Attention-seeking

11th May 1996, this is written back in the days when I thought being rescued was a possibility, and I was willing to risk my life to prove that I needed to be rescued. My adoptive father died, I was disbarred from attending the funeral and my adoptive mother disowned me via statutory declaration to ensure I didn’t inherit nth percent of virtually nothing. It all turned out OK (as in life is a lot better without them) but it was kind of a “dark night of the soul” period of time for me.

The joy of the morning
And the peace was shattered
She felt a yearning
For the end of her time

The joy was over
And the peace descended
She felt no emotion
With the committing of her crime

Her decisions were pointless
Be they directions at all
She felt a mood change
At the cry of a gull

Striking for freedom
And hope was abound
She felt no great welling
Of pain it was dull

In life she had wished
And desire overwhelmed
She felt unguided
Her destiny a blur

In this moment of respite
And the gods overlooked
She felt a mere wondering
At whose wrath she’d incur

If Justice exists
Then how does it touch me
Am I to redeem every error
Before there’s reward?

Am I awaiting a time
When light shines upon me
When mysteries and dreams
My attention can afford?

The question is irrelevant
She thinks with a sigh
The test is in the choice
I make in this one moment

If a decision brings me joy
Love and understanding
Then I’ll be glad of this
Brief rest from my torment

She follows the threads
Of her thoughts intertwined
And she wonders of existences
Beyond this dimension

If there are beings
Out there to rescue me
Then how upon hows
Do I get their attention?
*

Story #1: Accidental Empathy

I wrote this story 22nd July 1995 with the title Story No. 1 (pretty original huh?) It was inspired by images from the media at the time.

This man comments on the sanity of the woman who drowned her children. He would be the best person to ask in this situation, given the tense, victim-like dishevelment he portrays. He is wearing glasses and he appears to struggle with the load he carries on his shoulders.

“I try not to see,” he thinks. “I became a psychiatrist to find the truth! How can I declare the rationale for one woman’s actions, when she personifies my pain and I hers? I wear her anguish, her misunderstanding and her guilt. She commits the crime in such a real and tangible way that I envy her. I envy her freedom of expression. We cannot harm the children, the innocents, the newborn and as yet unformed ideas, dreams and goals. Just as I murder my own self and every truly creative thought, dream or ideal__”

He blinks. “Too much analysis has gone into this life of mine. She represents that one true desire that was born of pain and sublimated beyond all recognition. I question my life at this point, when I, once again, determine someone’s sanity based on their decision to act.”

The American media are very interested in this case. The people have an opportunity to voice their objection to breaking the rules. The media seem to be very attracted to the public demise of individuals who are driven to express their disharmony without the benefit of acceptable options.

“The news is rarely ever good these days. The news doesn’t rejuvenate and uplift us, give us hope for our lives. I am a man who has studied intensely, the reality of the mind and human behaviour; yet I am not left with any more tools or particular human advantage than this woman, and pure chance separates our destinies.”

“I have children, two sons, beautiful boys and I would never contemplate their death by my hand. I don’t see my sons often enough. I work hard. Their mother is wonderful, I love and need her in such a way that I can’t even begin to communicate with her. We don’t get much time to talk. I work hard for my family.”

“There is no room for changes in this life – not for me, for my colleagues, my squash buddies, my patients or my family. There is a delicate balance, an unstable equilibrium to maintain. To upset this balance with nothing more than a desire for change, a desire to act, is futile and merely causes chaos and crises such as these. I cannot act upon, merely accept and live with this runny nose, this aching back, my crippled toes and immobile sternum – for that is my lot and who am I to question – to judge?”

The thoughts that run through this man’s head flicker across his face momentarily and though he has already submitted his written report to the court, for a brief instant, he is not quite sure what he is going to say. He is not quite sure what his pronouncement will be.

The end.

Eclipse in Scorpio

Today, I have two posts that are essentially “Missives from the scrap heap”. They are both on the topic of beauty and they have both been rejected by their original audience. I’m publishing them now because they do in fact pass the secret “What is my truth” test, so I’m happy to reconsider them as – yet to fulfil their purpose or find their true home.

“Eclipse” is not meant to be about sex. So far that’s what everyone seems to think it’s about. These days I can take it on the chin and find new meanings from such contrasts between what I was thinking when I wrote and what the reader hears. It’s potentially where the magic lives. So in the spirit of – take it however you will – I set this baby free!

4th November 1994
Eclipse in Scorpio

There’s a waking dream
Dormant ’til I felt true
And now my lighter is out of gas.
Don’t smoke this dream.
But I want this to float away
Up high on the air
Leave me down here with the ash.
Too real, too real –
Find matches quickly!
I think it’s gone now.

I open my chest
Golden light rainbow brilliant colour
Streams out and hits you in the face.
Then I open my chest
It’s grey and dead
I’ve taken out all the good bits.

Death and life
I want my skin off
So we can touch bones
My muscles to shrivel
And peel away
My organs inside this
Unbidden fortress.

I’m trying to think of
Beautiful words to say next
But “touch me
Is all that comes to mind.

I don’t want to be clever,
Say the right things,
Do the right things,
Be what you want.

No clothes
No desires
No trimmings
No trappings
No wishes
No mercy
No needs

I want to shine on you for an instant

And you’ll leave an echo
And you’ll journey with me
And you won’t remember.

I wish I could paint this
I want you to know me.

*

5 January 2009 – why is this in my spanish book?

I’m looking for something at the moment, and I keep coming across strange writings that have disappeared from my memory.

Just now, in my Spanish exercise book, no I don’t know why I looked there –I find the following notes and do a bit of a double-take — did I really write this?  By the way, I still don’t know any Spanish so it’s highly questionable as to whether the exercise book was used for anything useful at all. Continue reading

Doing nothing

In the absence of doing
There lies a face in the mirror
Somehow unfamiliar

In the absence of future
There lies no past, but the present
Somehow all-pervading

In the absence of striving
There lies an ease, and achievement?
Somehow unimportant

In the presence of being
I find my home, and it’s fluid
Somehow I am freedom.

Twice and quite recently, I have put forward the concept of wu wei in comments without explaining anything at all. This poem I wrote more than 20 years ago back when I was first becoming aware of this ancient Taoist principle. There was an accompanying lino print that I also made at the time which is now just a memory… I hope the words are enough to give an idea.

Remember

So many things on my mind I need to write them down
The fear that I might forget is sometimes overwhelming

Must remember
Don’t forget
What if?

Don’t be afraid
It will be okay
It always works out
Or does it?

The emotion
The feelings
Me.
All I remember is me

The way I was and the places I’ve been
The places I don’t want to return to

Do details matter
To you
To me?

I am scared
Of not remembering
Like once before
When I was smaller
and life was pain
and love
and terror
and sadness

And now I remember the beauty
But not then

I fought hard for the beauty.

Call your fears and they will come to you

The Leader: A high school poem

Man is born, the world’s begun
He makes himself a life
He builds a home, he goes to work
And comes home to his wife

He wears a suit, collar and tie
That’s how earns his pay
He sits behind a great big desk
And negotiates all day

He talks about a better world
With everyone at peace
The whole world would be set at ease
Well, he would be at least

He is loved by all his followers
About a million or two
The rest of the world can “go jump”
That’s what he said to do

We’ll build ourselves a nuclear bomb
And have a great big war
The sooner, the better, he says
It’s already right outside our door

And when the war’s all over
We’ll come out on top
There’ll be no more enemies
And no more bombs to drop

We’ll have to rebuild the town of course
That’s not a hard decision
As long as I’ve got a place to stay
And my good old television.