Perceptions of life
leave resonating wonder.
the fact is in the fiction.
Chaos prices the ears…listen.
Sun comes up over city lights.
Street urchins devoured the night.
One person peering out the window sees
another person doing the same
five meters away
yet we’ll never speak to each other
or know each other’s names…
The city scape isn’t daunting
like the desolating landscape of the country.
In both places though,
the sunrises are lovely.
Life’s a treat.
Let’s go out and wander the streets,
find some decent eats,
dodge the street sweepers,
say hello to the street sleepers,
never know who you might meet.
However many million men, women and children,
life can be resilient
in the heart of the city.
I dreamt that I was here
walking down pavements and alleys,
writing in hideaway cafes,
making myself happy
The unwinding tar ribbon fluctuates, challenges, unnerves.
Ripples, ruts and road kill speeds past beneath us; bloated lumps of fur and grotesque smears along the dotted white line.
When I am not driving, I am gazing out the window, admiring the sun draped hillside.
When I am on the road, I am home.
A collection of extracts from my journal over these past absent weeks.
Second thoughts are curses
Quirky perks disperse with stress,
An empty lesson or an empty purse?
They talk like I’m not here,
a testimony to the idea
that I might be just a little bit weird
and when I talk it’s to an empty room,
a looming truth so what’s the use
of singing to their tune?
The landscape’s curling line
echoes my learning state of mind.
The heartbeat of the land,
a sublime stroke by a genius hand.
Talking shit again.
It’s well inended, but it’s not making me any friends
so let’s put it to an end and write
something worth something
I got nothing.
Feels like I’m fracking in my own mind,
tunneling for diamonds like its a fucking mine
I look around and see nobody
because I am the time waster
I am the great procrastinator
I am the perpetrator of my perceived failure.
Erase the mistakes
with better choices and a new set of brakes.
Flaky rat race,
and you’ve got shit on your face.
I can’t replace a single piece of time that I’ve wasted.
A lot of us chase our tails
holding back to avoid a fail,
wailing wind gone out of our sails
Look at all those blank spaces!
Left behind by righteous faces
who’s good graces are crumbs;
who’s crooked thumbs
numbly fire tasers at the cultured ones.
A giant cheeky moon plays peekaboo
Shining bright along the hilline
Dark green contrast on a moody blue
I’m still alive with a chance to resist loudly,
Satire is dead
and those machines have still got to be fed.
Living in dread of the block heads.
We are the children
of an inbred fictional debt,
cold steel of invisible chains,
the culture of blame in the age of No Regrets
Mushroom fumes in stuffy rooms,
purple stain from acid rain.
Doomsday news courtesy of plumes,
pass off blame and ways to complain.
A divine horizon stole my breath
but it’s a guess how long the land has left.
Sucking life like a ring wraith
closing in on the spaces
of more vulnerable faces
trying to take more time but time doesn’t give,
And it’s not because I don’t believe that you’ve never felt this
Or that I believe I’m the only one that’s in this
But who are you to hijack my pain?
To squelch across the floor of my beliefs
And try to show me that you’ve got this
Because you haven’t
And neither do I
And how do I move on from something so
So unbelievably vanquished
I’m not the downtrodden
I don’t believe I will be down here forever
So pick yourself up and move on
Say motherfucker who are you
This is my life
And my beliefs in this trial are what I am
And so I stand
And here I am
Not only to become a man
Or a woman
But a person whose place in this universe isn’t predestined by someone else’s beliefs
But my own
I am who I am
And right now I stand here to tell you this
This is your life
Don’t let anybody say that you’re not right for this
Or that you can’t do what you want to do
cause its up to you
And I believe that
We are who we are
Never mind who they are
I stand alone as myself
And that’s all I’ve ever wanted to be.
I feel like I’m ok at drawing, not fantastic, but ok. If I put my mind to drawing something it usually looks somewhat like what I’m trying to draw. There’s definitely room for improvement though and creative exercises are one way to flex your creativity and push through your own boundaries.
Continuous line drawings are where you draw your subject without taking your pencil off the paper. No re-dos, no erasing anything because it doesn’t look right, no starting over.
It’s intimidating at first, the drawings aren’t turning out quite how you imagine them. Then something happens, you stop worrying about your drawings looking perfect and you start trying to figure out how to move the pencil in ways that will allow you to create different shapes, shading and contours. Inspired anti-perfectionism.
Hot air ballooning is, in my book, hardcore and extreme. These photos don’t do justice to how awesome hot air balloons are in real life. They are in fact, the shit.
(Dodgy edits were done on Pixlr.)