#INDYLGENT

1st look cover

Imagine that big scary thing that cripples your core, walked in to wherever you are right now, sat down across from you and began to speak.

A spider? Snake? Debt? Your boss? The darkest low? The highest heights? HIV?

Mine would be HIV. So I imagined what it would say, if given the chance to present its case. What would I hear as it hauled forth its howl? And theeeen, I get to what I must admit is the consideration that maybe the Bible and its bully wasn’t far off after all… Because I will put everything I own and everything I’m worth on it, that the Mark of the Beast is here: it is our intolerance of that which scares us.

Heavy?

It ends there — I promise. The rest is just your anybody-everybody’s, any-day-any-way, and in the many both mindless and mad ways…

And whether with the courage to salute a secret and set it free — because of how stifling the sanctioning of it is across every silhouette you see… Or with the war cries we walk, waddle or writhe to when we wake up and walk out on worry (for an appointment with wonderful!)…

…our owned magnifying is magic!

Because it is only the owned moments that matter.

Whether you blog, take photos, journal, run, ride, recite, or simply recognise each jostling jolt of your journey by the jeans you wore, looking back is your back-row-all-to-yourself, magical moment — between both the cringing and courage — to bask in how beautiful you are.

I’m a writer by profession, so it’s not always how I want to profess after a day of paid-for-professing. Ergo, I do this #WritingStoriesDifferently thing. And with a Love that is Alive, I thank my Light, everyday, that people like Larissa, Catherine, Gillian, Nundi, Niki, Thato, Gerhard, Kyara, PamLindsay, Linda, Bonnie, Dave, GlynnisMel, Natasha, Caddie, Fay, Hayley ‘Ellis’ and Hayley who, when they can – and whether they do or don’t get what I’m ‘saying’ – say something when they see me in it.

So what if no one is listening?! Tell the world – or even just a wall – the story of who you are.

All any of us has is what is in our heart.

And whether you blog, take photos, journal, run, ride, recite, or simply recognise each jostling jolt of your journey by the jeans you wore, whenever you slide through them sludge-moments of feeling small (and you will), just look at what has touched every. single. jostle. you’ve. journeyed – ever!

Your fingerprint.

FUCK YEAH!

Compressed Compassions │ 1st Look

#WritingStoriesDifferently

 

 

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

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