Category Archives: Art

“Everything you can imagine is real.” ― Pablo Picasso

Carpet Veins

These are two of my favourite photos of The Doors. I first saw these photos when I was about 10 years old & I have never stopped wondering what they were thinking about… or what happened to that amazing carpet; to me it looked like the veins on an arm & they were all coming out of Jim Morrison. It’s possible these photos are the reason I became obsessed with the veins in my own arms & spent years carving them up, who knows, perhaps I was looking for a Door.

The Doors, 1968
Photography by Art Kane

tumblr_nnt5wt965f1td7laso1_1280

© Art Kane 1968

Art-Kane-7

© Art Kane 1968

Relief

image

It was a relief to see something so beautiful in the sky last night after the terror of the last few days of bushfire in South Australia. I’m so thankful my family are safe. ❤💜

Velveteen Inspiration

A little while ago I became a Patron of one of my heroes, Amanda Palmer. Being a Patron means I help to pay for her art. It means she can make the art & music she likes without needing a record company. Right now, she is 8 months pregnant & yesterday she stood naked in full body paint in front of the New York Public Library to raise awareness for literacy & gather books from supporters for needy children. She stood as a living replica of the Verity statue by Damien Hirst & as people dropped off books she moved to a new position. Anyone who has been 8 months pregnant will know standing still for any amount of time is difficult & painful so I was in awe of her efforts. Literacy is something Amanda obviously feels passionate about, as I do, so when she stated in a recent interview that her favourite children’s book is ‘The Velveteen Rabbit‘ I could not ignore what is for me, a meaningful coincidence. Continue reading

Filtered In Winter

Today is the first of a precious few winter days without rain & the first time I have had to get out into my garden & explore. It is a different place in the winter – the plants either go dormant or thrive. There are hues of brown & purple that are not visible in other months.

I find the garden to be one of the only places I can go to just be where I do not have to think. My mind clears & I lose hours in a sunny afternoon pottering about. Without the garden I would be lost. Sometimes it is not enough to look out from my kitchen window; I was pleased to get out in the sunlight today & took my camera with me.

I have been experimenting with coloured & macro lens filters – it is much more difficult than I imagined. There is no ‘point & shoot’ scenario – it takes time & patience; both of which I find sparse at the moment. The first of our winter blooms came out of hiding with the unseasonable sun – I hope there will be more in the days to come.

Strawberry Bloom - July 2014 © Violet Ashes 2014

Strawberry Bloom – July 2014 © Violet Ashes 2014

Violet - July 2014 © Violet Ashes 2014

Violet – July 2014 © Violet Ashes 2014

Violet Succulent - July 2014 © Violet Ashes 2014

Violet Succulent – July 2014 © Violet Ashes 2014

After The Storm

This morning I drove around listening to Mumford & Sons, trying to find distraction & since then it has been a day filled with contemplation. Good contemplation can, of course, always be done while shopping. Navigating my way through racks of women’s clothes, shoes & jewellery. I found myself standing in the jeans section & looking at the way the store was divided. They used nicer & more marketable words but each section was clearly thus;

Section 1: skinny, young & hip – lovely fabrics, cut well – sizes 6 – 16 only
Section 2: older, fatter, sensible – basic colour wheel & no imagination – sizes 10 – 18 only
Section 3: maternity / so fat you might as well buy maternity – all in garish colours & floral prints – sizes 16 – 26 only

I wandered through each section & also noticed that what was a size 16 in Section 1 was a totally different Size 16 to that in Section 2 & in Section 3. I was confused. How can you call it the same size? What dressmaking school did they attend? I did not understand.

I bought something from each section just to mess with their statistics.

I had to negotiate the grocery store after that – one of my most loathed tasks. People everywhere with no clue what they need or want. People picking things up, smelling them & putting them back. One lady ran over my foot with her trolley. I just stood still on the spot & was tempted to scream.

At least the coffee aisle was the one closest to the entrance of the supermarket. How convenient, I thought. Then I noticed it is the same aisle as the chocolate & lollies. How conveniently annoying – putting something everyone needs next to something everyone wants. Pure evil. I did not give the Cadbury’s hazelnut chocolate any eye contact as I walked swiftly passed & kept my head down all the way to the opposite end of the shop where they keep the milk – you need a winter coat all year round down there.

By the time I got home & invented something for dinner, tucked it away in the fridge & sat down to fold socks my mind was racing. Racing with anger for all the fat people who like coffee & cannot avoid the chocolate. For all the skinny girls that want to dress sensibly but cannot find clothes to fit & fat women that want to dress stylishly with the same problem.

Noticing that I am middle of the road on all of these issues only gave me further pause.

I knew I was avoiding my real problems by filling my mind with trivial ones & only adding to my anxiety but I couldn’t help myself. I took a peak in my email for anything exciting that might have happened in the 10 minutes since I last looked. An email stood out – a WordPress notification from the blog of Jain Carey Photography. A post entitled “After The Storm.” I opened it. I stared at the photograph. I was whisked away to shores of still water & instantly, I was calm. I am always affected by great art & today was no different. Perhaps I should take a copy of this photo in my purse with me the next time I visit the supermarket.. I could have stared at that photograph for many hours, I could have started at it all day… had the washing machine not beeped…

After the Storm by Jain Carey Photography

After the Storm by Jain Carey Photography

After The Storm — Mumford & Sons

& after the storm,
I run and run as the rains come
& I look up, I look up,
on my knees and out of luck,
I look up.

Night has always pushed up day
You must know life to see decay
But I won’t rot, I won’t rot
Not this mind & not this heart,
I won’t rot.

& I took you by the hand
& we stood tall,
& remembered our own land,
What we lived for.
& there will come a time, you’ll see, with no more tears.
& love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.
Get over your hill & see what you find there,
With grace in your heart & flowers in your hair.

& now I cling to what I knew
I saw exactly what was true
But oh no more.
That’s why I hold,
That’s why I hold with all I have.
That’s why I hold.

& I won’t die alone & be left there.
Well I guess I’ll just go home,
Oh God knows where.
Because death is just so full & man so small.
Well I’m scared of what’s behind & what’s before.

& there will come a time, you’ll see, with no more tears.
& love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.
Get over your hill & see what you find there,
With grace in your heart & flowers in your hair.

Lightning Bolts

Zeus-Hera_shadowsineden.blogspot.com

Last night I dreamt of Zeus & of Hera & their children. Eileithyia – with her watchful eye has followed me through the last two years & two dead babies. She whispers to me & although I understand her in the dream I do not remember her words when I wake & yet her words haunt me.

I awoke with pain lingering in my abdomen & tears on my cheeks. My husband asked me what was wrong, why was I crying & I maintained, “I’m alright, I’m fine” but I am never sure if I am.

The two dead babies in my dream – they float. They stare at me but they do not talk. I know who they are, even now, but they are not mine anymore. Eileithyia runs her hands over my back & through my hair. Whatever she says, upsets me.

I am not the same person I was before I met Eileithyia in my dreams. I am not as fickle or forlorn but I am the same amount of furious. There is a burning in my belly, a ferocious fire that wants to burn the world down – holding in my words, my thoughts & my feelings for fear of hurting people is like having lightning bolts streak through me minute by minute. If only I did not care. Perhaps I could let it out & the burning would stop. Perhaps I would be reduced to Ashes. If only.

We do not talk about these things anymore, my husband & I. I am too angry & he is too sad. All the waiting & the disappointment. The passion & the pain. It beats down our door every month & we fall deeper in all the time. We both know it cannot destroy us, we know no matter the outcome we are stronger together & stronger than anything the Gods could throw at us. But in the meantime, our daily lives are filled with hope & uncertainty; of conversations not endured & decisions not made.

“People ask me how we are,

We are, I say, mostly lost.”

Lightning Bolts – Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds

Two lightning bolts were delivered to my room,
They were gifts from Zeus.

I rock the bolts in a bassinet of pine.

People ask me how I am,
I say “I’m all right, I’m fine.

I push the lightning bolts in a pram,
Till the sun goes down & it gets dark,
& the girls from Jubilee Street hang out their windows,
& they wave & ask me how I am tonight.
I say “I’m good, I’m all right.”

In Athens all the youths are crying from the gas.
I’m by the hotel pool working on a tan.
People come up & ask me who I am.
I say if you don’t know, don’t ask.

Zeus laughs – but it’s the gas.
& he asks me how I am.
I say “Zeus, don’t ask.”

My lightning bolts are jolts of joy,
They are joy boys from Zeus.
I feed them porridge in their booster seats of knowledge.

& in the cradle of democracy, the pigeons are wearing gas masks.

My lightning bolts play in the elevators,
They slide down the hotel banister,
& Zeus throws a gas canister,
& it spins around the pool,
As pigeons wearing respirators steal the lightning bolts.

Zeus wants them back.

O my bolts of joy,
O my darling little boys.
They are lost to us.
& people.. .
They are never coming back.

At night I watch them sleep,
& cry years of tears,
& it’s not the gas.

People ask me how we are
“We are,” I say, “mostly lost.”

Travel Your Road

“Stop comparing where you’re at with where everyone else is. It doesn’t move you farther ahead, improve your situation, or help you find peace. It just feeds your shame, fuels your feelings of inadequacy, & ultimately, it keeps you stuck. The reality is that there is no one correct path in life. Everyone has their own unique journey.”
— Daniell Koepke

According to ‘the Internet’ Daniell Koepke is the founder of a Tumblr called the ‘Internal Acceptance Movement’ (IAM) which discusses recovery, self care, mental health, body image, self acceptance & issues of social justice.

At first I thought, “sounds like a bunch of hippy crap…”
“Platitudes & promises…”

I visited the site & started to look around. There are a lot of saccharine things; catch-phrases & clichés. However, I found that a lot of her Tumblr was relevant. They may sound fanciful but, when you think them through, a lot of the quotes & points Daniell makes resonate & remind me to stay on task. To not get caught up in petty arguments or feel rejected or neglected. I am in control of how I feel, no one else. How I react to a situation is entirely up to me even if I am baited.

On bad days I fall for the bait every single time. When I am feeling insecure or suspicious everything that is said & done around me makes me feel bad about who I am & I question my worth. There are a few people who remain in my life that seem to have the ability to take control of my self-confidence & flush it away. On good days, which is most of the time, I don’t even notice those people or I pity them.

My aim is to become indifferent to them. To see the barbs they throw at me & care not if they hit me. That would be a glorious experience.

Maybe someday.

Led Astray – © Ben Good Earth Art Photography

Back In The Tori Forest

I have had 4 days with the new Tori Amos album: Unrepentant Geraldines & although I have only heard it all the way through, oh, about 30 times I feel I can safely say this is an unrepentant masterpiece.

It is Tori back to where we all want her deep down – at the piano with a soft drum & guitar hum, suitably, in the background. Her voice floats over a range of tracks that explore stories of unapologetic & unrepentant women through art & from various points of view. A shapely yet delicate web of experience, memory & desire have made up this album & I could not help but feel it must have taken significant time to compose. I have since read that Tori wrote these songs “in secret”*. Through this solitude Tori has produced some of her most melodious & distinctive sounding songs to date.

There are epic tales in these odes (‘Wedding Day’, ‘Wild Way’), beautiful, haunting lyrics that whisper & curl around you as lullabies do (‘Weatherman’, ‘Invisible Boy’, Maids of Elfen-mare), fun & bizarre tunes (‘Giant’s Rolling Pin’ & ‘Rose Dover’), a duet with her daughter, Tash (‘Promise’) that would touch the heart of any mum & then there are those special few that will be your favourites (‘Trouble’s Lament’, ‘Oysters’).

I was lucky enough to get hold of the deluxe edition of ‘Unrepentant Geraldines’ which has one extra track & for me it was everything I felt was missing from the album & this track remains my favourite: ‘Forest of Glass’. I found the darkness & depth of the track completed an incredible album. An unrepentant album. And as ever, I remain, an unrepentant Tori Amos fan.

Forest Of Glass – Tori Amos

Steal me away
Steal me away
From where I stand
Although I’m kneeling down
On the ground
Steal me away
Steal me away
From where I stand
Although I’m kneeling down
On the ground
The owl hoots & the moon beams through
A doubt awakes a voice dares to ask
Will you follow
If you love him you will follow
Will you follow
If you love him you will follow
If you love him you will follow him even ’til
His forest of glass
Forest of glass
His
Robbing the muse
Is, Is that what I’ve done
They turn & laugh
Back you do cannot do
We are the robin’s muse
& we will sing for you
Lift up your head
Lift up your heart
Lift up your head
Lift up your heart
The owl hoots & the moon beams through
A doubt awakes a voice dares to ask
Will you follow
If you love him you will follow
Will you follow
If you love him you will follow
If you love him you will follow him even ’til
His forest of glass
Forest of glass
His
Steal me away
Steal me away
From where I stand
Although I’m kneeling down
On the ground
Lift up your head
Lift up your heart
Lift up your head
Lift up your heart
Lift up your head
Lift up your heart
In his forest of glass
Forest of glass

Mirror Sculptures by Rob Mulholland

Mirror Sculptures by Rob Mulholland

*Tori Amos on ‘secret songs’ and SA“. IOL. 26 March 2014

Happy 450th Mr Shakespeare

It has been 450 years since William Shakespeare was born – a very long time.

It has been 20 years since I saw ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’ performed in the Adelaide Botanic Gardens with my wise Aunt Jan Marie – a long time.

I fell in love & his words have adorned the margins of every notebook I have scrawled in since.

So happy birthday Mr Shakespeare, you understood me then & you understand me now…

“Oh, when she’s angry, she is keen & shrewd!
She was a vixen when she went to school.
& though she be but little, she is fierce.”
— Helena in ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’ by William Shakespeare, 1590-5196

Oil on canvas by Joseph Mallord William Turner ‘Queen Mab’s Cave’ inspired by ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’ & exhibited in 1846:

Queen Mab's Cave - by Joseph Mallord William Turner

A Place Called Nirvana

Like teens all over the world, to me, the death of Kurt Cobain was devastating. I was 14. It was the day after my birthday. 

20 years on as I watched Nirvana inducted into the American Hall of Fame I thought about Kurt constantly. For days sentiment hit me in a big way. I still have ‘In Utero’ (my favourite Nirvana album) on repeat wherever I go. The lyrics to ‘Very Ape‘ spurn me on.

I read Kurt’s journals daily in a sleek black hard-covered book that was published after his death which contains scanned pages from his journals, notebooks, bits of paper, letters he wrote – even his suicide note. I laugh & shake my head at how much of it is filled with his dark humour. Anguish, yes, but he had such a good sense of humour.

Today I looked through my own journals from around that time. The 1990’s were my teen years & Nirvana’s influence on my mind & my writing was clear. I found a poem I wrote which is made up of different Nirvana song titles. I laughed again… & shake my head…

A Place Called NIRVANA

You are like Lithium
& you Rape my Spirit.
Your Apologies Smell Like Bleach
& Buzz from your mouth.

As you Come In Bloom,
I hear your Heart-Shaped lies
Sifting through me like an Aneurysm.

A girl about to Turnaround,
My Lips are Beeswax & Hairspray,
Holding in Tourette like words
That could Drain You
Of the Territorial Plateau.
On which you Sliver.

Nevermind this (New Wave) Downer.
Last Night I Slept with Polly,
Then Sold her Sunbeam for a Gun
So I could Burn Out & Fade Away.

Written by Violet Ashes 1994
© Violet Ashes 2014

Journals & In Utero

Journals & In Utero

Violet Ashes Sunsets

For my 30th birthday my family bought me a new camera. A Canon EOS 450D. I had always wanted to try my hand at ‘real’ photography – yes I was the annoying person at parties with the camera out – but I had never had a decent camera to really stretch myself.

I have been practicing with this camera for on/off 4 years now. So this year I decided I would do something that would stretch me & ensure that I learn – fast.

I started a Tumblr photo blog – http://violetashes-sunset.tumblr.com

The aim? Take & present a photo of the sunset every day of the year 2014.

Each day I go out & take a photo of the sunset. Then I come inside, choose the best one & post it to the blog along with some words about sunsets.

I try hard to lay off Photoshop & only soften or sharpen the images with the occasional crop & colour saturation enhancement. This can be hard sometimes – especially when presented with a gloriously colourful sunset. It is easy to get digitally carried away – so I have learned to just take my shot & when it is a nice shot with lots of colours, I cross-post to Instagram (http://instagram.com/violet_ashes) with some fancy filters just for fun. That way I get it out of my system & keep my photos for the Tumblr as natural as possible.

I have tried to take the shot from approximately the same position every day – but sometimes I am out & about so I take it from a different location. On the odd occasion I simply cannot do it I ask a friend to ‘guest’ for me that day – which has produced a couple of really nice shots.

It is only April & already I have learned so much from this project – not only about photography but about commitment & patience. Getting that ‘perfect shot’ is harder than I thought it would be. I have learned all about my camera & I am still learning.

As I approach taking photo number 100, I look back on what I was taking at the start of the year &, already I can see how far I have come.

I feel positive about this project – it gives me a sense of accomplishment & satisfaction that I can produce something beautiful. I am gaining confidence, not just with photography but in my writing & presentation of myself to the world as an artistic person. It is a learning curve & I am happy to be on the journey.

Sunset 70 11 March 2014

Sunset 70 11 March 2014

Things Have Changed This Is Not The Movies

Travel Alone by Neslihans

Travel Alone by Neslihans

Things have been hectic for the last few weeks & weeks are turning into months since we lost our second baby. Corsmor & I have tried many times to sit down & talk, to discuss the future, but every time we do life interrupts us with phones, doorbells & distraction.

My writing is on hold again with so many other obligations, I worry every day that I may lose my ideas or that my characters will run back to their forests. Gone forever. In my mind they have lives I struggle to ignore. I keep thinking about all those movies where life is perfect. Movies with whole neighbourhoods of families that support each other – the evil always coming from the outside in, not the other way around.

In the movies people go off the grid all the time. They say “no” without consequence. In the movies family & friends are sensitive to your feelings & understand when you need them to leave you alone. In the movies, people support you when you need them & they don’t try to push you to be something you’re not. In the movies family & friendship are not a one way street. In the movies miscarriage trumps someone else’s dentist appointment, writers are heroes & everyone can have babies.

In the movies.

In real life there is no such fairy tale. The real world crashes in on your every private moment. The hours between dusk & dawn are no longer sacred. Those minutes in bed between the kisses good night & the kisses good morning are under threat of interruption.

Since these last few hectic weeks have ‘tornadoed’ through our home I have found myself growing angry & restless. I am fed up with the world outside. I want some time, time in the dark. Radio silence.

Music is one thing I use to disappear out of real life. I have found myself with a whole new playlist on my hands this year. Expressing so many different emotions.

This song by Bob Dylan is, at the moment, at the top of the list; because after the last few hectic weeks having to bury so much inside I feel different. My perspective on what is important to me has shifted. What I need to focus on is me & my writing. If there is to be a baby or a writing career then the focus needs to come higher on the priority list & that may mean some relationships have to suffer, well then so be it “I used to care, but things have changed.”

Things Have Changed – Bob Dylan
A worried man with a worried mind
No one in front of me & nothing behind
There’s a woman on my lap & she’s drinking champagne
Got white skin, got assassin’s eyes
I’m looking up into the sapphire tinted skies
I’m well dressed, waiting on the last train
Standing on the gallows with my head in a noose
Any minute now I’m expecting all hell to break loose
People are crazy & times are strange
I’m locked in tight, I’m out of range
I USED TO CARE BUT THINGS HAVE CHANGED
This place ain’t doing me any good
I’m in the wrong town, I should be in Hollywood
Just for a second there I thought I saw something move
Gonna take dancing lessons do the jitterbug rag
Ain’t no shot cuffs, gonna dress in drag
Only a fool in here would think he’s got anything to prove
Lot of water under the bridge, Lot of other stuff too
Don’t get up gentlemen, I’m only passing through
People are crazy & times are strange
I’m locked in tight, I’m out of range
I USED TO CARE BUT THINGS HAVE CHANGED
I’ve been walking forty miles of bad road
If the bible is right, the world will explode
I’ve been trying to get as far away from myself as I can
Some things are too hot to touch
The human mind can only stand so much
You can’t win with a losing hand
Feel like falling in love with the first woman I meet
Putting her in a wheel barrow & wheeling her down the street
People are crazy & times are strange
I’m locked in tight, I’m out of range
I USED TO CARE BUT THINGS HAVE CHANGED
I hurt easy, I just don’t show it
You can hurt someone & not even know it
The next sixty seconds could be like an eternity
Gonna get low down, gonna fly high
All the truth in the world adds up to one big lie
I’m in love with a woman who don’t even appeal to me
Mr. Jinx & Miss Lucy, they jumped in the lake
I’m not that eager to make a mistake
People are crazy & times are strange
I’m locked in tight, I’m out of range
I USED TO CARE BUT THINGS HAVE CHANGED

Clair de Lune (Moonlight)

I awoke screaming this morning with a man standing over the top of me. In those few seconds I was submerged in decades of memories & my heart pounded out of control. As my eyes focussed & my ears warmed up I heard Corsmor whisper,
    “Hey it’s only me… are you okay?”
I closed my eyes again, slowly. My eyelids visible to me as they shut out the light. Confusion & then relief. As I rubbed my sore neck & shoulders it was then I realised my skin was clammy with sweat & I was shaking uncontrollably.

I got myself up & shook the horror somewhere deep down while I showered & washed off the nightmares that I could not remember. The water was hot enough to burn my skin right to the bone; boil me alive. I stayed that way for an hour or more.

When finally I did get out of the shower, I saw myself in the foggy mirror, my naked body looking small & overwhelmed with red & stinging scars. As I dried my hair I remembered moonlight from my dreams. I wrapped a towel around myself & walked barefoot to my piano where I sat down. The notes from ‘Clair de Lune’ filled my mind. My fingers shook on the keys & I stroked them like a long-lost pet,
“can I remember how to play… this?” I whispered
Then, like the rusty magic of a teenage boy my fingers floated & pressed on the keys, I knew the tune & it knew me. Then came calm, unimaginable.

This tune is part of the soundtrack of my life – first heard as a girl. I dreamed of one day seeing Paris, of walking streets unknown, unseen. Lying somewhere on the grass staring up at a new night sky – stars I have never seen – in a place of beauty rivalled only by the music it makes in my mind.

(visit YouTube to hear – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-LXl4y6D-QI)

Moonlight in Paris

Alexander Jansson

~ Alexander Jansson ~ a man whose illustrations make me want to slip right into the image & explore. He opens up so many words & I am thinking of making wallpaper of his images – they are true fantasy – I want to disappear into them & become one of the characters. I can stare at them for hours & continue to see something new, whether it is a face or a light or a tree. Always something new to see. His images fuel my imagination. They are the kind of images I would like to hang in the bedroom of my children. Something to fuel their imaginations & their dreams.

“Dreams are illustrations… from the book your soul is writing about you.”
 ~~ Marsha Norman (American Playwright & Dramatist won Pulitzer (1983) for Night Mother)

Alexander Jansson - 2010 The Bridge

Alexander Jansson - 2010 It Was a Dull Night

Alexander Jansson - Transition (night)

Alexander Jansson - Dogen and Boyds flying curiosity shop

Alexander Jansson - 2011 The Stairs

Alexander Jansson - 2010 Kates Motel

Alexander Jansson - 2010 Evening

She Drove

Here is the morning after & my head is pounding. Bleary eyed & my stomach in a perfect storm. The physical suffering is not what bothers me the most it is the judge & jury in my mind on an endless questioning haze watching hours of reels of my actions & my words. Lying here I am certain I will die.

There is no going back. Now I am changed forever. These things have to be written into the story of me whether I like it or not. Whether I remember them or not.

As the day goes on I remember more & more of what I do not want to remember. The hatred in me grows ever more & by the time night comes around again, I have still not left the bed in which this happened. The saying “you made your bed” rings solidly in my ears.

At 4am I get up, my naked feet land on the cold wooden floor & they creak on the way to the bathroom. I force my eyes to look in the mirror as I force my knotted hair behind my ears. I am not sure who is looking back at me. Natural looking beauty worn down by the last 24 hours, there is another person smirking back at my tear-filled eyes. & I remember her name; Nectar.

She emerges from the bathroom – moving swiftly & I am left behind. She grabs the keys to my car. She leaves the house & she unlocks the car. Behind the wheel she rests her head on the headrest & breathes out as she turns the keys. The ignition turns & the car comes to life. Amanda Palmer starts to blare & sings “we suffer morning’s most of all”. She is not wrong. I reappear in the rear-view mirror but it is not me that pulls out the driveway.

If I had a memory I would detail her movements & what happened next. All I know is that Nectar drove a long way away having done the damage & I went back to bed.

I have to drive
I have my reasons, dear
It’s cold outside
I hate the seasons here

I suffer mornings most of all
I feel so powerless & small
By ten o’clock I’m back in bed
Fighting the jury in my head

You learn to drive
It’s only natural, dear
You drive all night
We haven’t slept in years

We suffer mornings most of all
We saw you lying in the road
We tried to dig a decent grave
But it’s still no way to behave

It is a delicate position
Spin the bottle
Pick the victim
Catch a tiger
Switch directions
If he hollers
Break his ankles
To protect him

We’ll have to drive
They’re getting closer
Just get inside
It’s almost over

We will save your brothers
We will save your cousins
We will drive them far away
From streets & lights
From all signs of bad mankind

We suffer mornings most of all
Wake up all bleary eyed & sore
Forgetting everything we saw
(I’ll meet you in an hour
at the car)

-Amanda Palmer “I Have To Drive”
Mirror

Mystic Kitten

I spotted this blackboard wisdom at Jeanneret Wines in the Clare Valley today on a tour around the valley with the purpose of restocking our dwindling wine rack. After what feels like an eternal winter the pickings are looking slim & we agreed it was time to go & grab some of our favourites.
 
The cellar door at Jeanneret is probably our favourite of all cellar doors. A few kilometres up from the famous Skillogalee it is a little haven hidden away where the romance fills the glass because they have learned how to bottle beauty. The roads are rough but the view is beautiful & serene. I am in love with this little gem & if fate ever smiles my way with a lotto win this will be my first point of call.
 
Now the guy who runs the cellar door is known to some as Richard, but to those of us repeat offenders we know him as Dickie. He is a splendid fella & chatting to him is just as special as the wines he (liberally) pours for tasting. The feeling here is that you are welcome – take a seat. Sit by the fire & enjoy your tasting – once you get to the Rank & File Shiraz this is exactly what you will want to do & you will want to savour every drop.
 
Another resident of this little establishment is a sly cat who we refer to as ‘Sink Kitty’. He is the second incarnation & is a healthy vintage of 19 years. He lays about in the old sink by the window where he can keep an eye on newcomers & likes a pat & a piece of cheese. His predecessor lived a long 27 years & you would be correct in thinking maybe they have the key to a long life out here. Good wine, good cheese, a small forest of gum trees, glorious vines & an attitude that kicks the ass of any other winery in the region.
 
We bought as much as the plastic would allow – but not so much we won’t have to come back just as soon as the season changes. I am already looking forward to our next adventure at Jeanneret…

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A Sweet Pair

There are those days that all we want to hear is “I Know” & “it’s Okay”. Those days always come at the worst times. When there is no one around that wants to placate to our feelings. Those days burgeon into times where we cannot get anything right. We chase that sense of happiness that we had days previous but they have absconded. They have betrayed us for the lost boy we see in the mirror.

But I know; it is okay. I know because there is an identical identity hiding just behind the mirror. She will step out if only you would stop looking at your own reflection & see the truth of the both of us looking back at you.

kiss by slevinaaron-d2yj4mp

 

I Know ~~ Fiona Apple
 
So be it, I’m your crowbar
If that’s what I am so far
Until you get out of this mess
And I will pretend
That I don’t know of your sins
Until you are ready to confess
But all the time, all the time
I’ll know, I’ll know
And you can use my skin
To bury your secrets in
And I will settle you down
And at my own suggestion,
I will ask no questions
While I do my thing in the background
But all the time, all the time
I’ll know, I’ll know
I can’t help you out, while she’s still around
So for the time being, I’m being patient
And amidst this bitterness
If you’ll consider this-even if it don’t make sense
All the time-give it time
And when the crowd becomes your burden
And you’ve early closed your curtains,
I’ll wait by the backstage door
While you try to find the lines to speak your mind
And pry it open, hoping for an encore
And if it gets too late, for me to wait
For you to find you love me, and tell me so
It’s ok, don’t need to say it

The Hunter

“If travel is searching
& home has been found
 
I’m not stopping
I’m going hunting
I’m the hunter
I’ll bring back the goods
But I don’t know when
 
… Thought that i could organise freedom
How Scandinavian of me
You sussed it out, didn’t you?
 
You could smell it
So you left me on my own
To complete the mission
Now I’m leaving it all behind
 
I’m going hunting
I’m the hunter…
 
You just didn’t know me!”
~~Bjork

Feeling a little wild at the moment – wanting something to sink my teeth into, this ‘being finished at a decade old job’ thing is not as easy as I thought it would be.
 
There are so many wishes in my mind – they run silently around chasing each other trying to beat each other to the front of the line. I wonder which one will win?

Image.:: Original artwork by Jessica Stewart – www.whenyouescape.com ::.

Patience & Fear

Light many lamps & gather round his bed.
Lend him your eyes, warm blood, & will to live.
Speak to him; rouse him; you may save him yet.
He’s young; he hated war; how should he die
When cruel old campaigners win safe through?
But Death replied: ‘I choose him.’ So he went,
& there was silence in the summer night;
Silence & safety; & the veils of sleep.
Then, far away, the thunder of the guns.
— Siegfried Sassoon: The Death-Bed

The desperation that filled me a month ago is easing slowly every day. I am distracted by the fact that in a month I will leave the job I have been doing for 10 years & training my replacement. A decision Corsmor & I made when we found out about Pip & now I have to accept & live with it despite the fact things have changed. They are moving my job to Sydney & we decided not to go – I try every day not to think about the ‘what-if’s’ & just hope that somehow this will turn out right.
I remind myself that I am not alone. That many women & men have gone through this & so much worse before. I do get comfort from knowing that time may mend this & must be patient. It is an exercise in tolerance & fear all at once.

Solitary

Metatron has spent the last week in a self-imposed withdrawal where I am not welcome. There is no room for anything except sleep & the occasional sarcastic quip. Moments of lucidity bring profuse apologies but he keeps me at a distance. My reply is the eternally dull ‘’Okay’’ but it does not feel okay. It is a lie.

He is currently faking sleep on the couch half listening to Bathurst, half listening to me. Not really where he appears to be. Wondering what all my tapping is about, wondering why I am ignoring him. Now he will go back to bed & I will not see him for the rest of the day.

He keeps secrets; so much of his past – a mystery. Information must be drawn out like a long hot bath until I am covered in so much contradiction I am drowning & lost under the surface desperately needing to come up for air. Secrets breed suspicion – he does not understand this is something I need to avoid. Having a wild imagination is not a virtue.

For the most part Meta is the most wonderful & challenging man I have ever met; the fact that those two aspects do not occur in equal parts is probably what keeps me here.

During a lucid phase today we talked a lot about Lacomus. Meta mentioned he feels Lacomus is stalking him because [quote] “if he’s drug fucked that’s something he would do.” I tried to delve deeper into what this might mean but he did not elaborate stating “I do not want to fill your head with hearsay”. Well, hearsay, my ass. Would it not be better for me to know these things so that I may be aware? Keeping me in the dark does not keep me safe.

I get glimpses of a hidden & vicious side to Meta which is present or in his past. I do not know how much this is feigned or if it is intentional. Under the right circumstances sex & violence are sexy – truth be told I continue to hope I have met my match. That overwhelming urge to run sometimes makes the thrill even stronger. His constant personality shifts seem like they are intended as a distraction, but from what?

He has an uncanny ability to get under (or over my walls) in a very subtle way. This differs so much from my techniques – I smash through walls, not usually concerned with the outcome or the damage. I can only suppose that is why so many of my relationships & friendships end up as unrecognisable piles of rubble with me standing victorious on top. Victorious, but alone.

I do not want that to happen here. I do not want to be left with a pile of rubble, I want to build something. I have never felt this way & it is disconcerting & at times overwhelming.

I am tired of being alone.

New Dawn Purple by d4rkn3ss

Sundress

 
This sounds like my upright piano – beauty.
 
I have thought a lot about you lately. About how we used to talk & talk, all the conversations I cannot recall. I just want to look in your eyes again while you smoke a joint & look so natural in that beauty you carry so well. Lying there in yellow, such solid beauty that I would have done anything you asked me to, gone anywhere you wanted to, followed you everywhere. I never did know how to tell you that – how the mornings were easy because you were there & the midnights seemed to last an eternity if I was next to you.
 
You could call me now & I would drop everything.
 
That girl in the sundress in my mind. In the yellow. Over there. With the hair & the smile. With the joint & the books full of letters just for me.  That girl. Over there. Just out of reach. In the yellow.

Sundress – Ben Kweller
Everybody’s trying to be the best
What about the girl with loneliness?
I like your sundress
I like your sundress
What about the girl with loneliness?
From the inside out
You’re so beautiful
I want to hold you in my hand.
 
I do everything you want me to
I do everything you want me to do
 
I want to start going on a morning walk.
What about the days when we used to talk?
 
I don’t need a smile from a mannequin,
I just want to hold you in my hands.
 
I do everything you want me to,
I do everything you want me to,
I do everything you want me to do.
 
From the inside out you’ve changed,
Girl you know you have don’t make a good thing bad,
Just let me hold you in my hands.
 
I do everything you want me to
I do everything you want me to do
I do everything everything,
Everything I do everything you want me to
I do everything you want me to do do do for you

(Listen to this here: http://youtu.be/H5tRNEs5lDU?t=1s)

 

Kathy Weber Yellow Dress

Current mood: Intense

Peachy

 
It’s not my fault, it can’t be my fault
That you speak to me the way you do.
Now I’m split in two,
I’m half me half you but I hate us both, don’t you?
 
No of course you don’t, of course you don’t
You said life is peachy without me
Of course you don’t, of course you don’t
You said life is peachy without me
 
It’s not your fault, it can’t be your fault
That I let you crawl inside my head
Cause you know my places, & know that face
But I hate this taste, don’t you?
 
No of course you don’t, of course you don’t
You said life is peachy without me
No of course you don’t, of course you don’t
You said life is peachy without me
 
It’s no one’s fault, it’s nobody’s fault
That I fell on you & you on me
It’s what humans do, & they pass on through
But I think we can’t, don’t you?
 
No of course you don’t, of course you don’t
You said life is peachy without me
No of course you don’t, of course you don’t
You said life is peachy without me
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Comment:

Troyski

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It’s a nice poem. But the word fault is part of the blame game (as you may very well be aware of).

Faery Garden

I have an essay due tomorrow but needed to get my brain together.

 
I Stood Against The Window
 
I stood against the window
And looked between the bars.
And there were strings of fairies
Hanging from the stars;
Everywhere and everywhere,
In shining, swinging chains;
The air was full and shimmering,
Like sunlight when it rains.
 
They kept on swinging, swinging,
They flung themselves so high
They caught upon the pointed moon
And hung across the sky.
And when I woke in mooning,
There still were crowds and crowds
In beautiful bright bunches
All sleeping in the clouds.

This poem is by Rose Fyleman from ‘Fairies & Chimneys’. I used to get lost in the land of fairies a girl. I still think of them as I walk around my garden at home & hope they will come out of hiding. They must still be there – & I still believe. I like to think of them as protection. I think Ric has found them & that’s why he loves it so much in the fern garden. When the sprinklers go on he sits in there for hours. He comes out shivering but he seems to love it. I think he thinks it is rain because he always runs around in that too.

Fairy 2

Picture from Lady Cottington’s Pressed Fairy Book – Brian Froud