Through the wall
I could feel her looking at me, as I looked up at the ceiling. We were laying in bed and I felt dry.
“I lost you last night.” she said.
I had soaked in alcohol, and nothing else. The morning was dry. I had felt worse before, dozens of times, the shadow of shame looms close – but I hated hearing that. I wondered how much control I had relinquished? I read somewhere that our bodies are surrounded by atoms, and it protects the strange things outside from getting in. Drugs and alcohol put holes in that layer.
I don’t do party drugs, I don’t like them, and I don’t like them for anyone, too many people get fucked up by it. I feel like I can make drugs myself, just like Dali used to say “I don’t do drugs, I am drugs”. Talking to strangers and by immersing into a night or day, or any creative venture, or great sex. But how many times have I become a shell? Lights on, nobody home?
Sometimes have got me in trouble, mainly as I’ve gotten older. It hasn’t lately, my subconscious is happy and the zombie state I enter represents that. But still, the issue of control.
I had a nightmare the night after my last post, and it was very surreal, I’ve not had many dreams like this before. Creatures in a human world-yet I was the only human. A room full of non human things that existed around me. I was in a hotel lobby with black and white marble check floor, big windows looking out to the surrounding forest. I remember being so tight, as if on the edge that any moment, one of these things around me could turn and attack me. I was psyching myself up. I felt vulnerable, but I reassured myself. I made my eyes large, I clenched my fists and I tried to blend in, I even yelled as loud as I could and beat against my chest. I built myself up to become one of them. To hide; I changed into them, to walk amongst them. I went to the desk, I had to get a room, and felt myself transform as to not seem vulnerable.
It rattled me for weeks, so much so that I didn’t share what I originally wrote about the whole thing, because I had no control of the environment I was in. So one is a nightmare, and the other is self inflicted? Both no control. Stay with me.
Last week, I was in a club I have been to many times. There was a person there who had previously made me have major control issues. Made me feel powerless, they had previously given me zero respect. As I sat back and watched all the perfect, pretty young people having fun, I felt like I had outgrown this way of fun. I don’t think I could do what they’re doing anymore. Amongst the flashing lights, my expressions flashed a face of a person who didn’t want to be there. My instinct was to leave. I walked down the stairs with a friend who wanted a drink, and this young girl walking up in the opposite direction grabbed me on the waist. I kept walking down without flinching, I have steak at home, but I could hear them giggling and trying to call. As I returned upstairs, I saw who the girl was with. It was so gratifying, that I was in a position to return the favour if I wanted to. I saw her glances. But what did I do? I didn’t care – so nothing, and it really wasn’t even something that crossed my mind when I was actually there. All the visions in my imagination after were motivated to piss off that one person. Stoop. But I don’t feel like I’m losing any battles anymore, so it was odd. My ego has prevailed over me in the past 10 months – something I was aware of and let happen. I didn’t have one for a while, so I needed to flex it. I wanted to go home long before I eventually did. So where does this all link up?
I figured out the parallels between my functioning. I found out where I felt able to be vulnerable, and where I didn’t. When I’m around the people I love, I feel safe, I dip into that pool of alcohol and disappear into a deep and happy person, with no fear that whatever I am will be a monster to anyone. I blend in to those around me and trust them entirely. I’m very lucky to be surrounded by some beautiful minds that feed my soul.
When I’m dreaming, I have no control over what my lucid thoughts create. I build myself up pending the environment so that I become a monster on the outside, but inside I’m completely aware of the vulnerability. When I’m in control to wreak havoc on someone else? I keep the monster inside who paints theoreticals that satisfy my ego, but never touch reality. My lucid thoughts feel like bad 80’s movies, and I enjoy watching them play out, but truthfully my reality keeps me awake, stimulating so much that I’m alive late into the night lying on the same bed. I control me, and I try to control my weaknesses and bring attention to my strengths to cover the rest. I used to dream things would happen, and hoped that one day I would in-fact act out the events, as if to go for a power grab- to feel control over something that alluded me and fix everything. It was how I kept myself from actually doing it, just to think that if I wanted too, I could make it happen. Turns out, that only works when the result doesn’t bother you. If you care for the result, it means you desire it. It’s like telling me not to go into a room. I’ll probably run through the wall. You give it power to overcome your thoughts and eventually you look for ways to get it in reality. I don’t have many negative ones anymore. The line between imagination and reality has become clear. I retain a composed creature on the outer (most of the time).
Control the controllable. I control being a good person, and I control who and what I surround myself with. This isn’t social media where I want to show off famous friends, or support the newest trends like a sheep. It’s just being fine when the lights are on and nobodies home. Because that guy used to ‘have a rain cloud over his head’. A dark person as soon as the lights were out, so much so that I avoided it. Now when the cameras roll, and the cameras are off me – I’m the same. When I’m in these situations, the corners of my mind think about the next beer. A joke. Or how much I enjoy dancing to a good song. Who knows, as I’ve gotten older I don’t remember those thoughts very much, I lose details. But I wake up without fear that the first images that pop into my head are dark.
Someone must be home; the lights are on.
C.f
Can’t Sleep?
1:23am, doesn’t seem so bad I guess. It’s when I began writing this post. But I have questions to why my mind and body won’t turn off at this time. I know I’m not alone, there’s comfort in that. But how much comfort is there, really, in knowing there are others floating deep into the morning, when you don’t want to interact with them anyway? None.
I’m finding it hard to sleep, and have for awhile. It feels like the voice inside my head is yelling at me, creeping confidence up to talk and invade from within; running quickly and pulling the books from the corner of my mind into the middle of the room- so when I try to control it with quiet, I’m too awoken with the loud mess.
The clock seems faster than usual. The sound of silence echoes and eventually you find thoughts to pass the time. I feel like reading, or writing – but I don’t see the point? How much of it will be relevant? Will I retain these words, or just pour out gibberish that only ever seems relevant at times when I have too much time to invest? I feel like I have a canvas with so many things to say, yet I can’t spare the time. I should be sleeping. I’m craving the lucid canvases to form behind my eyes and I feel heavy doing so, just everywhere except the eyes. What can you do? Count sheep? I’ve counted them, and barely get far before I wonder where they’re going.
So as my motor hums, with the keys in, safely placed in ‘park’ and the lights off; the only thing driving is madness. Drowning in the silence, I hold my breath and lay my head back and submerge underneath the blanket of night. It feels like a bath, where the heartbeat inside becomes loud once you’re under. Funny right? When you run into the quiet, everything gets louder.
I wish someone would tell me where the sheep are going, and how to get there.
C.f
Spitting on Flowers
Through the last 5 years I’ve learnt certain things about myself and how people interact with me, pending my appearance, age, and attitude. Through a corporate world, I never felt respected completely by a lot of people, mostly other males. Maybe it’s the baby face, or the young haircut? Who knows, it didn’t bother me, I had enough insight into most companies that I couldn’t care about their pointless careers of power, even after I felt there disrespect. Maybe it was what I did for a living, or what I was wearing. Now with girls? Geez, you could scrutinise anything. What I said, who I hangout with, what I do, if I was a DJ? – you get it. Most of the time, we do that to ourselves. We’ve all re-read a text message and thought about how lame we are when you don’t get an immediate response. That’s kind of it. I’m all about deleting that – and I have.
This year was a change for me. When you learn certain things, you can either adapt and use them to your advantage, OR carry on avoiding what works and what doesn’t, trying to do your own thing. Surely you can do both? Yes, like the little girl who is a hero for offering both soft and hard tacos, YOU CAN DO BOTH.
Learn and adapt, and work it into your life with your own style.
I had many restless nights this year, due to various things, and sometimes I write things in my phone – most of it is madness.
“It’s not until you get your leg cut off that you realised you wanted to be a runner (metaphor).” 2:14am 12/01/2015
“Each person must accomplish one great thing, and if they don’t, they are forgotten.” 4:11am 03/05/2015
“Getting so comfortable with something in your hands that eventually you can’t feel it anymore.” 5:32am 19/05/2015
“I don’t remember the last time I didn’t feel like roaring into my pillow, allowing myself to break and blow-up in a release of all caged ideas, lack of accomplishment and burn for more of everything. – I want everything.” 3:21am 11/06/2015
One from a few years ago was this idea of ‘Spitting on Flowers‘. I wanted to prove that in-context, it could be a good thing, because initially it sounds like a bad thing. This is the beauty of an oxymoron. My mind paints the image of a perfect rose, and this disgusting demeaning act of spitting on it, using a universally disrespectful act on something so fleetingly beautiful, and trying to take away from the window of beauty it offers the world; a tragic ending to a short lived romance because flowers don’t last very long. But what do flowers do with moisture/water? Absorb it, and fucking grow. Use it to disappear into the ground and then explode with growth into a more beautiful shoot than there was before. It drinks in all of it. Maybe it retains beauty longer because of it. Same goes with crying on flowers. Or pissing on flowers. You understand, that trying to destroy the outside beauty of a vulnerable flower can be done so easily, and then you walk away, knowing you demeaned something so raw and momentarily perfect, because you could. Little did you know, you just helped it, you bad fool. Stop spitting.
So with slicked hair, a tailored suit and eye contact, I chose my way to form a first impression in a different field. One that had alluded me previously. I look into your eye, shake your hand, and I look serious. My words and ideas now had a face, and because of that – an audience. It’s learning. I’ve had bad feedback about the changes (spits), but I absorbed it and made it my own, because I felt like for right now – this is what I want. It will help me in this avenue, and therefore help me in others, and I still get to be me. I’m not piercing my nose to seem indie to fit in at the gigs. I like this, and it will help. I wanted to run before my leg was cut off, it was just I realised it before and started running when I had a chance. I didn’t wait until I couldn’t.
I didn’t have any trouble in any other fields either, because it’s like a snowball- back yourself. I’ve actually been extremely lucky to have some incredible souls wander in, especially after tightening my inner circle. I was confident and you felt it. It’s always been there, you just chose to see me differently because of my appearance, or youth, or kind side, and I let that get to me. But now as I sternly look you in the eye and tell you what I want, you will listen.
Where did this come from? I’ve had moments of powerlessness that fuelled it- sure. I hate it if I’m being honest. All my friends know how proud I am. I get so aggressive when I feel someone is disrespecting me for no good reason. Sometimes when I think about things, I don’t even realise that I’m clenching my jaw. Some peoples names actually make me angry, but I refuse to let them alter me, I’d rather attack through my own ideas. There are ways to learn and adapt from these feelings, and there are ways to take steps back. Pick one, because doing nothing is actually choosing the latter. What can you do that is still true to you, that can help you move forward? You have to play on somebody else’s home-court. So don’t draw up the defense, get into a position to try and score. And score. Accomplishments will come in time if you chase them. Don’t play defense protecting yourself to stay even all the time, make a move, go for the win. Killers mentality, you gotta want to win, not draw- in everything.
So what’s the point of all of this? If there are people in your life who are influencing you for their own personal preference of ‘you’, or you are doing things to seem like somebody you are not – it will catchup with you. You won’t really do anything you want because you’ll drown in the sea of fabrication for others or to seem what appeals to others, an empty facade. Your mum used to decide your outfits, would you still let her? I’m not really down with Quicksilver anymore so I will dress myself. Move the keys around in your hand, feel them again, and get into the drivers seat. There is a way to get where you want to be, in your own way, and once you find it you’ll feel energised with confidence, that you’ll absorb all the spit into strengthening your objectives. Fuel. It doesn’t have to feel bad and make you feel lower than before. Don’t be the same as every other facade boasting about there success and #goals they want, or $$ they were given, flaunting on social media. It can be done by yourself, as yourself, regardless of who’s watering or spitting on you. Don’t change you – adapt to better paths that weren’t working previously.
Anyways, that’s a rant. I’ve been lucky so far this year, and I know it. I’ve eradicated a lot of what doesn’t help me grow, which is hard, and some isn’t by choice. But to stay with my flower metaphor, I’m looking for bees instead of caterpillars. Sure, caterpillars turn into butterflies – but they’ll eat your leaves and you won’t grow. Plus butterflies don’t really do much. Bees take your nectar and turn it into honey. You both benefit. I’ve been lucky. I still feel like roaring into the pillow, because I really haven’t done anything, but opportunities will come. I still want everything. The fact that I feel sure of something is a good sign.
“Absurdity is what I like most in life, and there’s humor in struggling in ignorance. If you saw a man repeatedly running into a wall until he was a bloody pulp, after a while it would make you laugh because it becomes absurd.” – David Lynch
C.f
I’mMeasurable
I don’t struggle for words, and I love to write; but my biggest weakness with writing and talking is not being able to fully communicate how much I want too. Pull the plug on your shallow mouth and the sink is empty fast. Now pull the plug on a full bath and that’s the feeling. I need to use 10 words to explain 1 feeling, because it’s not possible to completely get across what I want to without all 10 complimenting the other. If I can’t do it in words, I do it in actions and keep my mouth closed. Some words aren’t deep enough- maybe it’s because they’ve been washed out in movies and by the wrong people; so I add more or choose metaphors to explain it with greater meaning, personalised, or with actions- even subtle ones that can go missed. Just like good branding – the message is always the same, across all outlets.
There ARE some feelings that have no words. It’s more of a question, that is measured in simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Basically, you feel it or you don’t. No in-between you bad fool, I don’t buy that at all. No such thing as a ‘maybe’ with this feeling. You can’t measure it, you can’t understand it entirely- you just kind’ve get it or you don’t. It’s like what is shown in movies and books, but your own- it’s like a ‘relaxing happiness that excites you with curiosity and comfort simultaneously’ (10 words). It energises you to stay up late when you have to get up early. There are no words to express it properly, and to each person, the same answer means different results. Insanity.
So with these simple yet complex unmeasurable feelings that different words can mean to different people (try and keep up), what does that mean for ‘actions’? Do some minor actions mean more to other people, based on all these unmeasurable variables? YES, YES IT DOES.
I had two coffees today, which is insignificant in a greater scheme, and pretty much every scheme ever and ever. They were delicious and I loved it and they made me feel good though. So maybe that isn’t insignificant at all. Little cups of joy.
But some people hate coffee.
I saw a homeless guy I always see around town walking his bike, and I knew what he was going to say before he even said it.
“Do you please have a spare $3.50?”
I don’t know why he’s always so specific, but it’s always $3.50. One day I had a pocket full of coins and I avoided him like an absolute plague. He’s knocked on my window when I’ve been sitting in my car before. I’ve seen him go to everyone on a street and get nothing. Man that was guilt. I cleared my conscience from it and chased him like he chased others, which is pretty low on my behalf (I really shouldn’t of needed the reminder). I wonder what gives him that ‘spoilt’ good feeling, that can occur from anything. That first sip of beer on a Friday at 5pm. I couldn’t tell you, but I hoped it existed, just like I do for everyone. The key is when you truly care for someone, and you have that ‘immeasurable’ feeling about them, you’ll find yourself chasing it from them, and wanting to fill them with these small moments all the time. Usually you get it simply from hearing them or seeing them. Big gestures are just that, and measurable in so many variables, usually money, planning and effort. But the small ones are like the coffees. They make today better. The immeasurable actions, that make immeasurable feelings based on the individual. Chase them, learn them, and spread them.
I gave him $2, he nodded and walked away. I think the consistent rejection has made him cold even to small warm gestures.
What you can definitely measure – You don’t need gold teeth to bite the poor.
Johnny Cash, when asked for his definition of paradise.
“This morning, with her, having coffee.“
C.f
I’m Listening
Jack Kerouac used to write his novels under the influence of alcohol; it was just his way. Before I even knew who he was I was doing the same thing, just online and not on scrolls of paper. It’s funny how it all coincides with creative freedom and the idea of releasing the thoughts that dominate your thinking when under the influence. It’s exposing vulnerability, when you’re the most vulnerable.
So where do I start? It’s strange, I’ve never been one to shine a light on others’ insecurity. I don’t like the taste it leaves in my mouth, because even though I’m competitive, I’ve never felt the need to belittle others for self gain. I’ve actually been told my best and worst quality was being ‘too nice‘.
But!
Sometimes you need to expose your dark side and attack those who consistently attack you, even if indirectly, even if through running into a field of flowers they never knew existed, ripping every single stem out of the ground and roaring into the destruction of beauty you’ve dismantled with your own anger and doubt.
The outlet of writing is strong, and it’s always been why I share- it’s a weapon of relief. It’s like talking to my future self; floating a bottle in the ocean of change- hoping it will drift into your channel when you feel like getting back in the boat. Not out of weakness- but out of experiences. It’s how I’ve reflected with knowledge. I learn from mistakes, like basic training.
So where am I? I sometimes reflect with a smile when I see photos and stories, even with a smirk. Other times I grimace with disdain, and sometimes I even show teeth with pride, which could be misconstrued for anger. I dislike myself and how I react- how good it feels. How petty it can be to even discuss certain topics with others. How power feels, I can truly be ruthless when I eliminate feelings.
I’ve always hated losing; it’s how I’m built, I can’t stand it- I know it can be a ‘fault’. I’ve heard I’m too nice, or I’m too susceptible to receive kindness unfiltered from others, because I feel guilty receiving it. I was raised by strong people and felt like the notion of building others up around you was greater than hearing how good you ‘were’ or ‘could be’. It was easier to show it than explain ‘what could be’. It never bothered me- some people obviously aren’t used to being treated with warmth, and so they fight it in their own vulnerabilities. Good riddance- maaaan that took a long ass time to realise.
I’ve said many times as I reflect into my sanctuary of ‘flowers‘ and ‘freedom‘ on here, that I don’t do this for anyone else but myself, and for someone to relate too, even if for a single sentence. It’s an interesting concept, to compare situations, because sometimes other people lose for you, as if knowing you’re in a position of self doubt and removing it by acting in a certain way- even if not physically, but through mental strength. It’s not all the time, but usually self victories you attain from stockpiling small victories over and over and over. Sometimes others are unaware you even feel victory – which is normal too.
So as I write these words, ignoring those closest around me- who try their hardest to help (those I love the most). I look back, and grimace with my teeth showing. The jaw clenches with cringeworthy dialect as I reflect on moments of complete vulnerability. Sometimes it even confronts you when you realise the words you once spoke, came out of your own mouth, and were stirred by impulses you once thought. YOU actually believed those things when you spoke them, as if like a criminal, as one point you thought they were acceptable to spill into a public street. Like robbing a bank when you were poor, or stealing bread – you thought at the time they were acceptable based on your situation.
When you’re rich and feel the same way- that’s the difference. Like you can invest into an opinion or venture and have confidence you won’t lose your money; or self worth. It’s a sudden change you feel when you hear news that makes you realise time stands still for nobody, and sentiments you chose to be sentimental, aren’t as big a deal as you once thought. It’s healthy man; fuck- you don’t have to be so fucking strong all the time.
They’re lessons you will then test on others- like dipping a toe in the pool before jumping in. You get so occupied with moments that when it passes, sometimes you’re over prepared for the results- it shocks you. How can you be OVER prepared for things, yet still taken aback when they give you results you expect? We all hope the picture is painted the way we hope, but when we expect the brush to dabble in a different paint, we’re unready for change. We all hoped our painting would be red, but nobody saw the Pollock splashes of black all over it. Uncertainty is life. It’s love. It’s fucking power. Fall in love with uncertainty and you know you’re in love. Get it? But don’t ever get used to routines that harm you. EVER. It will break you and eat at every fibre of strength you have until your love loses.
So as the gold teeth are bared; and I start to bite and rip off every little ounce of flesh that gets close to my weaknesses – I want you to know. I’ve always hated losing, but my god, how sweet it is to win, over, and over again against somebody who you’ve given keys to drive your car home. The crash means you survived and you got out, and got another way home, and made it. Even if via the hospital.
Feel invincible.
So for you, who reads this and doesn’t EXACTLY know what I’m saying- take this instead. You have an image in your head of what you search for, someone who fits in various situations you hypothetically put them in. The closest person to that image will always change it, and soon you’ll only see them as the star- where you compare everyone else. It’s only a draft- which can always change. When you imagine everything with a face, which becomes bigger than an idea of what you hope will fall into your life- you’ll chase it accordingly. Until then, you won’t care enough to start filming.
If someone comes in with a brush and paints your ceiling with your ideal colours- keep them around. We really only have 3 variables. 1) Attraction, 2) Chemistry and 3) Timing. If you get all 3- don’t fuck it up, the universe has opened up to you and given you a gift. Nobody starts fights they think they’re going to lose- only fools do. But when you look in the mirror, attack the weaknesses they reveal. Destroy them yourself, and you’ll destroy the weaknesses others can expose of you- which will benefit anyone around you that may start painting. That reflection is the only person worth fighting for; because if they win- so does everyone else.
C.f
Gold Teeth
They say the day he was born, he was exposed to smoke that had touched dante’s lips. Burdened with the ability to lose himself into darkness of thoughts, night and suffering; convulsing and immersing into tragedy and pain whilst fuelled by adrenalin to protect himself and those vulnerable and loved. How do you cope once you stockpile burdens? Most crumble or avoid the responsibility when given a choice, but born into such darkness meant that the lights of difference never existed in his home. He was built like this, but with the weakness to be destroyed, even if not completely; but in moments the pain controlled his romantic side. Vulnerable to his own strengths, the very smoke that he inhaled as a seed wasn’t enough to consume him everyday, but only come out in immense threnody and in losing himself amongst madness where escape seldom beat him.
As he grew into a man, the fable began by the street kids, created by those who had seen the 1% of evil inside him escape. Although transient, it momentarily escaped to burn through him in moments of threatening. The physical layers disguised the eyes of the onlooker- angel wings he inherited from his mother, and warmth given to him through his upbringing forged an image of normality amongst outsiders. But most knew his abilities. Feeling so heavily for the worlds wounded, consumed like a pill that concentrates his brain to destroy it’s control over his blood. The oxymoron of what fuels his kindness, can eventually break him to react the opposite, lashing out within darkness; an evil that couldn’t be contained once completely engulfed. It led to death.
The rumours spread, the street children told stories, old men claimed to have seen him on the ledge of buildings at night with red eyes. Nobody knew where he was from, but this area was now his home. Few bothered him, but many knew the stories.
Did you hear why his teeth are gold? His parents melted their wedding rings before a robbery, moulding his newly permanent teeth. To bite through fences, rope and chains, it was an act of love to protect him from the various minds that were threatened by heart.
Slicked hair, gold teeth, a satin black jacket that adorned a rose across the back, slightly tattered from overwear. Think streetfighter in the 80’s, stuck in a scene from Bladerunner’s dystopia world, industrial romance and neon lights. Smoke pouring into the streets from below drains, litter floating amongst the breeze, with various poverty stricken groups controlling the resources of whatever areas they could keep from others, and a huge divide between the wealthy and the rest.
If he ever encountered a threat, it was usually calm, and avoided through control. His mothers angel presence controlled his actions, it had the majority of his blood, it kept him hiding his face amongst the smoke. He frequented the neon lit clubs, but drank alone and observed the rest, choosing not to burden others with the lack of control within his devil like moments.
Once inside, he lit a cigarette to further immerse his silhouette amongst the smoke and neon signs behind him, the gold outline of his teeth occasionally catching the reflection. Young girls danced and drank, smiling and enjoying attention the local groups of men were giving them, unknowingly being hunted for one thing.
Sometimes he watched the men stalk and bait their prey, only interested to fuck. How do they do it? Magic and trickery seemed easy, it wasn’t a hard game, but it still worked. Most people were oblivious to the rare hearts, engaged in the people perverted with a quest to conquer a new face, then leave with the dust when the wind picked up.
He exhaled his chest and let smoke pour out of his mouth, glancing through the cloud to catch eyes with a pretty young brunette mere metres away, focusing on whatever her mind longed for. She hesitated to look away, caught in a double take, maybe she saw the red in his eyes? After all, hate and love come from the same part of the brain. Then there was the choice, which to choose? Do you hate this stranger, and want to hurt them for satisfaction? Maybe.
She looked pure, her friends eyes spilled out lines of powdered confidence, but she was vulnerable. Do you give a fuck, or simply want to?
He put the cigarette out against his teeth. The ash made his mouth look on fire with gold. He rinsed his mouth with the ice filled glass, intoxicating himself and turning his mouth cold. He approached the girl, mysteriously silhouetted by the strobe. He could sense her nerves as he approached, she knew he was coming.
Was he ruthless like the rest? She’d heard the stories. 1% of the Devil, would it reveal to her? Or was he under control of the dark cloud that floated above him like an umbrella?
He brushed passed her, looking her in the eye, the music seemed to become foggy and slow as their faces were close enough to kiss, eyes into eyes, moving at the same pace whilst holding contact, both gazing.
He kept walking.
She turned back, confused and suddenly energised like a relaxing rush of blood to her face.
He’d seen enough. He saw inside her brown eyes, he saw what they would do. She would bring it out in him; he couldn’t protect her from the devil inside. She was too pure, like water. He couldn’t live a life protecting her from himself.
He pushed his hands on the door, the entrance filled with streetlights and the moons eye, only for a moment. The mystery man left, once again lost in the shadows and smoke.
She glanced at the door, before turning back to her friends. Another guy approached, he held a drink for her. She smiled, took it out of his hands, and seamlessly started to forget.
Rene Magritte – ‘The Lovers’
C.f
Disinte-great’
So I’m sure you’re like me- you’ve made some loose plans for things you’re going to do. Some are much more attainable (holiday vs. starting a business). Ideas maybe? Maybe it’s just comparing what you want, and by what age you want it. I’m 25 and I’m not where 21 year old me thought I would be by 25. But 21 year old me was only a kid. Evidence is in this very website. So how do you change that? I’ve read about the change in people, I’ve heard about gambling on themselves, and other ways to achieve satisfaction within thyself. The common denominator I found in their success- is struggle. Or hustle; I find that to be the better word. We all know the douchebag with ‘daddys money‘ who launches into ventures with no fear of failure, because their failure is still safe. Can you imagine having the safety net of fucking up- it’s like half assing’ an assignment but knowing you’ll pass anyway. Why try? They don’t succeed, think about it- you know someone, they do it because they can, not necessarily because they want to.
But what about the person risking everything to make it happen with no alternative? The artist selling work on the street. The local store owner offering amazing customer service everyday trying to build a loyal customer base with huge competition from chain franchises. It’s almost overplayed, but yet they still pop up. New places open. Look at all the boutique burger joints- studies say they are collectively damaging McDonalds on a global scale, McDonalds even changed their marketing to be more in line with smaller chains. Can you believe that? You never would’ve bought into that 5 years ago.
Sure, a lot of small businesses we saw years ago are still here- and a lot aren’t. So who’s hustling and who isn’t?
Fuelled by hunger- humiliation, pride, ego, power and doing anything you can to avoid feeling as low as you did when you ‘lost’ or realised that your life is sucking and you aren’t okay with doing it anymore – that’s the drive. It’s driving a starvation to empower others, a hunger to rid yourself of that low feeling. To succeed or win, even just so you earn some sort of self satisfaction through your struggle. It doesn’t have to be a million dollar salary- it just has to be rewarding to you and give you purpose- pride maybe. Happiness. Working on yourself is the best thing you don’t get paid for.
Even added bonuses of proving to some people who expect nothing of you; that you’re better than they think of you, but doing it because you want more for yourself. It’s just a perk when you piss other people off. Starvation is the secret ingredient that most people never feel- because they coast along with a consistent meal of accomplishment and complacency that never encourages them for change and risk. The successful recipe is rare, but it’s because something is genuinely broken within yourself that you can’t fucking deal with being mediocre or not fulfilling YOURSELF enough to potential with where you want to be. Maybe your job does it, or your parents, or your lover. Or seeing someone do well off an idea you’ve played with inside the safety of your imagination, and feeling like you should’ve acted on it – but you didn’t, and someone else did. You envision it and dream about your ideas but never ACT. It’s putting it off until next year. Or when the time is right. Or when you learn more. It’s finding a reason not to do it. You’re never going to be fully ready- learn from doing – start now. Sinatra said the best revenge was massive success. On the money Frankie.
But where does it begin? I hate this whole ‘participation’ awards nowadays. I grew up on winning and losing. It taught me how much losing sucks and how good winning felt. It created drive, to win. Why would you set the standard of participation on par with success? Fuck, I still have a mentality where I hate losing, because I consider myself a winner. I know it’s stupid, but I feel like I can beat anyone at anything. It’s a HUGE ego trip but it’s my nature, I don’t care who you are or what you do- I can beat you (it usually ends in savage defeat- but before it starts I feel like I have a chance). It’s drive. When I lose- I try to fix it. When I want to win, I figure out a plan, and execute to achieve that winning result, and when I REALLY want something, I figure it out- by any means possible. I don’t have the starvation yet but until you launch into a risk- especially when there is so much on the line, you’ll work harder. Nobody likes losing money, or pride, or anything really. So like the rat finds the cheese in the maze, you find ways to make it work by going about it differently. What didn’t work is scrapped and try another route.
But what do people do when they don’t care about the result at all? NOTHING. They participate in life and then die. They loved, they got married, bought a house, worked a job they didn’t enjoy or challenge them and then they died. Happiness lived after 5pm or on weekends. But what about their ideas? They died too. Nobody knew about them. Can you imagine the amount of brilliant people who never acted on ideas; who left notebooks full of thoughts to be eventually thrown away after they died? Dark- I know, but those words were written because someone didn’t want to forget them; and guess what? We forgot. You don’t have a wikipedia page or your quotes online. They’ll be at the dump because they were always plans- not action. The irony being if I don’t ever do anything with my own life- these words are wasted too. Added motivation.
It’s been a strange few weeks for me, I find myself turning less and less to my usual support systems; because I’m starting to feel not so close to them anymore. I don’t feel their drive, or their need for me, it’s rattling. How can you awaken them? You can’t. I wish everyone understood you need to be selfish when you plan YOUR life, because at the end of the day, whoever lives trying to make someone else’s happiness above theirs will never feel satisfied for themselves. I actually did that for a while too. Sure love and affection is huge- I’m very warm to people I care for- but I never actually DID anything. There actually is a world where both exist together, because the warmth you receive from someone else will motivate your ideas and plans- it’s support. They want it for you, just like you for them. 50-50. Until then- eat your safe world without risks and tell me how bland it tastes. Don’t try anything new. Don’t grow. Stay put.
I know I’m definitely a hypocrite- but I’m honest about it too. If I want something I’ll at least try- most of the time. Even if people tell me not too- I’ll probably try harder. Sometimes I feel like succumbing into a screaming match because I am powerless as the only person to blame is myself- and it would be so much easier to pin it on someone else. No, you fool, it’s you– be selfish, if you don’t- nobody else will do it for you. Yes I’m absolutely in a stage of madness, but you can’t fault the honesty. I’ve been on both sides, the hurt and the hurter, the winner and the loser, the lover and the fighter. But ask me which one I would pick in all 3 cases? Ain’t hard, and for the record I’m a lover’.
I felt my security and routine start to break, my frustration everyday grows and it’s because I’m doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results- Einsteins theory for insanity. I can feel the change, the way I looked at myself changed; I saw it in my eyes. Wake up, man, fuck- what have you accomplished that you WANTED to do? You’re 25. Society doesn’t dictate when I should and shouldn’t be married/have children/have my dream job or be at a certain point in my life- I do. I felt behind my eyes disintegrate like a shattered china plate; but into a million pieces of hunger. I realised my wasted days and moments and loathed them. I realised every fucking second I stared at a screen and didn’t move, entertained by someone else’s ideas. It made me feel disgusted. Every inspiration I have is because whoever did it- acted.
We cannot see the wind in an empty street. Plant trees.
C.f
Controlling the Contagious
As I waited anxiously for my coffee to be handed to me, middle afternoon on the third day of winter, I looked around. Sitting by the window on a high wooden stool inside a seemingly old fashioned cafe I couldn’t help but notice some things. The furniture and everything didn’t match and I had safely never seen anyone inside before in my life. The youngest staff member was probably 35. They sold candles and soap. Then I put my phone away, dropped my problems travelling behind my eyes and listened.
The busy cafe hummed with presence, the mere noises you would associate with a medium sized open space filled with people simply being…people. Conversing, not thinking, just talking and breathing, as if using this time to fill their day doing something, anything interesting at all that gets them out of the house. As I embraced my fly-on-the-wall state, I listened intently on various snippets of conversation that were loud enough to pickup. Two elderly women were aggressively discussing a surgery of one of the members, referencing the strenuous process of recovery and how terrible it was going. Another 30-something lady bickered to her younger friend in gym clothes whilst repeatedly moving her stroller back and forth, seemingly drifting between bickers and checking over her baby boy who seemed to be enjoying the view from his dreams. There was another lady waiting, seemingly distraught that her choice of beverage cost 50c more for soy milk, guaranteed to complain to the first person she sees after leaving the cafe (we all have one). Finally, there was a 30-something guy by himself, scrolling through an iPad and looking extremely curious; as if he had realised he was the only patron who was dining inside without someone to complain too opposite him.
And then there was me.
All these troubles, it’s crazy. I know we’re all selfish and have our own problems which we feel are more exciting and important than others, because they are our own. In our life story, we are the star, so our experiences trump others’ experience because we cannot feel someone else’s experience, but we sure felt our own and feel like telling everyone.
BUT,
Instead of talking about good things, we find it more appealing to talk about things that suck, as it’s maybe more entertaining, or it gets us sympathy and attention, or we’re venting. Which is cool, but fuck, look around at the faces next time you find yourself people watching- then wonder what message you’re sending? We all have problems. Some are more serious than others, I get that, and venting and confiding in others is important. We all know venting is like shaking a coke bottle and letting it explode. Sure it’s a release, but at the end of the day you have to deal/cleanup the mess you’re standing in. Or leave it forever and have a big ass stain on the floor that gets darker and darker the more you step on it. Clean it up you fool. Do you need to carry your problems into society with you and drop crumbs of them on anyone who gets too close? Maybe you have something happier to say? I encounter people all day everyday, and usually the average response to ‘how is your day?’ is ‘not bad, but a) the day isn’t over yet b) just had this happen…[insert trivial problem that isn’t a real problem]’. Man, what a bummer. I remember every nice person though, I walk out feeling energised, super positive and whistling.
Sometimes I just need to listen to the world and decide what noises I’m releasing, and sometimes it strikes a nerve. I was the old lady, I was the mum and I’ve definitely been the loner at the table judging everyone (just judged him again, sorry bro). But after that, I took my double-shot delicious nectar-of-the-gods in it’s cardboard cup to my car, stared at my phone screen and put it away. I changed my music from sadness of “The Smiths” to the upbeat of “The Drums” and it was a wake up x 2 (caffeine kick).
My sister has MS, and I guarantee you, if you walk into any room she’s sitting in she’ll always smile at you. She can be crazy, and she can bitch and goss about dumb things, but most of the time, she’s beaming and it’s contagious. She’s awesome to be around. Are you?
C.f
Close from Far
I can see her face through my imagination, constructing it behind my eyes, through my memories, with my ideas of what I hope and remember combines to be.
I feel her eyes looking for me too; it makes the blood pump against my chest. Like my heart is searching for an escape, wanting to see for itself the canvas of this remarkable soul. Her soul is a gift. Rewarding whoever catches a second glance with rich inspiring notes filling every step, scream and surface.
Does she still exist?
When she paints her ideas, does it resemble me, even in fragments?
Am I in love with a synthetic woman or have I lost my grasp on reality by fabricating an image to quench my need for something I can’t touch?
My mind wanders over and over, showing me it’s power; not of a superhuman but of a human who needed to realise how the mind can create and feel simply by it’s own power and ideology, unprovoked and uncontrolled with no restraints forming a uniquely beautiful image rapidly like a wild beast breaking out of a cage.
It’s late, and it’s lonely, but my mind sees her, and has seen her before, and when I see her again, I’ll know. It will find a way, right?
It’s scary to think, what if I’m oblivious to my own lies?
Maybe I’m painting the lie to protect my everyday thoughts, consoling myself through ideas of what ‘could’ or ‘might’ happen, holding a match to chase the flame and search for the spark.
Whatever, fuck. I’ll follow these thoughts, vulnerably running into darkness with no clue of my surroundings- aimlessly following my hopes and memories and what they combine to be.
As I write, and re-write, and re-paint inside where nobody else can see EXACTLY what I see, I’ll try to explain to you. This madness sounds mad to you, but imagine it as an ever-changing collection of loops and flashes like a broken tape playing only split seconds of a film from all different scenes, understandable only to someone who has seen it many times before. Piecing together the flashes to create the entire picture. Ludicrous, isn’t it?
Until that picture forms, I’ll quietly keep my ideas and chase them to be truth; allowing myself the comfort of trying even if it appears too distant right at this very moment.
If I gave you wings, would you fly? Would you leap into the void knowing you could fly out? I guess it’s the same thing, because not everything that has wings can actually fly.
The beauty in the imagination is that what we all see behind our eyes could in fact be real and although nobody in this entire universe can see exactly how I envision or what my mind paints; that does not make it any less likely that it could be real. She could have the eyes I see and she could have a soul that inspires and warms others with kindness and beauty. She might not look the same right now, but one day she will be both physical and an idea, in thought and in touch, in front of me, and by my side.
So as I lay here trying to remember, trying to reimagine, trying to sleep; painting with a private brush..
I hope the only lying I’m doing is on this bed.
C.f
Day-Eating-Being
“You seem to fear me don’t you?
It’s okay. I’m accustomed to it. Those who notice me, are always afraid.
I’ll collect your minutes, I’ll add to my pile. The more time you waste, I’ll collect it all.”
It’s one of my biggest fears, the waste of time and potential. The thought that a ‘thing’ is collecting my time, picking up my hours, minutes and seconds -collecting them all. Picking up every day that I waste.
Can you imagine? Once the day changes, it’s stolen. 24 hours of new history, where you cannot change or achieve anything in that time, ever again?
Call me mad, and I hate-to-break-it-to-you – but the ‘day-eating-being’ is real, even if you don’t see it.
So regardless if I told you, or you knew of it already, or you simply don’t care- I still have something to tell you.
You were put on this earth, to do what you love, to leave your years of existence and handprints where you choose, but only the way you choose. To chase what you want to do with your days and minutes, not wasting a day. I can safely tell you, you weren’t put here to be miserable and give control of your happiness to others. I think we just stumble into these lapses when we think far off into the future, rather than simply thinking about ‘tomorrow’. It’s healthy to plan ahead, but tomorrow is closer. You have to remember how many ‘tomorrows’ you’ll have before your long term goals are achieved. They should be equal priority.
So as I sit on my bed, writing these words, using my fingers to translate what my brain wants to say: I hope you listen. And I’m sick of these stupid-ass posts about ‘self-help’ and the borderline cheesy topics that most people won’t actually do anything about, but I gave it a try. Just so you know, I’m not living my dream yet, nor am I even employed properly in a job that is close to my dream. I’m struggling, and I’m feeding the ‘day-eating-being’ many of my days, wishing they had worked out better for me. I’m also afraid that it’s taking potential and talent away from me, replacing it with a need to settle in desperate times for something I don’t want to do. Which is okay; for now. It won’t always be like this. Each day is precious, and I’ll appreciate the better ones more because of it.
So for future me reading this, and maybe you right now- I hope it’s working. There is always beauty in the struggle, I promise you. Start looking for it everyday. The days being eaten tomorrow won’t be wasted if they’re getting you closer towards where you want to be.
Imagination
Glancing left to right whilst walking forward, not one set of eyes is caught from the faces above the coats. It feels oddly familiar; aimlessly walking down the dim lit city street where everyone keeps their eyes to themselves, the cold early hours of a winter morning. The air is still, the sound is footsteps and water drips on the cold pipes, surfaces, bricks and street lights; reminding you that at any moment the skies could open, even if to swallow you and steal you into the night without a trace. I’m afraid to encounter another soul, yet do not feel alone, occupied with my thoughts which become more distracting once the sun disappears, as if afraid of the light.
My footsteps bring me closer to the building on my right hand side, as I steer myself around others walking against me in the opposite direction. The road to my left is empty, as are the buildings across the street. Before I know, I’m beside the industrial concrete building, gazing up at it’s bare cold structure, watching a trail of smoke escape from behind it’s roof. I come up to a wooden edged window, and turn to face cold steel eyes, and the abyss behind them, not knowing if they are my own or someone else’s. I can’t help contemplating how all the non mad people are silently sleeping in normal lives, and here I stand outside, awake, looking at the glass shadow of a madman. I turn to walk away, shrugging off the mad mans eyes and assuring myself the moons light does that to everyone, comforting myself to believe something I know isn’t truth. Breathing puffs of dust into the air, I notice through the dull colours that every feature which normally lays without any beauty, has an enhanced feature of romance, trapped in the tragedy that it only becomes beautiful at a time when nobody is looking at it. Through this thought, something catches my eye on the other side of the street, making me instantly forget.
Between the moving coats that operate like machines on the sidewalk, a woman sits outside on a window sill, striking me like light filling through the cracks in the clouds. Her eyes are dark, but warm, deep with seduction that whatever you’re doing is intoxicating. Her dimples move as she changes her perfect mouth, draped in red lipstick whilst contemplating thoughts she herself is occupied with. Her long brown hair rests beside her warm face, a beauty that would exist in any light, time or setting. She looks down, as if searching for solutions in the concrete to destroy her problems, searching for something. She quickly looks up, as if she found the answer, catching my moon reflecting eyes in the process that are so large with curiosity and thought that the world is silenced and I can only hear my inner voice.
I want her comfort, I want to change my solitude and sit next to her, I want company between the coats. A million things race through me, giving me an energy to find the answers. Why is she out here? What is she thinking about? Why isn’t she sleeping safely, avoiding the mad dangerous creatures drifting through the night without a purpose?
She smiles, still staring into my eyes, as if attempting to answer my curiosity with a calm, warm gesture. I nod, and send a smile back, simply to let her know that I appreciate the warmth she sent my way.
She gestures for me to come over with her hand, not breaking eye contact with her brown eyes, as if seeing right into my thoughts and quenching my desire. I look both ways, intoxicated with the idea of being close to something so beautiful, wanting to protect it whilst losing my loneliness in the warmth. The road is clear, and without hesitation I step down off the sidewalk onto the road, and sink. Like a terrible fall into the abyss, the ground disappears at my touch, feeling like I stepped off a boat into the ocean rather than being swallowed whole by the city street. My heart drops, I lose her eyes as I fall out of sight, searching above me for anything to hold on to, but there is nothing. I begin to accept it, I’m slowly falling into the dark side of the night, air whisking past me, as if trapped inside a tornado of blur, wishing so desperately that I was back on the sidewalk.
I close my eyes, trying to hide from the fall, and let out a painful roar that seems to come from deep within my chest. The pain of the missed opportunity, knowing that I’m getting further away whilst feeling close to nothing like I’m in the middle of the ocean. I try to imagine I’m still on the sidewalk, or maybe the window sill; but it’s too late. I open my eyes, it’s calm, quiet, peaceful. I have a blanket on my chest, I’m not falling anymore. A pillow is under my thoughts and an illuminated set of numbers glows in the outline of an object in front of me.
01:17 AM.
I close my eyes, hoping to see the large brown eyes again, the warm presence, the beauty. Slowly, and effortlessly, my mind falls back into sleep.
Maybe the mad people sleep too, maybe the mad man isn’t you?
Maybe.
Change
It’s a funny thing, change. I think most people avoid it when given the choice; choosing to stay in the warm bed of familiarity rather than venture out on a cold morning and risk the uncertainty. The stigma of a new face, place or job. The unknown and unfamiliar territory seems daunting. It’s vulnerability, where we are forced to represent ourselves to an environment or pulse that has no idea what we are truly like; where we have to build a foundation from the ground up of how we want to be seen from the outside. It’s effort, and our own perception of honesty.
When we are honest, it is the single highest point of vulnerability. If I told you that I didn’t care for something, but truthfully I did, I’ve protected myself from exposing the dark side of my heart behind a barrier of miscommunication. However, if I told you how much I adored something, you’d know exactly how I felt, and therefore an insight into my personal thought process. It’s this protection that restricts our emotions and feelings. It’s why we miss out on opportunities, and how we don’t grow by limiting our potential, when it truly doesn’t own any limitations.
But why?
Change is different, but ‘different’ doesn’t mean ‘bad’. It can lead to new beginnings. It spawns opportunity. It lets you grow, and expands your depth of feeling. Even the lowest of lows is growth, as a greater appreciation for the high comes from falling that low. It’s an enhanced appreciation for everything, every sense, every smile from a stranger. I bet you wouldn’t realise how much you liked running until you lost your leg. Don’t let it get to that extreme.
As 2015 begun, I had strayed from a party into the ocean, temporarily revealing madness outside by roaring at the moon as it guided a reflective light path deep into the unknown depths, intoxicated with alcohol and opportunity. It became clear that a journey isn’t meant to be controlled; like a map, but rather to be unknown with little control, adapting as things come and go. Growth comes from change, so embrace it. Find the opportunities, and loosen your grip on the predetermined path, let life lead you. Control the controllable, and point yourself in the direction you desire, knowing that the only path set in stone is the one behind you. Move forward.
C.f
Taken in Chicago.
Clarity
I’ve begun to realise what I want in this life, and I want to give whomever is reading this some mental dribble to think about as the dawn of a New Year inches ever closer.
Reflect on your life, and harness the people around you who own beautifully encouraging souls, as they will make you feel richer whilst wanting to see you succeed with all your ambitions. The flip on this is to rid yourself of the people who want company in complacency, and have chosen you to join them in the safety net of not achieving things. They achieve this through attempting to keep you from growing by discouraging your strange thoughts and ideas when they are most fragile.
You are a fire, surround yourself with gasoline instead of water, and explode into living a passion filled life. Have a strong mindset that isn’t easily extinguished. There is always generations who were too heavily influenced by social norms to spread and expand their minds, but you are different. You don’t have to be contained by a job, a family, a religion or even your own goals and limits. Chase knowledge infinitely, be strong you fool! Leap into the void and create your mark on this earth. Don’t be a departed soul, laying in a coffin out of heartbeats to purchase time; use the minutes you have preciously and create everything you feel strong enough about and don’t ever stop the process of getting it. Burn like a reckless uncontrollable fire that cannot be slowed by the elements of society and what it expects of you. Live life with contagious love and inspire those around you to do the same.
Happy New Year.
C.f
Complacency
Hey you, reading this, care to do me a favour? Or more importantly, yourself one?
Self Portrait
Look into a mirror, and beyond the beautiful face that looks back at you, and it’s deep endless stare, I want you to scream/yell/lose yourself in a random act of rage. As loud and as hard as you can. If you feel shy, do it into a pillow. Get everything normal out, with one crazy insane out-of-your-mind lunatic scream. Just because.
It is so often encouraged and taught in society, that we must do things a certain way. We must act accordingly. Get a job, buy a house, get married, have kids. Social norms that are pushed upon you by your parents/government/teacher/peers. It’s a safe option.
It’s complacency, and it’s killing you.
Do you even know what you want? I don’t. But I know what makes me happy. And you probably do too. So do those things instead. It’s simple, and still it goes over the head of so many people. I don’t know how many individuals I know now, that as they’ve grown up a little bit, forget that they can actually do ANYTHING. The complacency of accepting how your life is, is killing you. Just do what makes you happy, and always chase that feeling of progressively achieving it. Sure, sacrifices will need to happen. But that doesn’t mean your entire life. Just moments, which contribute to achieving a result.
Im sorry if I’ve offended you, but seeing as so many people actually listen to these routines and life goals placed upon your head like a hat, I think it’s almost equally important to find people to tell you NOT to follow them and encourage you for doing so. Just do things for yourself, make yourself happy. Hey I know you probably shouldn’t spend money on lunch or a little treat, but will it make your day better? Do it.
The smartest person I’ve ever met, told me that success = happiness, and it changed everything for me. At the end of the day, we all have a picture in our heads of what our life could turn out to be like, and how awesome it would be, and how we hope it will just kind of happen, maybe even overnight. Crazy enough, It can be done, maybe not overnight, but it can actually exist. Other people have done it, so you can too. Just don’t give in to a complacent sense of direction, taking you down a safe-highway which will end up leading into the darkness of a wasted life and opportunity. That picture in your mind is real, you just have to get there. Picasso said “Everything you can imagine is real“. Don’t think about the money, or your parents preference, or necessarily the smartest option. Do what makes you happy, and do it right now. Scream the complacent self out of your outfits, and replace it with a person who chooses what makes them happy every day. Time spent waiting, is time wasted.
“Happiness consists in realizing it is all a great strange dream”
– Jack Kerouac
It’s time to wake up.
C.f
Jackson
“How do you know when you’re finished?”
“How do you know when you’re finished making love?”
– Jackson Pollock
What a beautiful theory.
C.f
Phone Diaries 04/09/2014
It begins at 5am. I lay awake at the realisation of what the day is, and to therefore plan my off road path of running. The 4th of September, a usual day to most, the day being Thursday and just another Thursday to the many millions of unaffected people who have no significance to September the 4th. But what does it mean to me, and why am I awake when the sounds around me aren’t asking to see my eyes?
It’s the birthday of a recently passed man, who influenced this life for the greater, years before the innocence of my questions began to un-believe the common answers. It’s a day where although normal and the same- I am,
I am forced to remember the times of happiness and beautiful love I was blessed with like a soft touch, which creates a sadness that is able to hold on tightly like a chain around a battered wrist. As I lay awake in Santorini, Greece at 5 in the morning I have not a soul feeling sorry for me and no reason too, yet I am stained with the realisation that I cannot tell you two words about your day and yet still feel connected to you briefly, through the tellings of one of our last conversations. That conversation was me telling you that I would be in Santorini at one stage at 5 in the morning at which was at the time ‘in future‘ but now is upon me like the blankets on my chest. Once I finish said trip and return to the madness of reality and what it has in store for me, I have not a sip of connection to you anymore. And that is why reality seems far removed, as a connected reality to one person gone, a crucial person, means my new found ‘future’ is deeper than the ocean I lay next too, in thought and in physical, and appears to swallow away my connection and replace it on a shelf of memories that I own of you.So what do you do at 5 in the morning in Santorini on the 4th of September? You should sleep. And sleeping is rest, and the rest is dreams. And although you miss and you forget, and the remembering hurts, and you can’t help but overcome your sadness in sunshine; enjoy the quiet. Happy Birthday Janós Bedi.
04/09/1931 – 13/07/2013
An Eagle looking over the Danube river in Budapest, Hungary.
Somewhere in Budapest, Hungary, where only I know.
C.f
Reality < Dreams
What can I say? I’m back to reality. I’ve seen many countries, a million faces, and spent almost all of my money -but still, I feel rich. I do not regard money as the most valuable currency anymore, and although it is a core fundamental for exploring this beautifully strange planet, it does not make me feel rich. It does not make me more valuable. It does not make me a better person.
My priceless currency is kindness. Small or large quantities, it doesn’t matter, it’s acts towards me have meant more than any dollars or cents I’ve received. No, I am not a hippie. I’m not a dreamy peaceful stoner. I’m not even always kind myself. But I realise that it’s rare. So rare, that it’s value exceeds money.
I found the best in humans, which I didn’t believe existed except for one really strong exception. I found it in the laundromat when I didn’t have any detergent, I found it in the grocery store when the amount I had in my pocket was ‘enough’, and I found it from strangers on the train, who helped me get to the bed I was sleeping in that night when I couldn’t read the signs. It didn’t matter if it lasted 5 seconds, it helped me, and cost no money, yet I left feeling complete assurance that some people wanted to help me, simply because.. they could. What a beautiful sentiment, that something almost everyone is capable of doing for free, can be done? Surely it can’t be that easy? It is. The coldness of this world is strong sometimes, and overwhelming.
At the end of the day, we are all equal, and can help someone through their day with only a little effort. The person sleeping on the street isn’t any less of a human than you are. I’ve always felt it a burden to care so much, but it separates me from the people who can walk away without helping, which took select people and trusting myself to realise. That is enough for me to fall sleep each night.
So what else?
I’ve missed a lot of people. Some very, very much. Some I’ve lost contact with more, which is upsetting, considering it’s my own fault. I guess sometimes it’s necessary. Sometimes I feel lonely, that I do not talk to them. I was raised on the notion, if you have nothing nice to say, say nothing. And sometimes things are better left unsaid, because what you say might not be bad, but it might get you into trouble. And that is something better to leave unsaid. You just have to hope, that you don’t hurt people who don’t deserve it, wherever they are.
“The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion”
ALBERT CAMUS
“I don’t want learning, or dignity, or respectability. I want this music, and this dawn, and the warmth of your cheek against mine.”
RUMI
“Turn your fears into creative energy”. – Afflatus
Somewhere in Portland, Oregon, where only I know.
C.f
Moments
I have begun collecting photographs of specific times and dates, simply to remind myself how I felt at that exact moment. Normally this method is intended to be moments of absolute happiness, and as there is no physical way to capture and contain emotions from certain moments, I like to remind myself that they do exist, have happened before, and most importantly – can happen again.
The only catch from this technique?
Not only can it remind you of the lighter side of life, it can also turn off the light and take you back through the dark times too.
Be careful where it takes you.
C.f
He’s Back
So what now?
Did you hear the story of the Eagle born from a Rose?
You probably don’t know.
It’s a story of something vulnerable, yet strong,
That just started to grow.
Nobody understood why,
And it started anxiety,
It was simply too different,
No place in society!
Its feathers were different;
its body was strong,
But still it was hidden,
No place to belong.
It made no sense!
It was tougher than metal!
A strong and tall eagle,
That came from a petal?
Yet the answer you seek,
Isn’t crazy or mad,
Because different or strange,
doesn’t mean bad.
Most minds are conformed,
Most eyes do not see,
We are forced to buy tickets,
We can’t get in free.
This world can hide beauty,
Missed in dark places,
Whilst everything normal,
is placed in bright spaces.
So a seed was planted,
To change our reality,
A bird from a flower?
You must have insanity!
But ignore these thoughts,
And silence the word,
Plant your own Rose,
And grow your own bird.
Fight for your ideas,
and fly over each obstacle,
And anything you wish,
Can be made possible.
Never stop searching,
Or trying to find,
The hidden ideas,
Stuck in a beautiful mind.
Help them grow tall,
And feed your black sheep,
Because dreams don’t have limits,
Like the ones in your sleep.
c.f
Inspired by someone who made me realise my thoughts were worth sharing again.
25/03/2014
“Surrealism is destructive, but it destroys only what it considers to be shackles limiting our vision.” ― Salvador Dalí
Dearest You, it’s I
I wonder how many people pause for a moment, regardless of their current situation and question ‘life’, as if to ponder if you’re living your own life or if it’s living you. Many nights I stay awake lying in my bed, with the only light being the small light that comes from my ‘sleeping’ laptop which echoes in and out of brightness peaking at a silhouette of my surroundings, and I make plans. It’s healthy to do this, to act out events and use your creative imagination to play back a movie where you’re forced to react in make-believe environments. Out of all of this pretend thinking and dreaming through choices, it eventually dawns on you, that none of it is real. The only thing I hope for you, and for me too, is that these fake scenarios stimulate a reaction in your real world and you do something. Wasting moments and minutes thinking about things is like renting life, you’re wasting your resources and not getting anywhere except a pretty picture to visit. Potential is such a great thing to waste, so if you’re reading this, do something you’ve thought about for awhile, or do something different and experience a situation you’ve only thought about being in from the comfort of your imagination.
Happy New Year to all – C.f.
Deep Hands
Those with shallow hands have the greediest pockets, and those with small pockets have the deepest hands.
Toward or in the direction of: running into flowers.
C.f.
Mind Kiss
Who looks after the person,
who looks after you?
When you lose your own shadow,
do you lose the sun too?
Do you run for the finish
to win a quick race?
Or pick up the fallen
but fall to last place?
Do you tell them you feel
and why you do feel this?
Can you drink all these letters,
touched through like a mind kiss?
You may not know, all the answers to all,
because the questions to you, aren’t questions you call.
Yet If you listen and read, I’ll answer them true,
These questions have answers, and your knowledge be grew.
That person has someone,
but it sure isn’t you,
If you do something nice,
you’ll take some of their blue.
Your shadow can run,
and your shadow has sight,
and when the sun is gone,
just turn on a light.
When you win a quick race,
you’ll win something small,
a quick race is short,
but life is more tall.
And if you help all the fallen,
you’ll fill all the cracks,
you’ll show that us humans,
work better in packs.
Your feel is your own,
and should not be hidden,
so tell who is worthy,
or regret that you didn’t.
Now I hope that you’ve drunk,
all the letters I’ve spilt,
I hope that I’ve shown you,
how smiles can be built,
and I hope very least,
this text kisses you,
as our minds have now kissed,
and my letters go through.
In the Mood for Love (2000)
C.f
Shut Your Eyes and Think
I’ve only recently discovered that creativity comes from nowhere, and literally anything can make you feel something different, even if you’ve seen it a thousand times. It all comes down to chance and your surroundings.
Sometimes it helps, to shut your eyes and think,
To search yourself and find the thoughts you sink,
As you can search your think and find your thoughts, the ones you hid, and some with force
BUT
They exist in the leaves from the trees that have grown, ones you’ve planted, ones in stone.
They float around and move at will, as they still move when you lay still.
Yet they flee, when you’re searching the most, Yet they leave, unseen, a ghost.
It is because, we cannot explain, what we see, and what we contain.
So read your words, the ones you write, and plant more trees, to colour your white,
Look at all things, unlock your locks, and always think, outside of the box,
And if you do, then luck will show, creativity is a plant, and few seeds grow.
C.f
RunIntoFlowers.co 