23/06/16

I've emptied my head whilst I've been here.

And that's the best thing I could have done.

It's made me a little calmer.

At peace.

At peace with what has, will and is happening.

I'm humbled. And that's the most I could have asked for.

❊

22/06/16

Yesterday I didn't:

/ buy wine - I bought beer

/ find a bottle opener - I used a knife

/ eat the fruit I picked up

/ type up everything I said I would

❊

21/06/16

Today I will:

/ buy wine

/ find a bottle opener

/ pick up some fruit

/ and finally type up all my thoughts

❊

Photo Diary | War, Capitalism And Liberty

❊

16/06/16

It wasn't that their conversation lacked intelligence,

it was just easier

to talk about the habits of pigeons

than why she was crying.

❊

13/06/16

It was quite the marvel really.

These three kids, they'd been here all morning.

Riding down the hill.

Running back up.

They passed at least twenty benches on the way down, along with the expected scoffs from the older generation and the occasional pretty woman.

That was what stumped 'em.

When they caught the eye of a particularly attractive blonde. 

All three hit the pavement and their skateboards flew far.

I imagine that's what love feels like.

Like you're plummeting in to hardest concrete and everything you were sure of flies out of reach.

❊

Her

And she had this habit of ordering a coffee then fidgeting with her stuff until arrived.

As though that tiny espresso was her centre of gravity.

She was bizarre in that way, right up until noon.

Of course she smoked, as her mother did.

And each one always lasted a little longer than she liked.

She kept her ashtray neat. All the ash had to stay right in the middle. It couldn't touch the empty sugar sachet she'd ripped up and pushed to the side or this god awful burning plastic smell would consume the air.

I think that's why I thought she was alright. She had her batshit crazy rituals right up until noon - keeping things where they should be and all. And I think that's how you know a girl's alright, when she won't let plastic burn because the smell annoys everyone else.

She didn't take notice of the news either. In fact, I'm sure she'd been out of the loop for a few months now. It kept her sane I reckon, almost justified her more-than-questionable habits.

I think she didn't pay attention to it because she'd decided it made her smoke more. 

And she didn't applaud the idea of being as miserable as the bastard bank men her father once said she'd do well with.

I couldn't tell you all that much more about her.

In truth, I don't know her.

We stop by the same cafe each morning, I linger nearly all day, except I know she doesn't see me, she doesn't see anyone, she's too busy.

Somedays she stays an hour or so, calls her mother, is reminded to eat, she ignores most of the incessant nagging I imagine.

And other days she's fast as hell. Barely looks up from the centre of gravity.

Either way, she's mesmerising.

Girls will do that to you, they'll drive you crazy with their weird habits.

They don't change though, never do, not really.

Especially not for bastard bank men.

❊

11/06/16

I wasn't expecting to see you hiding there,

here,

where I am now.

All these years later.

But there you were,

passing those seductive glances

you do so well.

You cut me up so bad,

so many times that

I figured there wasn't much left to destroy.

That killed me.

There you were.

After all this time.

I'd been doing alright

as it goes.

But you passed me

another seductive glance.

And I fell.

Deeper than before.

After all this time.

❊

10/06/16

You seemed brighter that day.

Liked you'd slept more than four hours and hadn't been drunk the night before.

And this rare sight filled me with a little of the good stuff.

I've stepped back, and I now see you can do it alone.

As can I.

I realise now this a movement to be celebrated.

Not mourned.

We can both manage without the familiar. We can both flourish.

We're separate entities and often - in equal measures - I think we forgot this and became so consumed by our own little bubble that we stopped living.

It's taken a few thousand miles, too many cigarettes and the occasional "let me know when you're home" message to let go.

But the hour's arrived at the right time, for once.

I think, after all this, it's now easier to come together when we wish.

And when we do wish it, I hope you chose the bar, as always.

❊

09/06/16

Saner heads prevailed this morning.

I've eaten more than a banana

and filled my lungs with fresher air.

❊

Here

There is more,

more to see, more to dance with

and alongside.

And on the wine-front,

I am more

than satisfied.

There is more sky.

More time to fill

and more pictures to take.

I notice more options

and opportunities.

It feels close enough to reach

and far enough for longing.

I hear more laughter

and conversation.

It is more alive,

more awake.

Each corner holds more detail than I can comprehend.

Here,

there are more achey feet

and greater impatience for caffeine.

And there's a greater scope for change

and exchange.

Here,

there are more words.

Spoken

and written.

Finally.

❊

Photo Diary | Rome, So Far

❊

07/06/16

It's a funny feeling being a little squiffy, in a big city, entirely on your own.

There are worse cities to feel like this in, that I know.

Scarier. Riskier, not as safe.

Mostly, it feels fine here. Like home.

I reckon it feels safer than where I was before.

I know there are weirder feelings to expect when I am teetering on the edge - like longer for my usual companions, my (previously) normal air, the better known.

This insanity usually lasts about 30 seconds.

At the 31st second, I remember where I am and what's in front of me.

❊

Dear June...

Had you told me a year ago that at this moment in time I'd be sipping wine in the sweet, summer heat of Rome I would have howled with laughter.

Big adventures are coming and happening. It feels free and unpredictable, which scares me immensely, but I think I'm getting the hang of it.

It's this point in my life that's driving me mad with desire.

The desire to explore,

to be wherever I wish

whenever I wish.

I'm at my own dispose, finally.

And it's wonderful.

And I would love nothing more than to babble in my 'air-headed' way further, but I've got a lot of wine to enjoy, and a big city to delve into.

❊

A Poem For Today | 20

In your next letter,

please describe

the weather in great detail. If possible,

enclose a fist of snow or mud,

everything you know about the soil,

how tomato leaves rub green against

your skin and make you itch, how slow

the corn is growing on the hill.

Thank you for the photographs

of where the chicken coop once stood,

clouds that did not become tornadoes.

When I try to explain where I’m from,

people imagine corn bread, cast-iron,

cows drifting across grass. I interrupt

with barbed wire, wind, harvest air

that reeks of wheat and diesel.

I hope your sleep comes easy now

that you’ve surrendered the upstairs,

hope the sun still lets you drink

one bitter cup before its rise. I don’t miss

flannel shirts, radios with only

AM stations, but there’s a certain kind

of star I can’t see from where I am—

bright, clear, unconcerned. I need

your recipes for gravy, pie crust,

canned green beans. I’m sending you

the buttons I can’t sew back on.

Please put them in the jar beside your bed.

In your next letter, please send seeds

and feathers, a piece of bone or china

you plowed up last spring. 

Please promise I’m missing the right things.

– Carrie Shipers

❊

A Stumble In The Right Direction

My brain wasn't feeling notably creative or alert that day. Nor was I feeling particularly strong, and the door was somewhat heavy. I couldn't tell you what made me walk in to that little place, but I'm glad I did. 

Before me were a small collection of pretty swell people.

Like-minded. Big beliefs. Radical characters.

They held their own.

Their art was miraculous, and it glowed.

Their presence was strong, but oh so gentle.

They were the kind of people you put your phone away for.

As I enjoyed the company (and too many coffees), a wave of complete calm washed over me. Without warning I had become overwhelmingly mindful and steady.

Believe me, it was a mighty wave.

Nothing felt like it really mattered any more.

The nonsense and empty conversations that were surely waiting for me at home began to seem so much more manageable.

Every word uttered was soft. It felt easy.

Breathe in no and breathe out yes.

I became so acutely aware of every word. Every pronunciation. Every prolonged 'S' and every missed 'T'.

Any one of them could have declared the world was on its last legs and I wouldn't have winced - I was sure no one else would make it sound so sweet.

The more they spoke and the more I listened, I began to realise they were much like many others I already knew. This didn't destroy anything, not the awe, wonder or the admiration that had grown. It shattered no illusions, I still felt safe.

It was all the more powerful. All the more spectacular.

They were average people, with above average ideas.

When my time came to leave, highly caffeinated with a mind well fed, the door was even harder to open. 

Except this time, it was for all the right reasons.

❊

Photo Diary | Where I Learnt

❊

A Poem For Today | 19

They amputated

your thighs off my hips.

As far as I'm concerned

they are all surgeons. All of them.

They dismantle us

each from the other.

As far as I'm concerned

they are all engineers. All of them.

A pity. We were such a good

and loving invention.

An aeroplane made from a man and wife.

Wings and everything.

We hovered a little above the earth.

We even flew a little.

- Yehuda Amichai

❊

Entirety

I feel so full.

Full of all things.

Good and not so good.

Worry.

Desire.

Hurt and heartache.

Plans,

ambitions.

Confusion.

A liver still quite intoxicated.

A heart beating a little too fast.

Two croissants and a cup of tea.

My mother's love and my father's gumption.

And a growing fire,

of excitement and anticipation

for what is just around the corner.

❊

On Stress, Abandon & Everything In Between

That's the thing no one really braces you for. Or maybe they do, but it doesn't really make sense until you're neck-deep in shit, is that stress is not just one layer thick.

Excuse the Shrek reference, but it's like an onion.

It goes on and on, yes in slow succession, still, don't doubt its strength.

Sounds agonising, doesn't it?

That's another thing, it's not, entirely.

Don't declare me a fool just yet. I know, it can be remarkably uncomfortable. And I would always advise that you don't make it home.

The more I grow, the more I believe that it's important, as human beings, to acknowledge that discomfort, and sit with it, comfortably.

And stress?

Well, stress can be pretty useful. It helps us decide what is worth that treacherous discomfort, and what is not.

And some things really aren't worth it.

I spent eight months bracing myself for battle each morning. 8am, sharp.

And each morning, I felt my body tense with an arrogant fear. And that fear, that stress, well, there wasn't any damn value in it.

It didn't make me better.

It didn't make me stronger.

It was to be survived.

And while there was a speck of value in biding my time, there was a whole heap more in leaving.

And leave I did. I abandoned it.

I left because ultimately, I believed in greater things.

That's the other loop hole that's easy to miss.

The truly spectacular process of discovering what you believe in.

There are things I believe in.

Whole-heartedly, without question, without fear.

Beliefs that shake me.

They're mostly simple, but the beauty of simple is that often, it aligns with stress evolving.

That shiver becomes something quite magic.

For me, on occasion, sitting down to write is the scariest thing to face - in fact, I've spent the better part of the last few months avoiding it.

Equally, it is the most important thing I know to do.

It moves me forward, makes me better, stronger.

It is a belief I manifest.

It is worth every ounce of stress, fear and bone-shaking awe.

And that is entirely the point.

❊