Archive for January, 2011

prano virat
January 29, 2011

‘there was once a little wave, bobbing along, having a grand old time. he’s enjoying the wind and the fresh air – until he notices the other waves in front of him, crashing against the shore. ‘my God, this is terrible’, the wave says, ‘look what’s going to happen to me!’ then along came another wave, it sees the first wave looking grim and it asks him: ‘why do you look so sad?’ the first wave answers ‘you don’t understand! we’re all going to crash! all of us are going to be nothing! isn’t it terrible?’ then the second wave says ‘no, you don’t understand. you’re not a wave. you’re a part of the ocean’
-tuesdays with morrie


say hello to the ground
January 29, 2011

“I get a headache when I don’t see blood”

Dear God,
sometimes I don’t understand it.
i don’t understand the children who are bleeding.
at the hands of another child,
fighting for their life.
i don’t understand how they are left to bleed.
by us.
it doesn’t make sense that they go to sleep alone and afraid,
ever single fucking night.
and I just swore in a prayer,
but I’m just so angry.
i’m so angry that in parts of the world, children are stolen from their homes every night.
i’m angry that they become martyrs if they refuse to become soldiers.
little boys.
and little girls too.
and it makes me so angry.
because while this happens, I look around my own country to see girls like towers,
stagger around in their short dresses, with their high heels,
and I look at the deep loneliness and vulnerability in their hearts,
and I wonder how they don’t just topple over.
God, where is it?
where is the Grace?
i can’t help it.
i can’t help but lose my faith sometimes.
when the world is so full of hurting.
i don’t care if I get tired.
and I don’t care if I’m exhausted.
i won’t stop fighting this.

January 29, 2011

you were beautiful
and I was beautiful.
so we were both beautiful.
and things were beautiful right?
so why did I feel so lonely?

look for love in the bloodshot of your eyes
January 27, 2011

sun beating down on skin the colour of warm honey.
music that beats to the static of the radio.
sharing laughs and sentimental discussions
with people i love dearly.
it’s so odd…
when i think about the way i spent each of the three main days of the summer this year; christmas, new years and australia day,
i begin to realise how lucky i am.
each of the days i spent with a different assortment of people.
all of them absolutely incredible.
each day brings up an entirely different sort of memory.
yesterday… for me… was one of the most perfect days i’ve ever had.

for months i’ve been writing to a person who i’d only met once.
marvelled at the beauty of the words he’d written to me.
written down thoughts and realisations provoked by him.
and for the past few evenings i had been given the chance to talk to him.
to really talk.
to let my heart be wedged free.
to say the things i’ve been wanting to scream.
to lay next to him on a warm rock, and to open up in ways i didn’t know i could.
“i love the rhythm of when one performs poetry… the passionate parts resemble the crashing of waves on a rock” he’d said the night before.
well, i love the rhythm of vulnerability…. how each of my achingly inadequate words, crashed at his side, into his mind….
how he took each feeling i was trying to explain, and made sense of it.
each piece lined up in a detailed pattern.
he asked questions about myself.
i asked him questions about the world.
“well… humanism… in the context of that song? well even though i haven’t listened to the song… and i don’t listen to much of her music, if i were to take those lyrics and form an opinion of what she was trying to say… i’d say that she was outlining a person who relentlessly believed in the possibility  of human beings” he told me, when i’d asked yet another question.
he’d paused only to realign his thought with practicality.

“we will both be incredible” he said yesterday.
then he looked at me so intensely that i felt obliged to respond.
“i hope so” i said back to him.
so curious as to what i meant, he questioned me further
“what’s going to stop you from being incredible?”
and i thought about it.
he had told me: “there is a middle eastern saying… that basically says ‘the deepers our sorrows cut, the more space we have to fill them with joy'”
and so i thought about it.

and i thought about the waves hitting the shore.
i thought about my sister in the background talking to another boy who had just returned from england.
i thought about my friends at another beach, sipping their drinks in the hot sun.
i thought about oxfam at kingston beach… how much effort mel puts into oxfam.
i thought about a quote i’d read on a church billboard in scottsdale the day before: “generosity like love, never fails”
i thought about annabelle, and how she’d sat with me every night… just to be in my company,
and i told him that to be incredible i need to first define what it is.
incredible to me, was the love in every human.
the love i’d been given and shown.
the things i had learnt….
and to be incredible i must be one to give that love back.
i don’t want to live my life just taking from everyone.
i want to give back to them.
i want to teach others what i have been taught.
i want to lay on a rock with someone some day, and tell them that someday they will be incredible.
i want mel in that oxfam stall to know that she is loved.
and that every time she gets a signature for that petition, someone’s heart is smiling at her.
someone who may be starving… or have just lost their home in a flood… or lost their family.
i want annabelle to know how much i screamed and laughed when ‘big jet plane’ got number once on the hottest hundred.
i want bek to know that no matter where she is, my heart aches to love her and to give her the love that she has not received enough.
i want the person who put that message on that billboard to know that it opened my heart to just how much i wish i could give.
i wanted to fill, every deep cut in each body, with joy. with love. with the Grace that i feel.
and i told him that to first do this… i have to fix, forgive and forget the parts of myself that i hate.
and that, is what would stop me from being incredible…
that i can’t fix what it is inside me, that seems to break up each time i can’t be there for the people i love.
“i will be a giver” i told him. “i want to give back, what i have been given”.
and he nodded slowly.
and understood every word i had said.

that night i lied with my sisters, callum, chanelle and him,
next to an open fire in my backyard.
and felt truly calm.
he recited part of the poem he’d written and performed for grace and i the other night.
no clouds in the sky…
meaning we could see each star… no matter how distant it was.
i counted four shooting stars.
and even more satellites… of course.
beautiful music in the background.
slowly falling asleep, listening to him talking to me about the complexity of emotions.
it got so cold that night.
but in my mind…
the “picture in my heart”, was completely warm.
falling… gently… slowly… with his hand clasping mine.
can you feel how hot the cold is?
i can.

“let me show you how the stars swirl above you as you lie palm and calm on your back in the world’s black waters.
let me take your hand and clap it against mine, so you don’t have to keep the time with clocks anymore.
let me hold you by the waist, let me breathe fire into your veins

still i see your eyelashes fall like gates over your irises,
and i wonder who you’re keeping out, and what you can see through those bars,
because i think your vision’s scarred, i think you’re missing something.
for the universe bows down before us, not because we are great,
but because it is great – great enough to forget itself.
be like that universe.

let me see your eyes when your dreaming – in fact,
let me take photographs of your eyelids, so i don’t forget them, because i don’t want to see your eyes closed again

i just want to know you,
and be known by you, no matter how much it hurts.”
– bert

the gaps in my rib cage
January 24, 2011

i was showed the wonders of a truly beautiful poet last night.
her words and passion… just keep playing through my mind.
mel so shakily explained in the car today that she at first didn’t want to share the poet.
and although i understood why she didn’t want to,
i didn’t understand fully until just a few minutes ago…
when i googled the poet… reading a part of her bio, i came across the words
“gibson is not gentle with her truths”

we are so often fed bullshit.
mind games.
lacks of truth.
when we stumble upon non gentle truths…
when we come across someone like gibson, who wants only to shout her beliefs to the world.
who wants to get up on stages, and give each piece of herself to her audience in the most lyrical and beautiful way possible…
who will scream, laugh, smile… to convey every feeling and emotion her body owns…
and does it by means of giving the complete, un-fucked, non-gentle truth…
when we do stumble upon these truths,
we are exposed to such a rare miracle.

by showing me that poet,
she was sharing with me that rare miracle.
she was sharing truth.
in its least gentle form

little letters on it
January 23, 2011

this is what we’re supposed to do:
we’re supposed to sit on your bed.
in singlets and underwear.
and you’re supposed to have a guitar in your arms.
you’re supposed to understand when i burst into laughter.
you’re supposed to let your hair flow over the fucking ugly coat i own.
and you’re supposed to look away awkwardly when you tell me you wear it because it makes you feel comfortable when you’re alone.
you’re supposed to read all these blogs.
and not mind that so many are about you.
you’re supposed to write duets for us to sing.
even thought we’re not ‘in love’.
i’m supposed to cry.
and you’re supposed to cuddle me when i do it.
you’re supposed to talk.
and i’m supposed to listen.
i’m supposed to talk.
and you’re supposed to listen.
i’m supposed to not make you angry with the dumb things i say.
and the incorrect opinions i have.
i’m supposed to be your friend.
you’re supposed to be mine.
and i’m supposed to love you.
and you are supposed to love me.
and we are supposed to take that love that we give to each other.

because we are supposed to give it to others.

so that others are supposed to feel it too.
because that’s what love is.
it isn’t the getting. it’s the giving.
there is a type of love…
that you give
and you give it without worrying that the other will fuck it up.
or that they won’t care you’re giving it to them.
you don’t worry that it might hurt.
or that you may look stupid and weak.
you give it… with the hope that it will somehow make that person happy.
so happy… that they learn how to give that love to another.
no matter what type of fucking love it is.
friends. boyfriends. girlfriends. mums. dads. sisters. brothers. aunties.
if you get it… you give it.
that’s the rule.
that’s what you taught me.
and that’s what i’ll give.
because we are all supposed to know it.
we’re all supposed to feel it.

the see you can’t sea past
January 23, 2011

i love the feeling of my skin after i dry off from swimming. if it’s in the ocean it will dry off to be tight and salty. i love it. however, every time i dry off, i start to notice this blurriness at the tops of my eyes. almost like a haziness to my vision. it’s caused by the tiny bits of salt and sand that cling to my eyelashes… something i won’t notice until i’m dry. until i’m clear.

it’s life right. my body. and this haziness… in my vision… is all the shit i get caught up in. sticking to my eyelashes whilst i’m completely submerged in water. and see, while i’m under that water i don’t see it. i’m alone. with the beauty of being alone. with the beauty of being lonely. but my eyes are clumped with bitterness that i can’t see past until i’m out. until i’m dry. until i’m clear. until all the broken parts and the damage is… somewhere else.

soft white voice like feathers
January 20, 2011

“i wish you could live in brackets. you could take whoever you want inside with you, and the rest of life would wait outside, politely looking the other way. when you popped out of the brackets life would go on as before. there’d be no consequences and the walls would be where you needed them” -borrowed light

it had to be
January 20, 2011

i have an obsession with sunsets.
more so than my obsession with stars.
which is truly saying something.
each and every night i find a fucking amazing light show when i look past the eastern side of our property.
and almost every night i’ll bolt outside to take a photo.
my dad, at first, hated it.
it would always be his camera i used (it takes better quality photos).
standard flash on. auto setting. auto focus.
basically, i’d do little to no work in actually lining these shots up.
and i’d take close to twenty every single night.
and at first he hated it.
last summer… he hated it.
these days… both mum and dad will alert me when there is a beautiful sunset.
they’re so used to me bolting up to the bedroom now, that they won’t ask questions.
occasionally they’ll come out and join me as i snap up endless amounts of sunset photos.
and to be honest, there’s no point to the photos i’ve taken.
i think i’ll get prints of them one of these days.
but until then, i hope you enjoy these as much as i did when i took them.
no editing on any of them.

like being in a mist with earplugs in
January 20, 2011

“we were like two foreigners meeting in a neutral country. we didn’t share a common language, so we simple gestured to one another in a friendly way. we meant well. but we never knew what we meant” -borrowed light