We. All. Deserve. Love.

Seventy-five minutes. Sourced with hope to open the book for the bored, the boring, and the basic – who have more boring to bake with rather than be bothered…

Sourced to shed Light on the lady; on the value behind the lens; the authenticity of the artist, and the profundity that informs her philanthropy; how that red-letter can – by the combination of both her conscious realisations and her recognition – start something that can raise what appears to be so ruined.

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But so many conclusion-jump.

They don’t know much about the muchness – which is annoying on any topic when the confidence at which they will loudmouth their latherings is numbing. My friend Larissa says that it is because she’s such a controversial figure, and that “…most people never actually open the book.”

Each of us is our own.

Book.

And many will go unopened.

Many will misplace the masterpiece that stands within.

Most of us will shamelessly edit our own… masking it to march like a number with the masses in mediocrity.

Where is your masterpiece buried?

Where is your maxim to be authentic, defending your truth against the delinquent war of devotion that collects to derail it?

And by the way, where does their dire, darkness’s need come from anyway? What is this idle undertaking to upset?

The alternative is so much more accessible, right? And so much more attractive for all assembled here – wherever your here is…

Maybe your here is here, headed towards holding the hands and hearts of 7 billion others.

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But keep a lookout.

There are always going to be those who don’t want Love to have the last word.

Liars.

They live here too.

Skulkers.

Sewn up for the senseless salutations that waste rather than recognise:

WE. ALL. DESERVE. LOVE. 

So deserve it.

Defend it.

And then deal it out…

The authentic generosity of your genius, your goods, your goodness, your gifts…

And there you will see that beauty’s where you find it, and that no matter what: brutal simplicity cannot survive in sin.

Come.

Let’s conversate.

But … behold! If you enter the bullfight – best you be in your Maletilla.

Between now and then, I promise to myself, to amplify my advancing as I age, always, and never abate or be abated again.

I am an artist. I am authentic.

WE. ALL. DESERVE. LOVE. 

I hope you live yours too.

GIMEL | Part 3  

BET | Part 2  

ALEPH | Part 1

#WritingStoriesDifferently 

© Dylan Balkind

∞ I AM BECAUSE WE ARE ∞

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There is always someone with something to say about something that someone else is doing.

Negative feedback.

The redundant review.

I have a big mouth.

I’m trying to be conscientious about choosing my moments.

Context is consideration.

A stake is sincerity.

Simply adding to the no-end-of noise and the no-end-to nausea is just needless.

And needless is nasty.

I don’t mean humour or jovial-jeering. I mean the destructive, dysfunction of over-confident dorks who will always choose to sit rather than surmount.

Problems are plenty. Our political landscape is proof ~ and that’s just as a collective. So? What are you going to do about it? And if not for us, then at least for you? What are you going to do about those uniquely intimate problems on your path?

If you aren’t going to get up – shut up.

Dignity. Respect. Tolerance. These are only on loan to you while you market the moments that matter enough to have lifted a love within you – enough to commit to caring about any one- or many things – and so adding value.

Even if how you reverberate is in the conscientious choice to steer clear of the clash.

That’s still sincere.

That’s still something.

And something doesn’t just sit.

I AM BECAUSE WE ARE 

Bet | Part 2 

www.raisingmalawi.org

#WritingStoriesDifferently


Part 1

© Dylan Balkind

Madonna: a Monographic Mosaic | Part 1

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Passion is a personal playground.

Sometimes personal is sacred and private… other times it is something we want to make public.

On 6 November, 2014, I published DIVIN\ADINE. After some wandering with editing audio, my friend Catharine asked me to do it, and it became the first in a trilogy of #WritingStoriesDifferently that covered a shared passion for Alanis Morissette. I think that since, the question wondered by those who know me – not excluding myself – has been: why no Madonna mix, yet?

I swore I couldn’t.

I was petrified.

And here I am… playing in that playground.

Ergo, it can’t be wrong to be overwhelmed by a passion at any one time – albeit between bouts of bravery – right?

It was MNET’s screening of the Drowned World Tour in 2001 that hooked me. I’ve always respected her. Watching. Wondering, mostly. And I knew all the hits before that particular tour… but it was the way she brought them front and centre, LIVE, that has held me since, partisan in my preoccupation with the tireless work that personifies her very core:

We can do anything.

There aren’t many timeless icons.

Elvis Presley – whose date of death is also the same day in August that Madonna was born – once said: “Ambition is a dream with a V8 engine.” Given the context, I can’t think of anything more I could say about that, except perhaps that, if ambition can be measured by working until you no longer have to introduce yourself, well then my Sovereign, Ingressor got it long, long ago.

She goes on, learning from herself, her conclusions captaining her compass, again, and again, and again…

That’s inspiration right there.

I picked up my crown, put it back on my head
I can forgive, but I will never forget

Aleph | Part 1

#WritingStoriesDifferently

Part 2

© Dylan Balkind

 

Zakanaka

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Zakanaka: to mean go well, quite fine or good.

Sounds to be very much in the active voice, which, most of what we speak is.

Not talk, discuss or dialogue mind you – but speak.

To staccato-sermon at people rather than with them.

But there’s nothing Zakanaka about that…

Interesting times we’ve transited Jason.

To have had the forum for your sacred to be saluted, your hurting heard, and your darkness given its den to breathe in, to then unwind with such upfront umbrage when asked to give back in the same way… And not because you were unable – but simply because you were unwilling.

And then you flexed your fury and vehemence with violence. Because to hit it must stop it, right?

Wrong.

It hasn’t ever.

Yet.

So, I’ll say it again: there is nothing Zakanaka about it.

Consider this, if you will:

If what you know is only some of the facts,
and what you’ve heard is only one side in all of this…
If what you’ve seen gave you just some of the gist,
…well, then… it’s really only some of your business. 

#WritingStoriesDifferently 

© Dylan Balkind

Canned Love

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I’ve been looking at what you’re doing…
…and I think you’re in desperate need of change…

of where you allocate your time ┈

your tumult ┈
your tacit ┈
your tactile ┈
your hero-worship ┈

 

It’s all “To:”

 

It’s always “To:”

 

To emulate
To collate
To rotate
To obligate
To reiterate
To motivate
To the point of acerbate

This game of inches…
…with margins so small…
Its boundaries blurred…
…on a good day.

They say.

See I’ve been looking at what you’re doing…

Authenticate ┈
Validate ┈
Originate ┈
And embrace the enchant that your life already is.

Generate
Good to great

And allocate your time ┈
your tumult ┈
your tacit ┈
your tactile ┈
your hero-worship ┈
– to Your Wonder.

Canned Love
Lives
Inside

What does freedom mean to you?
Pssst… click on the header image…
#WritingStoriesDifferently 

 

© Dylan Balkind

Canned Silence

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Stories ┈ steered ┈ by the soul ┈

What we store ┈
What we sad ┈
What we sing ┈
What we sieve ┈

┈ stories ┈ shape ┈ the soul ┈

Experience.

Experienced.

Some of it sound.
Some of it to sounds.
Some of it strident.
Some of it silent.

┈ stories ┈ sting ┈ the soul ┈

Confined…
to collect.
Canned.
Cultivating.

A sadness stored will sieve itself silently…

┈ over ┈ and over ┈ and over again ┈

Sometimes stubborn.
Sometimes stoical.
In song.
Sung silently.

Capable ┈
or crestfallen…

 

Canned Silence ┈ is not always capitulation.

…and when courageous…

That’s freedom.

What does freedom mean to you?

 

Pssst… click on the header image… 

#WritingStoriesDifferently 

© Dylan Balkind