Cant be close to it

No one there

Its cool people think I play that game

But not many see my bed.

Cant sleep

Over load

Made that mistake once before

25, must be growing up?

This must be what it is to allow mature into the calm

 darkness to fall and two finger’s say peace

still cant sleep

Cant do it

There is blood on my hands again

Man! I just showered for everyone but myself

Its booked. I know his hooked

I miss him

Cant sleep

Wait and see the words in fine print

Run by the midnight lit moon, no she cant save you

There is no reading between the lines

Just read the lines

Between an intimacy that liked us both.

Words are meant to be spoken

Is your heart still broken?

Is it scared of me

Because it shouldn’t be

I love for free. Deep. Free

Is me.

I’m a gypsy I’m going to wander I guess you wonder where that leaves you?

Cant we just see

Over analysing is a blind philosophy

Your silence is deafening me

Speak

Speak! you’re an artist express yourself

You seemed to have no trouble opening your mouth

When its counts….though

Numbers a few…

I tried to phone where are you?

I told you to do your thing

You took my words wrong

You got bruised confused

You took my words wrong

Hazed in by the green you smoke

Wary that I bring you hope

Too soon to feel this way that’s cool baby cool

Too soon to feel isn’t real- weap pity for the fool

Foolish is it to disconnect

Neglect what the universe threw

A lucky stike for two.

Two phoenixes that need to burn before they rise again

My wings may be fragile too but I need an honest man

You took my words wrong

I welcome you to come along

Im sorry for what they implied inside…

But after such an intense moment

Your words now feel like lies.

You dont need to promise me things

Yes please just do your thing

But come to me when your ready

Because darling it may feel heavy,

Heavy isn’t bad, heavy is your conscience

Fall apart on me if need be

I love to love that side- see..

That I come as I am…

I don’t have an agenda

Before you work on your art, quit being a pretender

she sat at the piano her alone

with smoke and sex in the room

she gave only me her tune

her words hit hard and fast

the blues almost broke my heart

she spoke my truth through her husk

Eloquent knuckles hard, bled saw dust

Sprinkled taps of effortless sounds

to drown out the silence profound

I wept like a child for remembrance of the past

As she smiled at me and offered another glass

Filled with red wine, jazz infused light lips

She reached for me to come and sit

Side beside at her piano one, in the same

Side by side in music, movement and pain

Just to seal true such a moment like this

She leant forward and gave me a kiss…

time to tune in. time to take out. time to put in. withdraw

time you take to smell vanilla. to cry, to sleep

time taken looking for work, searching for joy, time spent laughing , over anaylsing. my time served this well.

its time for new begins, new love, new hurt. new outlook.

profoundly hurt, through time learnt it was all my doing.

simply keep them at bay and the heart appears protected.

by what joy will come of that? i offer my sleeve once again

i took the time to do my own laudry, each fortnight by incent sparks and joss stone. the white shirt i once wore for him has now been re sewn’

on my right wrist reads ‘imagine’ my left is now free

this year i feel the breathe of a lover inked on me…

my heart on my sleeve, my time away from the manic

calm centred and utterly confused from minute to red earth

i see it for what it is….you will never make sense of me

perhaps that is the key- to not make sense of it all

its time to renew those dangerous thoughts. bored with their snore, city, coffee blend- my gypsy guide will lure back to the truth of my cup.

switch from soy to dairy as i feel

switch the mind to feel for real.

these new people in my life come from all croses.

such different stories, ages and experiences but all searching for the same thing.

i have made friends who are enjuring hard ship, family situations i cant even fathem.

brothers lost, fathers astranded, mothers indangered with mental illness.

old souls, young bright minds. such intense passion drips from us all.

passionfruit energy. ripe and ready. sweet, sour, all walks, all love. passion fruit energy.

this is why we have to swim in the ocean ever day, to cleanse and stomp forth through the healing aboriginal grounds

never in my life have i experienced or watched such emmence mutual connections

their is a level that minds meet at, that magically moves me to feel grounded for a moment.

they say to not stay here. that once you achieve what you have come here for you must leave.

you can count on it, i will not abuse this resource of healing, i will leave my space open for someone else in need

 i will leave nothing but good energy behind.

there seems to be a communal type crystal of god like power passed through the breeze by ancesteral ghosts.

eveyone holds on gently and privately to their piece, intimate and enormous relationships are formed.

thank you for calling on me…..

im am so insanely relieved that i am here.

partying takes place, small town gossip and drama continues to have a pulse…

but i dismiss it

i invested in their high school bullshit for a moment but pulled back and held on to the reins of what it is i must deal with

a process, quite exhausting. quietly wings fatuged but free. not doing much, but tapping into to a flood of over used dangerous thoughts and bruised, stained memories.

i will focus my mind, i will listen to these stories more… 

first theres nina s amazing sense of will power. this girl blows my mind.

a 22 year old with more wisdom than a congregation of grandmothers. a beconed force on a search for truth and love and power for no one but herself.

so determinded so alive, so full of lust, and devine, sensual and genuine compassion. never known her father, just disovered her mother is physofrenic….answering many questions ignored by her family.

refusing to be a victim she grabs life by the balls. angelina jolie look alike, with charm and artistic skill. smart, fun and full of determination to make something of herself. to never return to nimbin or look bacl, on forward

only good things i wish for this girl. she will do wonder. write on my friend, solider on, you will make a fantastic journalist one day. i only hope you tell your own story with just as much guts and heart.

arlo. born and raised hippy child whos kindness and effection towards me i am eternally greatful for. seen the world but full blown, plant boy, knows his stars, could draw them im sure if you asked.

this man is one who i know in years to come will be a character in my story that helped me untagled that web of confused clarity. so sweet, so geniune, so into me as a person. its nice. really nice.

just a part in the story, nothing heavy, but a lasting and beautiful friend. mourning the recent passing of his baby brother in such a calm and peaceful way.

there is a enduring, mesmorizing balance sifting between his grace and pain, an ease that is a clear result of his unbringing.

no anger of recent, no reteliation. just pure gratitude for having it all at. at peace was there relationship, so may be his brother. humility of another kind. god bless his soul.

sarah. the apple of my eye. my new sister and my new best friend. different worlds, different upbringing and paths, same search. same love.

A photo, sun, and boy loving chocolate delicacy that opens up all sorts of emotions in me. i love her. i love that she challenges me, that we can argue but connect on a level no other can understand but im sure assume to.

zesty and so geniuley interested in me. there are some days for no reason at all i just want to break down and cry and often do, sarah has been like medicine, assisting but not curing. i cant actually remember when i have laughed this hard before. foolish and crazy like me we laugh endlessly over nothing. over sounds and theories and jokes and passed memories. we laugh at nothing, the best thing to laugh at. my belly my feet, all have a moment to suck up the laughter. another friend formed whos father has neglected to show up. to ackowledge his  role, to water the seeds he planted. they are thirsty and so beautifully opening. flourishing. but she’s so thirsty. i watch and listen in a state of shock, how can someone be so scared of love, how can he ever understand what he is missing out on?

such a incredible human being, pulsating so much of her motheers light and energy. i know the hurt is present, the longing is there. but with or without that hair, sarah connects to a part of a culture, and capatalbity that goes unanswered, that she embraces, and i believe was meant to inherit.

no one does it better, ride on, shine on, cruise through cracking wind coco. an assuring presence in my life that people are supposed to meet for a reason.

we have many.

there are many more minds, faces, attractive lips and stories i can describe…………many more to come

many a day comes and passes without acknowledgement to the extent of its worth. each day i try to be truly greatful for the sun. the ocean, the breathes i take.

totally engaging in the simple pleasures. deivine walks, talks, wine and rolled tabaco. sand, surf, whales cruise by. the light house, the light energy in my house. calm, serene, still as a manic as ever.

i hold onto yogi as he tells me im doing really well. that i look calmer and happier. breathe.

right now i sit  here with a busted arm, ;agging with self pity because t i cant play out my exercise routine. i sit here in such a alive centre of the universe. dont dare self pity yourself miss kapella.

no way no how. i love and am curious as to the woman i am becoming……

biking injuries aside,…

because i was assumed a role and folllowed their lead.

i write to taste my thoughts

 to sleep, for peace.

i write because he told me to

more so 

 because she told me not to.

i write to prove nothing.

i write to learn about myself 

to give a vessel to the silenced ghost screaming in my thoughts.

i write for children who never get the chance

to hold a pen to paper and let their minds dance.

i write to enforce an illusion

 so all the useless information holds a purpose 

i write so you listen, 

i write so i stop.

i write physically mentally, incontrollably.

i write to create my own words

to feel among the men…im louder than your power.

i write to feel, to touch, to be full blown intimate.

intimate with the guts of human resourcefulness

i write to feel power 

to feel controll.

i write about what i have learnt and lost

i write about nothing at all nothing at all.

he stood up as it pricked up.

nothing else was present in the room.

it was all consumed in this air. thick, toxic and uncontrolled.

unpridictable. inconcievable.

who knew this to be fate?

a premeditated act of warning.

of what not to do and how greedy and full you are to believe you deserve good things if you dont act on good things.

presently aware, finally admited to the age old…’ humilty’.

time to practice what is preached.

yearning, thirsty and exhausted. so completely ready to seek truth?

to live abudently and organically

no more drug, infuelled money wasting moments. 

the endless amount of paper thrown at blow, shoes and uselessness to decorate a meaningless existence.

 to love myself enough to know more and invest in the better…

never did i suite that world…

scared, ready, upon where i sit.

ready to commit to a challenge, to see only through self observation

i have spent my entire life with myself, but never spent time alone on my own.

solitude scares me. silence deafens me….

visassanna awaits…….i will share all.

the thought of no communaction, singing or access to writing for 10 days terrifes me…lets see what comes out of it….meet you on the other side

it shall make for a good story if nothing more…

politicans alike unkind.

soaked in oil. dripping in fat

casusing the earths heart attack.

besides being green and trying to stay clean we on our B Bay block……

- skip through wind to the beachy—- joy

-spend loose change on latte, honey, soy

we keep full bellies and open minds,

by just being in one another…

our pay cheques go on tattoos

we craft all we do

conversations posess sencerity —

            freeing animals

eyes connect, mine changed in place…

i take a breathe because its decent.

breathe through the nose, is how i get by

rollies, tabacoo, coccoa and liquid love

all refinded by oceanic minds mind…

simple pleasures create sexed brain flakes

scattered among town…

one mass love sernade

loco, sing, let cha hair down.

we all touch and caress

we all deserve nothing less….

than beached, babed beauty…

endlessly.

forever in my heart,

the land of mango Art

tropiced spiced delighted brains, investing in how to lessen and prevent pain.

warhol lovers, lovers of all loves lovers

B TOWN.

you cant learn to walk the way we do-

if its your calling- someone will just send you…..

Let the others speak.

Rash, mark, rumour, talk,

X marks the spot.

Controlling warrant I seek to soothe,

You lament in me what is sincerely true

Rash, mark, rumour, talk

It’s really all they have got.

You and I have each other.

Red watered sister, brother

That depth haunts what I fear

  My silenced thoughts

You never fail to hear…

My fears, my desire

There you are, putting out the fire

Again there is mess, craziness

Calm the crazy lioness.

I sign your name across my heart

You’re my endless work of art

Cut, paste, redraft, rework

Illustrating drawings over our hurt.

To whom my heart will always reach

Let the others speak.

Rash, mark, rumour, talk

X marks the spot.

Ill meet you at X

Promising you this

A bond repels the teacher;

Yes I , always deeply

Truly my brother’s keeper.

I will dance through your wickedness

Everyone is here now and we shall dance.

Sickened by the sexes attention

Both boys and girls crave for it

I’m the one they came to see

Stay lost there in a flower of fields

Stay until sweet Duende.

The music can gear through the pain

I won’t touch it its too precious s to play

Too much if it breaks

Inside my throat aches thick with havoc

Lovingly to a tear

A French wine drunk to season

A romantic soul singing to season

lips that traces crimson delight

censored words out of season

You angry drunk

spiting lemon.

Sour are my eyes

They weep from the sting

Dribbling from the edge of your tongue

Dribbling mess and nonsense

Of promises you submit to my will

Promising to never again

Do what you already did before

How could it brand such a foulest?

Loved to be dipped in your mused syrup

Yet you don’t practice what you preach

High spirit with such little free will

My eyes can’t look at you

False hope is worse than no hope