from it, even nothing. I’ve seen Pollocks and Basquiats and Warhols, but so did the all 3 of those people when they created them. I share that visual with the creators. As if at one moment, my thoughts enter your mind and you decide how it makes YOU feel. But knowing completely that even if it’s something you forget tomorrow, at one damn moment you read something I wrote, exactly the same way I wanted you too.]

 

 

I spend hours and hours reading, watching, seeking inspiration. What is it doing? It alters how I feel, how I act, what I like. Everything creative I do can be influenced by fucking anything. The people around me, whether it’s real people who bloom late or who choose the safety net of complacency – they influence me. The people who never give up on being a rockstar and the people who work hours in companies where they get no personal gain – influence me. It makes me want to do anything. How can you idle through when you could literally type words into your damn phone and FIND something you like. Relaxing and energising information you might not already know, or maybe that some people out there are making things you like- or things exist that make you feel good or cool or you want them, or to go see something/visit a place- or it even leaves you annoyed.

I’m so poor at the moment – with money. Not properly poor, but personally I have 7 cents in my wallet on a piece of plastic that bares my name. I have used that as an excuse before, not too long ago, and someone inspired me that has altered me forever. Someone who saw a cloud above my head reminded me that creating is anything, which can be free. We talked about art and it doused me in gasoline to burn. It doesn’t have to bring you success or money, or anything! As long as you express or chase something that pops into your head – even just for yourself – why not? We spend hours walking through rooms and not seeing any details. At work today I had small talk with at least 20 people I don’t remember, watched a bunch of strangers and didn’t soak in any major details for a majority of my day. I bet you do it too. When you’re driving maybe? Look at a street you drive down all the time and pick out a random house. I bet if someone showed you a photo of that house, you’d never know you drove past it pretty much everyday. I am awake for 17+ hours everyday but I tell you what I did in 5 sentences in most situations. That non attention and unawake mentality will dull everything for you. So open your phone and type in Kerouac. Yves Klein. River Phoenix- Anything. Stimulate what you like in an instant and fill the void with moments of things that wake up your mind. Information you might tell someone important later that day. Maybe it stays with you for a couple days. Add another sentence to your day when you tell someone, or do it for yourself.

It’s such a cop out that we reduce days and hours into idling, dry, pastel white walls of blank space. If you seek inspiration you will find it. Even if it’s for one second, explode your mind with some thought, idea, sound or visual and if it motivates you, you’ll have energy. Think of it like coffee for your eyes, not your mouth. Red Bull of the mind.

Apparently we are only at peak function everyday for 4 and a half hours. Studies have proven this, that we do 3 x 90 minute cycles of peak performance before we mentally fatigue and lose intense interest. So for me that leaves roughly 12 and a half hours. My job doesn’t stimulate me. My freelance creative stuff even sometimes has become less interesting. But I find new music. I draw. I write.

I create after I find things that make me feel a certain way.

My Dad once asked me why I was working hours and hours on a canvas of an exploding plane.

“Because I can.”

Because my brain created this image of how I felt and I wanted to see this evolve and change into a physical thing that I wouldn’t forget tomorrow. I did it with a lame printer and paper, and a ton of altering in my own style. It didn’t cost me anything except time, but now that time seems more significant because it has accomplished something new. It hangs on my wall and explodes in front of me every single day. In time where I usually idled, I still relaxed and created a physical idea.

I’m glad I could share this with you, even if you fucking hate it. Give it a go.

Who would’ve known you can get fuel for free.

Excerpts from Basquiat notebooks.

C.f

February 9, 2016 | Categories: Uncategorized | Leave a comment