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

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

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

[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.

Painted on a window frame, this piece is now worth between $800,000 & $1,200,000

C.f

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

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 

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 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

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

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