Monday, December 27, 2010

Back on track.

Friday, December 24, 2010

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Li Po.

Amongst the flowers I
am alone with my pot of wine
drinking by myself; then lifting
my cup I asked the moon
to drink with me, its reflection
and mine in the wine cup, just
the three of us; then I sigh
for the moon cannot drink,
and my shadow goes emptily along
with me never saying a word;
with no other friends here, I can
but use these two for company;
in the time of happiness, I
too must be happy with all
around me; I sit and sing
and it is as if the moon
accompanies me; then if I
dance, it is my shadow that
dances along with me; while
still not drunk, I am glad
to make the moon and my shadow
into friends, but then when
I have drunk too much, we
all part; yet these are
friends I can always count on
these who have no emotion
whatsoever; I hope that one day
we three will meet again,
deep in the Milky Way.

Sunday, December 19, 2010

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Cuts.

Sinister snapshots force themselves upon an idle mind.
People go out of their way to tell me things.
It seems Hate is a word bandied readily in some circles.
And yet strangely, closer to The Storm, I am more at peace.

********

My friend calls me brother and I know it to be more than words.
My road is built upon these things, brotherhood, open heart, fearlessness -
real things which hold under scrutiny.
And I smile when I think the journey may take longer,
for these last months I have found the journey to be joy.

********


I am no artist.
I prefer the sight of a mountain to a Warhol.
I prefer my fingers blistered than inked.
My music is a craft, a trade
the exploration of wood, the obsession with detail, the joy of the spontaneous.
Saturn's Satisfaction in Hard Work.
Shoddy shoes upon a rocky path upon which I can hold and grasp each stone's tale.


********

May!

The map that is laid out to me keeps me focused.

And the fire burns again, healing the cuts
as the scars ghost pale and pleasant.

********

Everything blurs into Hope.

Sunday, December 12, 2010

Proust.

We are not provided with wisdom, we must discover it for ourselves, after a journey through the wilderness which no one else can take for us, an effort which no one can spare us.

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Return.

I don't like goodbyes. I'm not so great at letting go. I guess some people from my past can attest to that. I try and carry the memory of things as much as I can. History is important to me. I never understand people that don't feel that way. Strange though, for in all practical senses, I travel light. I have a bag and a guitar. I try to leave Hope where ever I go. I try to love as best I can. I like connecting with people. Deeply.
But like I said, I'm not much of a one for farewells.
Each time I've left a city here I've been maudlin, but the very feeling of movement has kept me sane. Watching the countryside through the Amtrak window. Landing alone and not knowing where I am, what I am doing, where I am going. It's made me more alive than ever. It's made me friends I never knew. And I've discovered things. Things I was looking for, and things I was running from. Where will that leave me when I return home? Returning from Paris, I felt stronger than I ever had before. This time around, this time around I feel sad and old. Just like someone once described me. Just like two people have described me.
But I never felt sad and old before.
Right now, on a couch in Brooklyn, with the grey rain muting the sounds of the city, I feel tired of all this movement. I feel weary as all Hell. But I also feel something so deeply that it frightens me.  I feel I no longer have a home to return to. This Road has become my home, and the thought of returning to Life in Melbourne, with all its small pond comforts and traps, well frankly, frankly it makes me feel sick. I don't want to see those names. I don't want to be around those places. I have nothing left to lose.
Janis, you were so right.
I was Free.
Here, I was free.

I've seen a lot. A lot more than I bargained for. And if I dig deep enough to find The Rock within, things become clearer. In the last seven weeks, I have drunk more than I ever have from the Well of Life. Take for example -

It's raining harder than I've ever seen. North West Rain, on the road from Seattle to Portland. I'm being driven by the National Chess Champion of Bahrain. He's got one hand on the wheel and he's smoking crack pipes with the other hand. My knuckles are white. There are huge road train trucks screaming past us. The rain covers all sight. The road could be anywhere. Each time a truck passes us, the monstrous wheels casually toss oceans of water over our car, and visibility becomes Hope. We are doing 75 miles per hour as Ibrahim, the driver, casually begins eating magic mushrooms and offering a bag to me to do the same. I don't take any. But I begin to laugh. I begin to laugh because this is the craziest fucking close to death experience I have ever been in, and I feel Alive. I came looking for Life, and I feel Alive.

So there's bound to be a hangover. I have said this whole trip that when I finally get home I will lock my door and sleep for a week. But I will not do that. I will try to remember this feeling, and I will try to translate it to a New Life back home.

But the goodbyes are sad. The goodbyes to my Birthday Brother, my Gypsy Queen, my Lonesome Artist, my Penguins, my Australian Journeyman, these are hard to stomach.

I guess that's why I'm already planning. There will be no sleep when I get home. There will be straight back to the 8-Track, straight back to work, straight to the Travel Agent, and straight the fuck back out of there.

I left San Francisco in the middle of the night. I'd organised a sleeper cabin for myself. And a bottle of red wine. I lay down by the window and drank myself into a misty half sleep. Half aware of stopping at small North Californian towns. I passed out sometime and awoke in Klamath Falls, South Oregon. It was a service stop. I stepped off the train and smoked. I drank in the thick small town feel. The air was cold. The walk up and down the train was invigorating. As the whistle blew I took a snapshot, and climbed back aboard. Within five minutes my hands were pressed against the cold glass of the window as we sped by a mountain lake, ringed with mountains, actual mountains, mountains the like of which I'd never seen. Birds stubbornly sped across the water to escape the intruding hulk of metal which we rode. We were in the clouds. Clouds which caressed the waters of the lake, two lovers in morning embrace, unwilling to part for the day's activities. I cried. I cried like I cried in Paris. I cried with pride in myself for somehow making this happen. I was unashamed.

There are plans. Plans to record in Melbourne. Plans to record in Oslo. Gigs in Paris, Prague, Berlin. A return to Portland, Seattle - the whole trip again. This whole fucking thing, again and again, year after year. Never caring. Never chasing the ugly seductive beast of fame, but merely living the joyous freedom of being alive, and being on the move. Playing to 50 people, 3 people, 70 people, 2 people. Playing to yourself in an apartment on the Lower East Side. Playing to 8 people sitting cross legged around you in a circle, and then hugging and knowing each and every one of them after you play. That's the magic. That's the trip.

It's the second last night. I'm standing on a rooftop, in a garden, in Brooklyn. The lights of Manhattan burn seductive all around me. It whispers things this city. Depending on where you walk, where you are. You can hear the minds of the people you pass. You can hear the sensuous calls of the high buildings. But I'm standing across the river, safe above an apartment and I'm smoking a cigarette and that's when I notice on the roof of the building across the street another man, leaning in the same position. Smoking a cigarette. He turns. He's doing something. Music. Music starts and it's Radiohead and it's LOUD and I see him climb upon a chair and stare out where I'm staring and he punches his fits in the air with glee and I throw my arms out and scream, FUCK YEAH, and we both dance in the fire of the moment, beneath the Power of New York City, and the song nails that moment in my head forever as I close my eyes and let the intoxicating feeling of being alive carry me across the sky.

Like never before.

These feelings like never before.

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Pit Stop.

I haven't had time to write. I still don't. Right now, let's just say arriving in New York with no money, no phone, no plans is about as close to the edge as I've been. Nothing you read or write prepares you for it, until you actually stand amongst it. So I close my eyes and send it out there. And somehow, eleventh fucking hour, things fall into place. Of a sorts.

I'm playing a show tonight. Everything in The States has happened after I play a show. All the doors, from my gypsy soul mates in Portland, to recording with the Foo Fighters engineer in Seattle...everything has happened once I play a show. One week to go. So I close my eyes and let The Universe do as it will.

Saturday, November 13, 2010

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Interlude: A spell for happiness.

Dance three times around an old oak tree
then go tumblin' down into the golden leaves
make the one wish that you don't believe
then lose that cynical stare
that's keeping you there
and the stars
will burn bright in your heart.

Strip off your clothes and jump in the sea
then dance like a child and sing like you're free
find the one place where you want to be
then use your natural charms
it can't do no harm
and the stars
will burn bright in your heart.

And you can change
and turn your old mistakes
into a fate
that you can take
to mend
your old dark broken heart.

Just dance three times around an old oak tree
then go tumblin' down into the golden leaves
make the one wish that you don't believe
then lose that cynical stare
that's keeping you there
and the stars
will burn bright in your heart.

Monday, November 8, 2010

3.



















Of course it was always a Hope that I would find a family. Truth is I stayed out of sight all year, because I knew I didn't belong anymore. That somewhere out in the world were my tribe, and I needed to transmogrify myself in order to find them. So I waited, watching the stars from time to time, choosing my actions carefully. Well, most of the time.

Here in Portland the first moment happens. I sit outside a diner with a musician from NYC who lives in Oslo and a Norwegian film maker and we talk as brothers. They talk about my songs. They say, people like you and I, and the oak leaves tumble and spin around us and my heart flips and shudders and I phoenix, right there on the street. I am now people like You. I have made a complete reality swap. I am an International Gypsy, and I am Home, and it all hits me until I struggle to hold myself down. I feel as though I am lifted beyond all that I ever was. Everything that is said is right.

Later that night I am in a bar, in a photo booth, and I am drunk on champagne. Mark and Jessy whisper to each other, and begin to tell me of other family members. In Paris, in New York, in Berlin, in in in...and everyone is a part of each other, and I can see the World I had only dreamed of finding, right here, sitting in my hands. They smile as we drink shots of whiskey, and they say - welcome to the family.

We sit up singing songs in the apartment until 5, 6am. There are no barriers. Every story is open to everyone. We sing. We plan. And I know, that these plans will come true. I know honesty now that I have found it.

I am stretched across this world into a new Universe.
And I am Home.
The Road is Home.

Friday, October 29, 2010

2.

Seems like the ghosts are still close. I wake up in a Bear House and make my way outside to the back balcony, and there is a call in my head and I don't know why. I'm distant from that in so many ways, but here it is cobwebbed in the corner and dancing ethereal when the first light hits me. I take a slug of warm Coke and try to wait it out. There are smoke signals as I light my first one. Seductive silver plumes rise from my fingers. My face is still numb from the cocaine. I want to wince at what I'm thinking, but I'm frozen stiff and stuffed so I walk to the edge and lean out.
I'm on the side of a valley. Below me I can see the houses of the rich, barely visible beneath the thick verdant canopy of the forest. This is the richest county in California, and I'm here with ghosts and I don't know why. Last night's mess contains over sized pizza slices. I take a cold one in the mouth for luck. It helps. It seems like I've been here forever. This city of ten cities, each so different, black world, blue world, rich world, tourist world. None of them are my world. I need to sit down. This is just a week catching up, this startled maudlin, out of place in an adventurer's kit. I realise how lucky I am to have a brother in the city. He's waiting for me now, I'm supposed to play to his class, a song of ghosts and monkeys, but I won't make it back. He'll understand. I forgot how much we understand. That's a good man, right there. Strange in the all the right ways. Right in all the strange ones too.
For a moment I'd forgotten why I was here. At the bar of the Utah Saloon, with the Giants running 9-0 in the second game, and free Tequila shots for everyone when they won, and two girls I couldn't escape, yelling at me how it was fine that I talked to the other one, "cause she's obviously prettier than me..." - What the Hell are you on about? I need to find a corner while I wait for my friends to get here. I didn't come here to chase. I want the real thing now, I want an out to this forever fleeting fancy.  I want my girl. The one that's waiting for me. The one that's going to understand. Not the one in the bar who doesn't even know who the Hell she's talking to. I've got three more days here. I want to remember them. I need my guitar. I need my guitar like I've needed it all year. The tequila keeps coming. I don't know what I say, or why, or how I look. Like I care anymore. Like I've cared ever since I was first not worth caring about.
Yeah, that coke sure was strong.
Later we drive across the GBB. And we're all laughing again, talking baseball, and I turn to the left and see the hungry fog edging toward the city, descending upon its prey. I lean back in the seat and close my eyes and the bone tired in me just says, bring it on, swallow it, swallow me, for this one night, let's all sink together and see where we turn up. Then I turn to the right, and there's the Pacific, clawing desperately at the cliffs and crashing in sickened revolt up, up, up, impatient to be done with these eons of erosion. Starving to just finally come on in and drown us all.
And far out to see, a sprig of lightning, to garnish the whole scene.
A storm slowly approaching.
One dark Halloween.

Thursday, October 28, 2010

1.

I ain't running no more. I think that as we land. I look out the window and I see the South Bay, I see a Land of Strangers, and I know I'm not escaping something. I'm arriving. That's important fact number one. Important fact number two is that I've travelled light. I haven't brought baggage this time, like I took to Paris. My heart does not feel heavy. My heart feels clean. My heart feels nothing at all, if I had to tell the truth. That's that. My heart feels nothing at all, though my eyes are wide open.

I play my first show then I stand at a crossroads. Dusted signs which point to differing nights. I choose a glass of red in a home, with my shoes off, no jungle, no animal, no exploring, no wanting, needing, hoping. Those people who died, they killed that lifestyle for me. They used to tell me things, what they knew about everything, what they were going to become. They'd talk, all people fucking do is talk - then they'd fall apart on a cocaine hurdle, throw misguided missiles of fuck, suck, and shit out of luck.

I used to to do the same.

I drink a wine, and keep it close, keep it internal, and that's when the year's work really kicks in. That I've travelled all this way in a huge metal fish, over an ocean infested with sharks that shoot spiders out of their mouth - and I didn't change. I didn't blend. I just smiled and stayed safe. And waited for the right thing, not the Old Thing. The Old Thing is dead. I know that now. It's dead and it's getting deader.

Similar things happen to last time. I walk a lot. I don't make friends with strangers like I could. I keep my head down and I try to use the streets as currency, to buy another piece with which to build a greater understanding. Everything looks like it should. The painted ladies, 2 story, 3 story, a static pirate station where no one knows any longer, just what they're tuned in to. Like anywhere. Like home. It's all shirts and shops and safety zones.

I can sense the death of this place. This once great pioneer flailing into the New Age.
I think about Space.
I think about China.
I think,

America will tumble, slowly. It won't die. Instead it will remain a place of ideas, of invention, of wild theories and outsider glory. America will become the wild, grey haired loon, and it will remain valuable for that. But China will be the one to take us out into space. China has the numbers, the discipline, the ability to dispose of whoever or whatever does not serve the greater good. America failed there. It placed too much value on the individual. Saving three astronauts, saving democracy, saving face, all of these things are holding us back. We need to cut things loose. Keep our eyes on the furthest galaxy. If we are to conquer Space, if we are to shift focus, we need to value the Ant Kingdom over the Me. I don't think America can do that.

That's what I think.
I light another cigarette. I'll always do that.
I don't order a whiskey.
I don't chase a girl or a guy who can help me be more than I already am.

I am dying. So I die with dignity. I pour a wine, and remove my shoes, and think about the show I played, and look forward to the next one. I live each day in this dying world as though it were my last, and I frighten myself with the knowledge that right now, if I had a choice, my last day would be spent alone, in comfort, rather than burning in a gutter beneath the stars which we as a race are forever pretending we have already reached.

I don't need to see the stars.

Though there is one, ahead, that may just be an angel.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

3pm Eternal.

Scars.

I ask you right here please to agree with me that a scar is never ugly. That is what the scar makers want us to think. But you and I, we must make an agreement to defy them. We must see all scars as beauty. Okay? This will be our secret. Because take it from me, a scar does not form on the dying. A scar means, I survived.




Monday, October 18, 2010

Long.


While I can’t have you, I long for you. I am the kind of person who would miss a train or a plane to meet you for coffee.




I’d take a taxi across town to see you for ten minutes. I’d wait outside all night if I thought you would open the door in the morning.




If you call me and say ‘Will you…’ my answer is ‘Yes’, before your sentence is out. I spin worlds where we could be together. I dream you.


For me, imagination and desire are very close.


Sunday, October 17, 2010

Meaning.

I was honoured to be asked to provide music for my friend Justin's documentary on street kids in Nepal. I wrote this song so long ago, and have not sung it much since. To know that it was used for something so special, makes me burst with humble joy.

That Way.


Used to be I'd start a write with me sitting in a bar. I guess some people saw that as something, and they'd get it in their heads that that's what I was all about. My name and drinking. I'd see some people, the way they looked at me, and there'd be this distance, because what I'd do is, I'd say out loud what I thought about things. And there was a lot of things I was thinking. Anyway. I made the best friends I've ever had just by talking like that. And those who were turned off by it, well, I guess you'd say they just didn't get it.

Used to be I'd write about how she hurt me, what it felt like, why I couldn't work things out. Why I kept trying to. She wasn't one person or another all the time, though there were times like that too. But she was a host of things to me. Things I needed to learn about myself. Things I was determined to explore before I ever ran into the real She. I never thought about people reading it. I did it for me. I used therapeutic sentences to find a peace. I am not concerned about that. It makes sense to me. It's those that don't want to find their own truths that I don't understand. Maybe they've already found them, though I look at people sometimes, and it doesn't seem like they have. Me? I only found them through writing. I carved my own personality out of stone cold words.

Now I'm ready to stop sculpting for a spell. January 1st 2010 I stood alone in Paris and began to see myself as someone who could make things happen. Not someone who reacted to events, as I'd often spent time doing. Wasted time doing. I never thought it would be easy. But the thought of finally rolling my sleeves up appealed to me as nothing had before. Sure, I took a couple of wrong turns. I went backwards for a time. But I never felt lost. Merely that some paths needed to be marked, once and for all, on the map, for what they really were. And now the maps' been set. Well, the map of the past at least.

The future - the future spans out like so many scattered stars, tossed random across a dark blank canvas. Distance means nothing in this New Future. Everything dances evocative and intimate ahead of me. The dizzying confusions of willpower and destiny intoxicate me with endless choice, and the rock I have forged beneath my feet provides the vantage point from which to admire the true beauty of The Universe. Belief, Pride, Desire have been drowned for the falsehoods they are, and instead I hold threads of reality with which to harness the power that I, You and Everyone We Know all possess in some measure. Keep it simple. Do not stray. Grin in awe at the scope of Everything, but be content to keep yourself small, mobile, humble.

In seven days I embark on the greatest adventure of my modest life to date. And in the lead up to it, I have battled many emotions, many dreams and expectations. Only to find peace finally, and as I always do, in the simple comforts of a quiet home. My cat. A bowl of pasta.

So I'll pack a small suitcase, and of all the possessions a quixotic soul must never forget, this quiet determination is the only necessity.

Oh, but I'm sure I can fit in a little excitement. Just a dash.


Saturday, October 16, 2010

Family.

Mothers can't always help you
when you're far and feeling blue
but they'll hear your whispered cries
in the middle of the cold, lonesome night
and say
Oh Son, I'm still a part of You.

Fathers don't always get it
as they ain't half as strong as You
but one day maybe you'll sigh
breathe deep and give it a try
and say
Oh Daddy, I'm still a part of You.

Only you can make that change
and use that one mistake
to light a flame.

It'll help you.

Sisters don't always listen
as they walk along on a path too
but they can sure make you cry
when they look you right in the eye
and say.
Oh Brother, I'm still a part of You.

And you can make that change
use that one mistake
to light a flame
but
who can turn a
burned out breaking
man into a
flame

when mothers can't come back and help you?

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Sunday, October 10, 2010



The goal of life is to make your heartbeat match the beat of the universe,
to match your nature with Nature.

Friday, October 8, 2010

This town.

Lately I've been wondering
why it's all so hard for a man like me
I've been feeling lucky
but it just don't seem to stick
and I'm still lonely
I'm waiting for induction
and for a stranger's hand to reach for me
see, I can barely function
without some sort of friend
for me to hold.


And I'm living in a Lonely Town
filled with heartbreakers and
lovemakers and
girl, are you a lot like me?

And I'm living in a Lonely Town
filled with money makers and
fashion fakers and
girl, are you just like me?

Are you always running?
Do you feel at home beside the sea?
Do you find it funny
that folk like us are still alone?
Do you hate mass production?
Do you want everything for free?
And do you somehow function
though you haven't got a friend that you can hold?

Sounds like you're
living in a Lonely Town
filled with heartbreakers and
lovemakers and
girl, are you just like me?

Both living in a Lonely Town
filled with money makers and
fashion fakers and well
girl, you are  just like me.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

A Moment.

Do you walk when you're alone?
Do you feel defeated?
Do you taste of blood and bone,
when you've been beaten down?
Are you helpless when you're at home?
Crying to be needed?
Do you feel like I'll never know?
Or do you want to see me now?

Does it seem that I have grown,
or do I sound conceited?
Does your heart feel like a stone,
or will you believe me now?
That I've tried to find a way
to be me completely.
And if you hold me when I'm alone
then I'll never let you down.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Golden.




















Thanks, Sub. She's made me happy.

http://www.cariwayman.com/

Signal Fires.

Monday, October 4, 2010

Sunday, October 3, 2010

Dead X.

I'm burned out
by all of these changes
I've been up for days
swimming in doubt.
And it's too late
to redial your number
it's probably changed
you've been gone for days.

And who
who's going to listen,
when I'm all out of pain,
and I feel no shame
now I'm older.

And don't you
wonder
if I write your name
in a lonely stain
when it's colder?

I've worked out
that I can't forget you
so why should I change
I've been drinking for days
but
it turns out
that if I'd never met you
then I'd have never been saved
so I thank your
remains.

Saturday, October 2, 2010

A Conversation on Wall St.

He said
Hope
don't come easily
to a Man
as obsessed as Me
with the way I can die
in the blink of an eye
if the numbers go down
and I jump out and fly.

He said
Joke
all you want at me
it's your kind
that will ruin me
with your dirty long hair
and your "I just don't care"
but The Truth of The World
is that I pay your share

and when I'm broke
I'll let you know.

I said
Bloke
take a long hard breath
on that Gold
expensive cigarette,
I'm a Man just like You
I'm greedy right through
and if you cut me I bleed
and I don't bleed Blue.

But there's
Hope
for the worst of Us
if we can
only follow Love
and if we never try
then this world will die
a cold blooded death
drowned in numbers and lies

so when I'm broke
I just let go.
and
yes I'm broke
but I've just let go...

Then
we sat
in silence and regret
as we thought of it -
the things that we had lost
the things we had learned
and the things that had passed
while our hearts had burned
and in time
he smiled at me
as we shared
another drink or three
we were brothers in arms
in that late night bar
sharing the dream
that a man can go far
though he's broke

and has let it all go.

Thursday, September 30, 2010

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Shakes.

My songs, my songs,
my poor little songs,
born so weak,
and in need of their father,
who
in webbed nerves
lets them tumble
and break apart
upon the old floor
to
tearful and gentle
carry the pieces home
and slowly, softly
begin to put them together
once more.

Monday, September 27, 2010

Window.

If I ever get impatient for what's to come,
I think back to all the fucks and
fights and faces
that have
blurred by
while I sat staring
out through the window of my speeding life
and falling back
softly
into the moment
I smile
and melt into
Now.

Freezer Birds.

Do you like to break the rules
of The Modern World?
The Modern World?
Or do you like to hide under
feather light words
that ignite and burn,
when 
as soon as you turn
into a Bird - you know -
They'll
come for You.

Do you try
to hide yourself
from The Modern World?
Or would you like
a poster sized
and stabilised girl
to keep for yourself
knowing as soon as she turned
into a Bird -
she would leave
You.

But I'll hear your call
I promise I will -
If I hear at all...

Would you like to
break some Rules
of The Modern World,
oh my Modern Girl?
Or should we try
to find the words
that ignite and burn
our own Little World?
And as soon as we turn
into Birds
we will fly...

True, True, True!

Sunday, September 26, 2010

FAULT.










I got interviewed by awesome UK Magazine, FAULT.


You can read it here, if ye like. x

Thursday, September 23, 2010

An Invitation.

What a shame
that burning pain
was all the rage
when we were going out -
I've been holding on
to the last of you
thinking that
if I just kept your dress
this whole sordid mess
would keep me in check
and you' never forget...

Now you're invited
to The Burning.
bring your old photos
and Love Notes.
We'll make the flames
so high
they shame the sun
and keep it burning,
until we find The One.

As I'm cleaning out
our old bedroom
I hear a song
that you never knew
that I liked too.
And there's paper bags
everywhere
and gasoline
that I got from
God knows where,
but it's time to not care.

So you're invited
to The Burning.
Bring your old photos
and Love Notes.
We'll make the flame
so high
it shames the sun.
And keep it burning
until we find The One.

And this whole sordid mess
that kept us in check-

we can finally forget.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Mantra.

Follow your heart Now
and you will be saved;
ignore the whispers
'cause they never change;
answer to no one
as no one knows You,
and let it all rain now
and long reign The Truth
it is
cruel
with all eyes on You
cold and blue
it all lies on You.

Open your eyes Now -
everyone lies;
they despise the dreamer
'cause dreamers can fly;
and outside your own mind
try to remain
as calm as an ocean
with no sign of rain,
it is...

Sunday, September 19, 2010

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Monday, September 13, 2010

Sunday, September 12, 2010

GET DRUNK by Charles Baudelaire
ONE SHOULD always be drunk. That’s the great thing; the only question. Not to feel the horrible burden of Time weighing on your shoulders and bowing you to the earth, you should be drunk without respite.
Drunk with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you please. But get drunk.
And if sometimes you should happen to awake, on the stairs of a palace, on the green grass of a ditch, in the dreary solitude of your own room, and find that your drunkenness is ebbing or has vanished, ask the wind and the wave, ask star, bird, or clock, ask everything that flies, everything that moans, everything that flows, everything that sings, everything that speaks, ask them the time; and the wind, the wave, the star, the bird and the clock will all reply: “It is Time to get drunk! If you are not to be the martyred slaves of Time, be perpetually drunk! With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you please.”

Swan Lake.



















The swans made only one mistake,
they let us dance across the lake.
Now pirouettes might be the way
to pray
as we go crazed...

With bad news surely on its way,
it makes no sense for us to stay.
Let's pack our wings and fly somewhere
just for the day
and let's go crazed..

And all those times they tried
to make us sacrifice our souls
but we just don't say die
and
they never wondered
why.

Thursday, September 9, 2010

T.I.H.

I thought, on the train, how utterly we have forsaken the Earth, in the sense of excluding it from our thoughts. There are but few who consider its physical hugeness, its rough enormity. It is still a disparate monstrosity, full of solitudes & barrens & wilds. It still dwarfs & terrifies & crushes. The rivers still roar, the mountains still crash, the winds still shatter. Man is an affair of cities. His gardens & orchards & fields are mere scrapings. Somehow, however, he has managed to shut out the face of the giant from his windows. But the giant is there, nevertheless.

Use your delusion.



























When I was told I could not fly,
I painted stars on the ceiling
and earth on the floor
and clouds on the walls
and smiling I realised
I already had
everything I ever wanted.

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Thursday, September 2, 2010

Where I am today.


































































The memory
has given me so much
strength.