I recently went through one of those very-ugly-for-reasons-long-reduced things, that pressure-cooked contempt and its equal release were to such points that “ugly” wouldn’t’ begin to describe them – from any perspective. But ugly isn’t really surprising when the suppressions become the sickness – right? Right. So better now. Or will be. Point is, in that there, then, there was a person I needed– and knew I could call. And so that night, when I got into bed, I opened my notepad and wrote this for her:
life is like music
and bars of eight where we celebrate the miss-guessing and hot-stepping
through the open ones or hairbrush-singing
outside the un-fun when we commiserate spate for them come upon locked gates
friends are like music
in bars and bars from eight without veneer means no need for linear which life never is when in it unscripted not cryptic or supposed to fulfill any sort of hat-trick
after time gone and sunsets done crimes and their fines healed from alone’s seen-signs over dry-grass lawns or ceilings stared into until dawn while the world is asleep and you feel furious at the creeps or just lie there and weep
then, there, just as you would be
things just as they should be
with some in many not in every episode so that cameos aren’t catapulted or camouflaged as anything less or untoward
but just there then when the things that should be traveled as I rather than We reminding you that things are always just as they should be
that is soul business and there’s no other quite like it your fit proven alive by that nudge through fog under moon echoed by swoon
of Howling Dogs
it is there
the Universe will kiss
like Kettle Mist
✯ ✯ ✯
We did amazing things!
Yes. You – and I – reading and writing this.
And here’s why: Because You may not know just how much, but you wrote these with me.
And we wrote these stories Differently. Realities that were sometimes soft, often not and thumped out as bigger sounds in booms – and bytes.
So thank you… thank You… THANK YOU!
Your Light is Tall – and I salute it from here in mine, with this:
So… there has been so much outpouring of love and Light in the shared news of what headline’d Finn’s. And with it, we THANK YOU!
We also promised you some inside info – the “secret” we called it… But, and here’s the thing… it’s not a secret. Because it is YOU all – and that Light you give! In the comments and messages and inbox’d words… Still… if this sounds confusing, then here… try this:
✯ ✮ ✯
I know you know what I mean when I suggest that you have a friend that you like a lot, because you have invested the time that validates your allegiance… but will still have mutual friends who write them off, or have assumed big things based on small amounts of (the consumed) information… and so, when you can, you try to use the forum to sell the Saint parts of what many others see as just-saline?!
After I shared 5iftySe7en, my friend Nundi said that she learned so much/more about Madonna via listening to my share… and therein such prize for my presentation!
Still, these (my) relentless ravings can and will be interpreted as juvenile, often. But not unlike a station you can bitch about for its programming – or ultimately choose to switch from – my loves here are plastered in the same way. No one has to watch or hear what they choose not to.
After the Paris attacks in 2015, a friend of mine I’d known for a decade un-friended me because I’d said on Facebook that I found it annoying that people would change their profile pic and/or share the (then, that day, very generic) #PrayForParis one… And I said so because I am very sure that these kinds of considerations to such topics are fleeting. And so very, very vapid.
I was not nor have I ever mitigated the seriousness and intensity of this global issue and its traumas! My point was (and is), that if you are going to make a statement – DO and BE a statement!
I don’t think that because you clicked your mouse a few times and changed your picture, for those in your friends-list to see, is anything really in to turn the tide for the way the world responds to– and deals with acts of terrorism. Sure, it shows you are aware of current issue and a sensitivity for those closer to flames than you may be… but, most who do that – believing it makes a actual difference – will in the hours that follow, go back to allocating their cerebral capacities to the next Kardastrophe – or similar…
Anyway, since re-acquainting, I proffered VNFVKVRSLF\5OOTWORK as in retrospect of my own sentimentality and intimacy to the issues, but one I’d compiled in context, . soon after the second bouts of attacks on Paris at the Bataclan Theatre… from as small or not my vantage point is.
My angle here isn’t that I deserve a medal for creating the collection of content included therein, but that these do take hundreds of (love-filled) hours, and ideally click with enough people to start or feed conversations around the mix of messages offered…?! That may be a dinner table of two, or four or more… But, sure… Is it any better than changing your profile picture or sharing one? Maybe not… Perhaps I am simply biased – for and within my own context?
So, whether it’s Alanis, cheese, poetry, heart-strings heart-sleeving stuff or my girl here, this is my way of taping the torque of my truths onto others’ art. Theirs. These. Herein.
✮ ✯ ✮
It’s almost this deities birthday. And during the planning of this mashup, I also came into some unhappy news on the birthday of anothers… Madonna has in the past, offered some pretty powerful messages in the context of her having a child, the way her understanding of Love changed therein, and how that made her experience life in different, clearer ways… Ergo, a good fit, for me, here and now.
You don’t have to spend 46 minutes on the chance you may learn something different, be surprised, amused, mused or bemused, but if you do like music, a great story and have the time – give it a whirl.
And if you’re already a fan, I doubt you even read this far before pressing ►
With the state of news-reporting being what it is, I thought I’d stage an intervention. And do my own. It’s unwitnessed. Probably not LIVE. But still less generic than the news you’ll hear anywhere else, yes?
It may not be now what it was to me then… the glean, sheen of America’s Marketing Machine. But I know that that’s (also) because the world has shown – and shows – the untolds that, as a kid you never knew you didn’t want to know about, until you already do…
I grew up ensconced in TV’s heyday, whence the States set the bar for how glistening that was begot to everyone who did: almost all the (Western) world – watching on screens both big and small.
‘Small’ then didn’t define the device, but rather what was a literal translation of affordability – a snowy, black-and-white output versus full colour… the full-stop that ended the statement of your bank-balance.
“Fascination” would be the laziest of understatements to describe my slack-jawed green-eyed-gawking at Green Card central! The planet’s HQ – as far as I was concerned. Held highest… and for the longest…
I wanted to see the twinkling lights of Los Angeles at night; to witness whether steam really did seep upward from Big Apple’s streets, and whether the Keyes unlocked the summer inside, when from in-car and across Florida’s beaches, you basked across and under its sun…
I can tick off the latter two, and can confirm that those filmic representations are not strange to their there-and-thens…but just the norm that I (we?) put on fascination’s pedestal.
Sad, that the world’s sheen is lost when we graduate from tween and teen.
And oh if only to see and do then, when the mind is open to ~ which is all of it!
But I’m not here to Debbie-downer with longing for the glitter and magic from old calendar days’ ticked.
I’m here to ask you to dance…
…or simply sway…
It’s Independence Day!
Something America makes a big noise about… and so they should.
And so should we all!
Independence should be a global holiday.
As and when – for everyone, in theirs there, as and when.
and Every Me.
nor thunk too small…
Pride has just been commemorated in passion’d places across the planet. Most loud, no doubt. Some less so, I’m sure.
Still… what is that?
And why should it be so pronounced?
This is rhetoric.
I’m not anti, except for that I don’t think that the being-pronounced can ever really be deduced to one X on the calendar. And so I often wonder why these commemorations still are? So as to wait 364 days to dance that pride again?
Well that’s just pressure-cookings waiting to combust!
And then?! Would these be spontaneous? Or when the X says okay, go!
This is rhetorical.
My Finn just celebrated his fourth birthday… and whether madman or coping mechanism, my talking as / through him is therapy, regardless.
Ergo, he now knows each of us to be “centimetre-beings”… And so be it!
In a world made of steel… made of stone… and from this sentient being to you – be your centimetres Black, Indian, ISIS and / or Gay – I hope you make the Pride of your passions an everyday goal.
Some of the Loves we live for are harder than others to explain…
If they are yours and you feel that or them… or those, there…
…then, by G-d…! Best you raise the fckn’ curtain!
Because to those who do, even the hardest of us aren’t hard to love.
First… let me say this:
I can count on three fingers, the times I’ve been so angry as to
a) actually see white… and
b) be muted in melancholy by same
Yesterday, when this video of a bully and his (elected) bait at the Krugerlaan School slipped into my news feed on Facebook.
Having been uploaded almost a year ago, I can’t say why it is doing the rounds again now… but I also know social media and how viral works… so yeah. And good it did, because despite the vitriol I journey as the viewer, the victim’s volume – albeit stupidly filmed by the team-wankers who schemed such stupidity – is his vanquish.
“It may not be painless, quick, or easy, but you can insist on a different ending to your story.” – Monica Lewinsky
If anyone is fit to advise on how online conversations keep a story going on… and on… and on… it’s Monica Lewinsky.
Ergo, it may have been uploaded almost a year ago. Viral is never overnight but rather the attention something gets when its timing is true to the testament an audience can and will connect with.
I hope the noise this channel affords him helps with the jarring version he’s had to hear for too long.
And any period of months, minutes or a moment – is too long!
So, once the furious frustration of that third knot frayed-free, I punched this together:
I hope your days are full of fervent, benevolent Light.
To the gentle, I say go gently.
To the not, I say go fuck yourselves.
The video still needs some tweaking… but time is marching on and seeing as it was supposed to be shared for her birthday…
do you ever wonder
what another ponders
and those that look back from inside the mirror
silence a lifetime’s worth of ticking
over short-comings and glory
is the tremor all terrific or more terror
is whatever that is more temporary or what feels like forever?
is it more worry than wonderful?
more doubt that definition?
more questioning than quotas?
more about our failings than about what floats us?
does the pretending that hides pain
bring tears that make eyes rain
and do dilated pupils
see no sun on the windowsills?
fields without daffodils?
always wanting another headache pill?
or maybe not as much distance…
between who you see and what you’ve got?
not so marooned
under midnight moons
and knowing that to empower the distance
is about embracing your duality
for creating from confluence
we are never fully that skin that we move in
that we wear to work or the pub or when in-laws come ‘round to celebrate with grub
for the loves
the variations we lead onlookers to believing
the many or minimal layers
that we thin or thick with
depending on who we’re thin-or-thick-as-thieve’ing with
so… what simpler explanation is there for duality
than what we put on the bench
biding bravado rather than benevolence…
to– and for our own selves?
yes You, in your small section of the world
or not remembering when last you genuinely felt proud…
you have a sound
to audiences as planned
and those that begin as unaware
present and gone
fury and fun
all of it is the Light of the Sun
even when it feels like the jump
before the gunshot has gone off…
sometimes the shepherd
others the sheep
always just fine
if we remember only
that we are omni
and that duality is no sin
it’s just vibration
imagine the stories around that campfire where they now sit and the globe we float on is but an ember in it…
no grief in their whiles bass and vibrato, through all-smiles a moonwalk’s own story (seen only as glory)
…through beautifully, benevolent,
and happ-full slit-eyes…
now from ashes each into a Phoenix become and with limitless soul-torque I’m pretty sure not much ‘rest-in’ will be done…
so why should R.I.P. stand for ‘Rest In Peace’ – if anything? surely no rest will be needed whatever you believe, or believe in…
for wherever it is you believe, or know you will go no grief nor trouble should be before you – nor in tow so through beautifully, benevolent, happy-full slit-eyes I hope your company there– wherever… is all and only about smiles!
Rollin’ In Paradise. A STARBURST for sure
PS: The reason My Way is the Ed Sheeran version is very definitely deserving of its own post altogether… One that will without doubt be calledI remember February.
So, you think you’re not into show tunes? Let me see if I can convince you otherwise…
You may be cooler than ice cold, slide-uphill slick, so much so that Chorus Line to you is what it means to be in the queue at Absa Bank… You may think that Music is a Sound that should be sans all and anything miserable – just for the Ra! Ra! and the shits and giggles.
But then you’ll go and add a soundtrack to your shitty… Gabrielle, Boys II Men, Mariah or Adele, age depending.
Because we do.
And – when we are really lucky – life adds a soundtrack to our giggles.
That’s a show in itself. Which makes us – and how we do that – the show of our tunes.
An artist becomes a giant at his game when he breaks your heart through the beauty of his brushstrokes. Your own giant-becoming is in the ways that you stretch with your heart thereafter.
And that’s a show in itself, which makes each of us and how we do that, the show of our tunes.
Or talked about.
We are the endless journeying jaunts on either side of a scale that has Giant on one side and Ghost on the other.
Both will ever be our burning in the fireplace, either as firework or blazed by the flames of our forfeits.
So tombed, token, or talked about – we are the show of our tunes.
It must be learned then, that the links between us are ensured their longevity when formed from foundations understated. Where untold and unseen are bigger than any and all bullshit. But where untold and unseen are that assimilated understanding to not be ever, the same as unsaid or unheard.
I have a friend.
Her mom died.
Only 11 days ago.
I am a friend.
My Dad died.
Only 77 days ago.
Now… ‘experience’ isn’t really experience when the Universe is a Size Small compared to the gloved-muffle of that melancholy. So even though just a Route-66 days between ours, the way my friend arranged the letters of her update when she did, punched my stomach something proper!
I haven’t seen this friend’s face since April in 2013. Like, actually seen her.
But you don’t have to look at the sun to know that it is there and that you are warmed by its Light.
And because what – or however God is – that Giant turned mine to Ghost on the morning she did, muffling my planet with the boarding call for him to go back. And the moment that I pushed that pain into my public, I felt every nudge of every person who sent theirs.
On my skin and in my soul.
Still… the comfortable-coward wanted my punched-stomach to take focus, selling myself a story that would convince (only) me that, well, you know, I’m sure it’ll be okay… I mean… it has been three years… and I am very sure she has people coming from everywhere to keep and wrap her to them under arms wide and warm…
And only because the Universe is a Size Small compared to how hot the flames in that fireplace burn.
At any level, and in whatever role you play, silence is simply nothing.
It’s not placed as sacred by the beautiful of its own broken.
It’s just bullshit.
It’s the smug ghost of nothing, from a place of nowhere.
And insofar as tunes of the show go, silence doesn’t make for a rad soundtrack – in any genre.
But, hey! This here is just my soundtrack, of the show tunes I tap-dance to. You may not agree… but like it or not, by the pulse of your personhood, you actually are into show tunes. Perhaps on a very different frequency to mine, or not…
That’s Hz, and right now, Kerry and I share the same.
She Drama-schooled as I did, but elsewhere (over another rainbow?). And then life schooled us together, inside a Limelight of Giants, Ghosts, and all the terrifying, terrific tap-dancing we did between them.
As Giants. And as Ghosts – as and when we journeyed our respective jaunts of each.
Naturally, this post had me thinking about the one I shared when my Dad died, and specifically my signing off with:
“You are The Light of the Sun.
Don’t shine it where souls don’t salute yours back.”
Well, I am quite the smarty pant then, aren’t I?! 😛
A lot happens in five hundred twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes. That many ago, I was all sorts of angry about the Religious Freedom Act being passed in the US, and used my birthday to amplify those feelings – loudly.
Ergo… a lot also doesn’t happen in five hundred twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes.
Funny that… and how life works… from the catapulting of compassion to the clichés of comfort…
Funny that that’s also how addiction works.
At any level, and within or outside of any legitimacy.
It’s my birthday – or reborn-day as some would say – so here… I’ll start:
웃 I have been addicted to excellence, and only being seen as excellent.
웃 I have been addicted to peer-endorsement, and only being celebrated within the best of them.
웃 I have been addicted to social media, and addicted to how unsociable that media allows me to be.
웃 I have been addicted to wanting to heal those who look lost; and then those (who look) lost in self pity.
웃 I have been addicted to being lost, my own self pity, and then addicted to the feeling of losing myself in my own self-pity.
웃 I have been addicted to processing, unprocessing, and processing again within the polar opposites of both solemn soberness and substance-abuse.
웃 I have been addicted to going between the Light and dark of those polar opposites, and back again.
웃 I have been addicted to the again and again.
웃 I have been addicted to benevolence – and then fighting the bombing of its opposite.
웃 I have been addicted to how much noise I can make about how the bomb-opposite was such unacceptable bombing of my being.
Because, wouldn’t anyone?
To be bombed is to wake up in a world you hadn’t planned to wake up in.
…it’s the getting-used-to what looks like a war zone that is the real siren.
Sometimes, it’s the sound of that siren that we will not hear.
And then ‘I have been’ often really means ‘I am’.
That’s how addiction works.
At any level, and within or outside of any legitimacy.
All behaviour is beautiful – whether bent or bright – but only as long as we are learning what it is, where it comes from, and/or where it is we are going because of it.
And knowing that you are learning just one of these is fine. Well, to me, anyway.
And if you know more than one at any one time, then that’s the epitome of a moment – and you should marvel at its magnificence!
Don’t let your addictions scare you.
But don’t let your addictions succeed you either.
Here, this year’s bee-day ‘mixtape’ on sides A and B… For Perspective, and for Party – as and if you choose you’d like to. 😉
It was 1990. Just a random year. Because they are when you are – as I was – waiting in the wings before the big. final. year.
I was in Standard 4.
And when you’re in it, that is the biggest thing you’ve had to look forward to – ever.
Will you be made Prefect? Will your friends be made Prefects? And if you are not made a Prefect, will your friends still be made Prefects? Where will you go to High School? Will your friends go to the same High School?
These are big-deal things that are well-suited to being on the brink… waiting in the wings of the big. final. year.
And you’re eleven going on twelve, so you know.
Transferring into our school then, came one Pam Doyle.
She was a cool-nerd.
Can’t be sure how, but I could tell straight off.
And, as life has shown – has done well therein.
Because it has been scientifically-proven that cool-nerds are far cooler – and with more longevity (at all sorts of the all sorts) – than just ‘cool’ or just ‘nerd’.
We both ran for Junior Mini City Councillor.
I didn’t get it.
And because I’m so all-encompassing and stuff, I can’t remember who did and what they did about it.
We did both go to the same High School though.
And as she grew up (which I am yet to try), she demonstrates exemplary patience, grace and benevolence for keeping me close inside her orbit.
Not every day.
But in every way.
Giving. Of herself.
Her ideals. Ideas. Perspectives. Personhood.
The nineties too often miss out on what we trump in the throwback, because the eighties usually win out – and then came that boom of everything we’ve known since.
But it was a great time!
People said hello and listened for what you said when you answered back. We had MC Hammer and twins Boudine and Gerhard Hametner with Candice Hillebrand and Jenna Dover for our go-to every afternoon on K-TV. You were allowed to like Gloria Estefan – for more than the time it takes to type a tweet stating same – the Prince was Fresh, your Garden could be Savage, Mariah was all only about talent, and the kind of silence you sought was Delirium’s…
And the friends you made we’re keep-worthy.
Maybe because how you made them was based on the ways in which they still connect with you?
Through considered, conversation.
The last time I was at hers, dinner came in this box:
Cool packaging, but they obviously have no idea how holistic happy can be.
Pam – for a million-million reasons and more – you are my soul sista! And when I say ‘soul-sista’ – I mean SOUL. SISTER. The blessings of your being here and on this journey at a time with me and mine means that what I get for it is beyond beautiful.
Moreover, you are my reminder that faith in humanity still has its place.
A few years ago, after some or other drama I’d bundled through, I called my sister and, towards the end of the conversation, said to her that I was sorry to have disappointed her.
“Nothing you do could disappoint me,” was her reply.
I’ve never forgotten the way those words warmed what had me feeling so cold.
We’ve been through some life-changing things together.
The biggest just three weeks ago.
Between the happy memories and the tears is a taught tendon of sibling steadfastness that remains because trust is reciprocated from a place of respect.
She – not by telling but by showing – has taught me a lot about trust. That telling someone that how they do X, Y or Z is wrong and that because it worries you, they should stop or change those ways is actually the opposite of trust.
That trust is showing someone you see them. You hear them. You know them. And that both of you can learn from each other because that channel is open.
Trust isn’t always about how tightly you tied the knot.
Knots come undone.
Other people fiddle with them.
Trust is knowing you’ve got my hand when there is no rope. And that if you let go, it’s because you knew you could.
Thank you for being there, and for being you, there.