You risk tears if you let yourself be tamed.

We are living at an important and fruitful moment now, for it is clear to men that the images of adult manhood given by the popular culture are worn out; a man can no longer depend on them. By the time a man is thirty-five he knows that the images of the right man, the tough man, the true man which he received in high school do not work in life.

Robert Bly in Iron John





Grown-ups like numbers. When you tell them about a new friend, they never ask questions about what really matters. They never ask: "What does his voice sound like?" "What games does he like best?" "Does he collect butterflies?". They ask: "How old is he?" "How many brothers does he have?" "How much does he weigh?" "How much money does his father make?" Only then do they think they know him.

Antoine de Saint-Exupery, Le petit prince




....A dream, maybe a hope, I don't know.
And I don't know about other things. Whenever I'd felt a thought or something like an idea or a desire creeping through my ice-cold Narrangansett beers and tall screwdrivers, I could always turn on the television and get away from me.
In Scouts, before the beers and the seventy channels on the TV, I'd lie in my tent, awake all night with hopes of happy grapefruit breasts and worries about tomorrow.

They're here again. The breasts, the worries, the hopefulness. How strange it is to feel a child's feelings again. This man full of holes. This bicycle-pushing, knap-sacked old man.....
But this is how I think, away from the tall drinks and remote control.

Rom McLarty, The memory of running




She filled my house with flowers
and I helped her look for rainbows –
she understood so many things,
the importance of laughter
and that each moment is forever –
she dreamed impossible dreams,
smiled at strangers
because they might be lonely
and loved music, bells and butterflies
I’ll think of her on sunlit days
and see her smile
in every flower…

The thoughts of Nanushka, N. Witcomb

sacred cows make the best burgers

...Isn’t it strange how the T.V news always starts off with ‘ Good Evening’ – then proceeds to show you why it isn’t...




"What are you doing here," he asked the drunkard...
"Drinking," replied the drunkard, with a gloomy expression.
"Why are you drinking?" the little prince asked.
"To forget," replied the drunkard.
"To forget what?" inquired the little prince, who was already feeling sorry for him.
"To forget that I'm ashamed," confessed the drunkard, hanging his head.
"What are you ashamed of?" inquired the little prince, who wanted to help.
"Of drinking!" concluded the drunkard...

Antoine de Saint-Exupery, Le petit prince




"..we just kept talking. First night we talked for five hours. Next night five more. For the last three nights we've been up until dawn just talking.
What do you talk about?
I don't know. Everything and nothing. We just talk.
Talk for hours and hours and hours?
Yeah
What's her name?
Liza.
That's a good name,a strong name. Are you in love?
I've never met her..."

page 201

"..I stay with Liza we talk for hours I get along better with her than any woman I've ever met we laugh and laugh and we sit and talk for hours. As easy as it is to be with each other and as much as we like each other there's still something missing. We both feel it we both know it there's something missing between us and we both mourn it."

page 219

My Friend Leonard j. Frey








currently listening to: Jose Gonzalez, a Swede from Argentinian parents who sings in English..
Click here to listen to 'heartbeats27'

i love our global village!

on why you can't have your Kate & Edith too..

Humans Manifesto
No plan survives first contact with the enemy.
Sometimes being dumb is the only smart alternative.
Shy poeple are secretly egoists. Nothing is real.
Everything you see is a dream you project onto the world.
Children live out their parents unconscious.
The only animals that suffer from anxiety are the ones that associate with humans.
I don't trust people who are very articulate.
The only way to be sane is to embrace your insanity.
When you feel guilty about being sad, remember Walt Disney was a manic depressive.
Everything i said could be totally wrong.

used without permission from www.humans.jp






I am content to follow to its source
Every event in action or in thought;
Measure the lot; forgive myself the lot!
When such as I cast out remorse
So great a sweetness flows into the breast
We must laugh and we must sing,
We are blest by everything,
Everything we look upon is blessed.


from 'A dialogue of self & soul' by W.B Yeats




"…my cousin Albert, he got arrested in Queensland. They took away his tie, they took away his belt, they took away his shoelaces. The cunning bugger hung himself with a toothbrush.."

please google black deaths in custody for more information...





"..Nothing's perfect," sighed the fox. "My life is monotonous. I hunt chickens; people hunt me. All chickens are just alike, and all men are just alike. So I'm rather bored. But if you tame me, my life will be filled with sunshine. I'll know the sound of footsteps that will be different from all the rest. Other footsteps send me back underground. Yours will call me out of my burrow like music. And then, look! You see the wheat fields over there? I don't eat bread. For me, wheat is no use whatever. Wheat fields say nothing to me. Which is sad. But you have hair the color of gold. So it will be wonderful, once you've tamed me! The wheat, which is golden, will remind me of you. And I'll love the sound of the wind in the wheat..."

Antoine de Saint-Exupery, Le petit prince

))<>(( ...back and forth

"..Well, it’s so easy to be witty in retrospect when you’re out the door you pause a moment to reflect on all the witty one liners that you should have said..."

Everything but the girl..a line from the album, Baby the stars shine bright



"You're lovely, but you're empty," he went on. "One couldn't die for you. Of course an ordinary passerby would think my rose looked just like you. But my rose, all on her own, is more important than you altogether, since she's the one I've watered. Since she's the one I put under glass. Since she's the one I sheltered behind a screen. Since she's the one for whom I killed the caterpillars (except for two or three for butterflies). Since's she the one I listened to when she complained, or when she boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing at all. Since she's my rose."


Antoine de Saint-Exupery, Le petit prince



Now here I am. Writing notes to you in the dead of night.
I think we are in danger of losing our grace all the time. That just lying on the lounge downstairs now as I write, finding these thoughts inside me and hearing a bird’s feet on the roof and a metal gate open and shut in the street can be the most beautiful and redeeming things in the world: the only sounds at this early hour, and oh so necessary for me.
How lonely would I be without you upstairs sleeping. Without the world moving around me. The weight of you beside me in the bed: the possibility of living with someone when I do wake up so scared.
I wish I could tune into the radio now and find that You Am I song, whatever it’s name is, where it is, out there drifting somewhere on a wavelength in the universe, and turn it up loud and sing along and ache with it happily for a while. Let all my feelings go.
I hope this ‘blog’ makes sense like that to people. As a love letter you can join in with, like a good song, the melody of a heartbeat. So that in the frightened dawn hours when people are waking or sleeping nervously, some little part of it might enter into their unconscious to let them know they are not lost from the world altogether. So that I can feel peace and warmth too and finish with all these stories and words – part of some bigger secret story inside of me that is still unravelling – and hold the world close again in a lover’s question mark.

M. Mordue, Dastgah




I’ll fill my nights and days,
so not to think of you –
and look up friends I haven’t seen in years –
I’ll read sad books and watch sad films
to camouflage my tears –
I’ll play the clown
and drink too much,
trying to forget
the way your hand caressed a glass
or held a cigarette –
but in the lonely light of dawn,
when dreams are hard to hold,
the foolish mask has slipped away,
the truth is stark and cold –
I’ll touch the pillow where you slept
and in my heart I’ll smile –
remembering you loved me…
for a while…

N. Witcomb, The thoughts of Nanushka

the tyranny of distance...

I would touch your hand in friendship
and ride upon your smile,
I would warm my travelling heart
before your fire –
but have I loved too well, too often –
is my gypsy soul afraid
of drowning
in your understanding eyes…?

N. Witcomb, The thoughts of Nanushka




HE: What are you doing here?

SHE:I was taking a walk and I saw you and I followed you.

HE:What do you want.

SHE:I want you to stop.


HE:I breathe hard, stare hard, tense and coiled. There is still more tree for me to destroy, I want that fucking tree. She smiles and she steps towards me, toward toward toward me, and she opens her arms and I’m breathing hard staring hard tense and coiled she puts her arms around me with one hand on the back of my head and she pulls me into her arms and she holds me and she speaks.
It’s okay.
I breathe hard, close my eyes, let myself be held.
It’s okay.
Her voice calms me and her arms warm me and her smell lightens me and I can feel her heart beat and my heart slows and I stop shaking and the Fury melts into her safety and she holds me and she says.
Okay
Okay
okay
Something else comes and it makes me feel weak and scared and fragile and I don’t want to be hurt and this feeling is the feeling I have when I know I can be hurt and hurt deeper and more terribly than anything physical and I always fight it and control it and stop it but her voice calms me and her arms warm me and her smell lightens me and I can feel her hearth beat and if she let me go right now I would fall and the need and confusion and the fear and regret and horror and shame and weakness and fragility are exposed to the soft strength of her open arms and her simple word okay and I start to cry. I start to cry. I start to cry.
It comes in waves. The waves roll deep and from deep the deep within me and I hold her and she holds me tighter and I let her and I let it and I let this and I have not felt this way this vulnerability since I was ten years old and I don’t know why I haven’t and I don’t know why now and I only know that I am and that it is scary terrifying frightening worse and better than anything I’ve ever felt crying in her arms just crying in her arms just crying.
She guides me to the ground, but she doesn’t let me go….

a million little pieces, J. Frey



"..this cousin had a girlfriend with cheekbones to break your heart, and you knew she was the real thing when she steadfastly refused to acknowledge your presence. She possessed secrets – about islands, about horses, about French pronounciation – that you would never know.."

J. McInerney; Bright Lights, Big City

man overboard

When we think
we are in love,
holding on
or letting go
becomes a problem –
perhaps,
if the question
arises at all,
we are not in love
but merely a victim
of our own desire…


N. Witcomb, The thoughts of Nanushka




..you are not particularly attracted to Elaine, who’s too hard-edged in your view. You do not even think she is a particularly nice person. Yet you have this desire to prove that you can have as good a time as anyone, that you can be one of the crowd. Objectively, you know that Elaine is desireable, and you feel obligated to desire her. It seems to be your duty to go through the motions. You keep thinking that with practice you will eventually get the knack of enjoying superficial encounters, that you will stop looking for the universal solvent, stop grieving. You will learn to compound happiness out of small increments of mindless pleasure.

Bright Lights, Big City J. McInerney





I try not to stand too close to myself
I try not to listen to the things I say
they say there’s no such thing as self abuse
you wonder how I can be trusted
if I’m finely tuned or well adjusted.
oh pity about you
oh pity about me
More’s the pity about her
everytime she comes inside
you had to run
you wish that crush would go away
you’re not the only one

Squinting at broad daylight
drumming up a conversation
parsons brows is pealing appealing
drumming up a congregation
hands reaching for a glass of water
dry socks and razor rash
your shoes under my bed
dandruff, doona – cigarette ash

I’ve tried to play it open-handed
I’ve tried to make a fist of this
even when the questions are candid
my arrows miss
I’ve heard about your fragile ego
your shield, your sword
what am I expected to do
shout ‘man overboard’?

Come around when I’m asleep
roll around try to wake me
that’s alright you’ve got to go now
words overtake me
your pubic hairs are on my pillow
your stubble rings the sink
your words under my skin
your table manners stink
I paddle in the things I love
you wallow in a swamp of trivia
in a vase with insincere I love you’s
next doors camellias
I’m sick and tired of this postion
hatched underneath your arm
a crutch under stress
your rudder when it’s calm

I’m bored staring at the ceiling
while you point out my flaws
I’ve watched the wallpaper peeling
from slamming doors
you talk about this penis envy
your friends applaud
what am I expected to do
shout ‘man overboard’

Come across to other girls
look around start a rumour
jealous wife scenes raise a smile at parties
like anal humour
are you addicted to attention
do you do it for effect
your wit out of control
misunderstood and henpicked

Man Overboard; Do-Re-Mi