Nervousness, exhaustion, the long flight and I have survived so far. Time and again the water floods creek beds to the streets, cooling this city. Guilty for crimes of passion, lust and security, refusing the cage, distant from the dishonesty of a world jaded with fear. Capturing the moments in the individual hearts, drying the eyes of mediocrity and clearing the dust. As this tool soothes my troubled mind, its strength which needs to be called on. The all mighty, rope that almighty success and find a will to smooth the gears once grinding turn sparks.
There are those who know in an instant or two, those it takes little to brush into a smile. Contact is not always caramel, sometimes kale, or vinegar. In the parallel we find common acts that perform like art and each time these moments are broken a small piece of the beaming ora fade to the sky like steam.This man only relaxed in windows where the lights dim and anxiety is silenced. Like the hours when a baby comes to a silence only to errupt again with ferociousness. Having that grace period and forgetting it just as quick.
Summary state in the hearts of the solomn. Choosers, believers, the potential entity that claw away my spirit. Saddened by the time where I am seen like a number but still I sit and play it out like theater. Borders sit and spray and live through the stage, but today is my honest truth and tommorrows lay my bitter youth. Not running, not famished, not starving but sick of the damage that has been done.Finger pointing; plays and shows, my hands which were open, my fingers unlike my toes. Human reaction and recording tape beliefs, skills are set and the morals are forbidden.
This urge to strum chords of a song exemplifying emotion. Instead I listen to theirs waiting till I am out there again. Surf city, full of beach-life-types and I, hiding in a coffee shop listening to G.Love. There are worse places to be. So long since a meeting of minds in that place where refuge caught the drift. Where the night refused to end but life played its heart.
Sitting, sulking this dizzy face, maybe the mirror is shaking, or maybe its my hands trying to hold on. Hostel life, one of charisma at night while the day drags and the spirit of few pulls down the nation. Sit in a book and slide away old soul, feed that starving brain.With freedom comes time, this lapse in a means to getting things done has a way of weaving the hand across sheet. Dictating the course of nature, and who chooses what in this lap of lunacy. On the bridge between deformity and salvation hands clap and the mind trips. So play a song young man, about the blues you got, but you don't want to live there anymore, so let go. Ghost chaser thinking of the coulds instead of what would be if the train of positivity rolled into town.
Here I am living the daily grinde, shopping at the local grocers, having tea at the off beat gertrude and Alice, where readers sit and relax to the sounds of Harper, Rudd, Simone, Vedder and so forth. Its quiet menu holding the options of any health conscious pruveyor, I sit here with my favorite person from Eastern suburbs to the North.
At the northern beaches, you have Manly, a beach fornt that holds a sunset setting that you could sit and stare right into, falling in love every night its clear enough to hear the folk music of love and prosperity along the shore. Its a Grand Bend along the curves of a womans pop bottle shape. This coastline is so popular with poeple all across the globe, you never know who you'll meet. Today we got the opporunity, I and she who makes me think genuinely, to meet a young guy from England, living in Manly. The place is the same sense as Bondi except its not polluted with mass amounts of backpackers and tourists all times of the day. The beach is not yet swarmed with the showboats of society, grazing their skin against the cancer of a sun warmer than any oven. Here its a peaceful walk along the board to a wharf, not so much based upon its fresh fish, but the light drinkers of afternoons alike...
From the minute I arrived in this city's limits, its been a mystery slowly openning up and speaking out. Looking for some type of disclaimer at the bottom of the screen, there are no clear instructions, and anything that could, should and would. From the nights crawling along unknown roads, like i was pennywise, i was pennies less, and steps from the middle grade of homelessness. I didn't necessarily come here to experience the same infractions I did back in Canada maybe ten years passed, but life as it is a surprise, likes to be existensial, sneaking up to smack a man in the face when he sleeps at the wheel. Breathing the deep stream of doubt and fear, climbing back has a way of defining moments, and cherishing those you may have forgotten, or yet, taken advantage of.
This is real, and its no quiet hour, everything is here, except the security of family and friends, its a man against the snowball affect of nature and its course. In all its filth and spillage, this city is unique, a true multiculturalism that is not just set to the immigrants hoping for more than their own reality. Here its more than a few cultures seeking refuge, looking for a home away from home. Here the first world comes to live better as well, where quality of life is equalled to the warmth from its humidity in the summer, and divinity of that canvas living along the streets. Curisoity grows along the same wave length as the swirl at Bondi, and the buildings at market square, an opera house that gives imagery to a harbour front that is viewed by millions at a time, but still ives beautifully on the front of a page speaking the music heard inside these walls.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Time inside the beat
So its the dawn of a new day today. Where I have settled in to the city streets of Sydney, and the beach fronts of Bondi. In the struggles of a recession, the world has still had light shine in to this window of hope. This may not be the best time to travel a foreign land looking for better opportunity, but the experience, no matter what the shape it may be, comes as a sense of fulfillment. Bound to find a way to continue on this trekk across the land of Australia. Make my way to the outback, to the confinment of the West, a chance to taste more of the exotic life of the Aussie. The city is like any other at the end of the day. but here at the beach, thinks move slower, silk, smooth, soft, and without complication. In all of its popularity, like anything it is what you make it.
The citys beat, a loud drum dancing the sequence of an aboriginals soul lost in traffic. Here it is, the bright lights, a strip alive from the salivating mouth of fornicating man. A dangerous place, slaves trapped in a dungeon, humanity alike. A powerful force that draws any of the lonesome to a desperate whole.There are the timid, quiet eyes just waiting for their discovery. The young ladies trip to the center stage.The filthy, basting their own skin with the soap of insecurity and loss. And the entreperneur, determined to get an education to walk away from this cave. But what happens to the character that had to cry inside.None of you bad, or wicked, just disatisfying a gender. Fabricating the same sense that designed, fed, these vultures who sit and prey, the watchmen.Escaped from that busy street out to the edges of society where nature is a booming industry. A cold afternoon with a heavy amount of fog. It chases away the thousands of tourists so's almost like we are surrounded by bush, walking together, simply.The falling waters splash against a rock face of Katoomba, ceremonial grounds where peace does not struggle its way out of an abbrasive shout. On the approach you can hear the falls running as should, feeding this, the only self sustaining organics between us. Here, the toys have yet to destroy its nourishing core, camouflaged from turbulant hands.Looking over thousands of acres, trees and truff. The creeks and river that sparkle against a courteous sun we missed today. Still, I am the luckiest man in these valley, for the escape was made not a day late, or one breath short from suffocation. My saviour, the air of a mountains purity. This heart hadn't been in it for a while yet, and then Govetts leap bear all for us to see.From the birds to bugs its life outside all the noise and plaster. The magical force of a view from above. Hundreds of feet below and at your side someones whose magic alone can revive a man from his coma. In her eyes it these view, in her hands she holds the essence of what allows the earth to grow and in her heart the same humble truth as the one received from 'The three Sisters'.
This is a garden of nature draped across small mountains. It feels like the oxygen here has a richness better for ingestion. On this particular day it is brisk after an evening of rain and still some of the leaves collect water that at times drip and drp on her smooth, sacred skin. She dresses not for attention, but comfort and warmth, like this garden we are in. My feet connect to the earth, here, more than many places. My pockets are full, not money, or any substancial asset, but satisfaction and graciousness to mother life for keeping this place rich, and father of the seed for giving her energy breath. I walk with a blind sense of paradise. Everyone speaks about Australia, being paradise, they must have sat most of their time in the gorges of these Blue Mountains.
Not sure if it is the place or the eerie state of the clouds we could nearly touch, the fog so thick it covered everything around us. Hidden behind these thick grey walls is a quiet ocean of bark and brush. Like winding roads the garden travels, waves off of tamarramas beachline.Nine hundred stairs, its like an escalator to heaven and the same sense, along the way the accents of many nationality we passed. There were no clear limitations to the seige available in this open range. A million stories told in this the perfect city for a bird, bear or a wallabe.If not for her, the woman who spoke so sharply, someone I could bare honesty. If not for this friend who holds herself none above without a chance to connect with her two balancing hemispheres. I would have thought this coast a summer blue without a seasoned green.Not a piece insside these two doors between entrance and exit I would change of your design. These drums roll, sensations snap like a branch through these dreamy pine. Foxy brown, sat front of a wood fire burning tremendous pearls in a pretty parlour of people who could be our neighbours. Sat as you lay, without a need for vision, only the force of each body present and the awareness of what is ours, and what is yours.
Count and name the infinite possibilities that could be torn open from an afternoon as this. Would you remember tommorrow, it it rained for a week.
Salami sandwiches, beer nuts, a decorative setting, a warm bottle of berry and bitters, darker than blood but not unable to be seen. Couldn't run if I wanted to, been running for years, conflicted to point break, the sound of wild dogs that ve been smoking for fifty years. The feeling inside, around the tendons, from the rugged chords of Tom Waits. A slow ballad that shakes my feet, like my knees walking down to the Katoombas creeks.
That period between adolescence and adequacy, purging bricks one at a time to bring light and aflame songs of joy and art. So many words have been written, in so many books, with many of inspiring reasons to do just this. Pushing out the deep thoughts and expresison which integrate boarders between empathy and ridicule.
Its not every day that the sidewalks you strut and skip flash with light and radiate the right of way. Reflecting the past, I sit watching french foreign films, illuminating a candle in the laneway of apperition, for a future where all the good deeds sew closed the questions of cancer.
In the wake of a brilliant couple of weeks where I envisioned you daily, cultivating that awareness. These quiet pages are about the righteous days. Ones that didn't end in a tank, a voice carrying the anger of a rabid 'Big Red' on the move for a couple of lost tourists.
Where are all my earth seekers? the truth speakers that should come in daily doses. Discovery lovely like a brushel of sage came about by and without expectation. The way it is truely meant to queue. The forces of nature draw apart the same two energies that are just too similar to stay engaged.
A ballad baby true, call me what you will, but its not depression. Admittance, a willingness to co operate with the bubbling bath beeds we've all been sitting in for years at a time. No mind reader, no real activist, but I feel the anguish when you are lonely and I adhere your pain when your bones ache. And to the one whose hands bare her hardships in rash, I tried for so many night to take it all for even a day, and wear it for you. For every smile given, a fairytale relived, brought from imagination to earth, feeling its soil.
The citys beat, a loud drum dancing the sequence of an aboriginals soul lost in traffic. Here it is, the bright lights, a strip alive from the salivating mouth of fornicating man. A dangerous place, slaves trapped in a dungeon, humanity alike. A powerful force that draws any of the lonesome to a desperate whole.There are the timid, quiet eyes just waiting for their discovery. The young ladies trip to the center stage.The filthy, basting their own skin with the soap of insecurity and loss. And the entreperneur, determined to get an education to walk away from this cave. But what happens to the character that had to cry inside.None of you bad, or wicked, just disatisfying a gender. Fabricating the same sense that designed, fed, these vultures who sit and prey, the watchmen.Escaped from that busy street out to the edges of society where nature is a booming industry. A cold afternoon with a heavy amount of fog. It chases away the thousands of tourists so's almost like we are surrounded by bush, walking together, simply.The falling waters splash against a rock face of Katoomba, ceremonial grounds where peace does not struggle its way out of an abbrasive shout. On the approach you can hear the falls running as should, feeding this, the only self sustaining organics between us. Here, the toys have yet to destroy its nourishing core, camouflaged from turbulant hands.Looking over thousands of acres, trees and truff. The creeks and river that sparkle against a courteous sun we missed today. Still, I am the luckiest man in these valley, for the escape was made not a day late, or one breath short from suffocation. My saviour, the air of a mountains purity. This heart hadn't been in it for a while yet, and then Govetts leap bear all for us to see.From the birds to bugs its life outside all the noise and plaster. The magical force of a view from above. Hundreds of feet below and at your side someones whose magic alone can revive a man from his coma. In her eyes it these view, in her hands she holds the essence of what allows the earth to grow and in her heart the same humble truth as the one received from 'The three Sisters'.
This is a garden of nature draped across small mountains. It feels like the oxygen here has a richness better for ingestion. On this particular day it is brisk after an evening of rain and still some of the leaves collect water that at times drip and drp on her smooth, sacred skin. She dresses not for attention, but comfort and warmth, like this garden we are in. My feet connect to the earth, here, more than many places. My pockets are full, not money, or any substancial asset, but satisfaction and graciousness to mother life for keeping this place rich, and father of the seed for giving her energy breath. I walk with a blind sense of paradise. Everyone speaks about Australia, being paradise, they must have sat most of their time in the gorges of these Blue Mountains.
Not sure if it is the place or the eerie state of the clouds we could nearly touch, the fog so thick it covered everything around us. Hidden behind these thick grey walls is a quiet ocean of bark and brush. Like winding roads the garden travels, waves off of tamarramas beachline.Nine hundred stairs, its like an escalator to heaven and the same sense, along the way the accents of many nationality we passed. There were no clear limitations to the seige available in this open range. A million stories told in this the perfect city for a bird, bear or a wallabe.If not for her, the woman who spoke so sharply, someone I could bare honesty. If not for this friend who holds herself none above without a chance to connect with her two balancing hemispheres. I would have thought this coast a summer blue without a seasoned green.Not a piece insside these two doors between entrance and exit I would change of your design. These drums roll, sensations snap like a branch through these dreamy pine. Foxy brown, sat front of a wood fire burning tremendous pearls in a pretty parlour of people who could be our neighbours. Sat as you lay, without a need for vision, only the force of each body present and the awareness of what is ours, and what is yours.
Count and name the infinite possibilities that could be torn open from an afternoon as this. Would you remember tommorrow, it it rained for a week.
Salami sandwiches, beer nuts, a decorative setting, a warm bottle of berry and bitters, darker than blood but not unable to be seen. Couldn't run if I wanted to, been running for years, conflicted to point break, the sound of wild dogs that ve been smoking for fifty years. The feeling inside, around the tendons, from the rugged chords of Tom Waits. A slow ballad that shakes my feet, like my knees walking down to the Katoombas creeks.
That period between adolescence and adequacy, purging bricks one at a time to bring light and aflame songs of joy and art. So many words have been written, in so many books, with many of inspiring reasons to do just this. Pushing out the deep thoughts and expresison which integrate boarders between empathy and ridicule.
Its not every day that the sidewalks you strut and skip flash with light and radiate the right of way. Reflecting the past, I sit watching french foreign films, illuminating a candle in the laneway of apperition, for a future where all the good deeds sew closed the questions of cancer.
In the wake of a brilliant couple of weeks where I envisioned you daily, cultivating that awareness. These quiet pages are about the righteous days. Ones that didn't end in a tank, a voice carrying the anger of a rabid 'Big Red' on the move for a couple of lost tourists.
Where are all my earth seekers? the truth speakers that should come in daily doses. Discovery lovely like a brushel of sage came about by and without expectation. The way it is truely meant to queue. The forces of nature draw apart the same two energies that are just too similar to stay engaged.
A ballad baby true, call me what you will, but its not depression. Admittance, a willingness to co operate with the bubbling bath beeds we've all been sitting in for years at a time. No mind reader, no real activist, but I feel the anguish when you are lonely and I adhere your pain when your bones ache. And to the one whose hands bare her hardships in rash, I tried for so many night to take it all for even a day, and wear it for you. For every smile given, a fairytale relived, brought from imagination to earth, feeling its soil.
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