AUGUST 2017
28/08/2017


 

Saturday 19th August 2017

 

There is no gravity in the creative mind. In imagination we know pure freedom, lucidity itself the dream. The tangible yet intangible clear vision of the possible. Entwined with passion, here, all is plausible and everything is infinite. She knew bliss. Yet to her, living in this seen and unseen world, there existed a grey area where her torments languished.

 

Amidst the mutual opposition of life itself, here in the gravity of it all, stranded in the process of turning those nurtured dreams into artistic reality. It was the fine minutiae, the grinding detail, the trivial pernickety bits, that never fitted in her imagination. A well travelled adventurer on a psychological expedition. For her, the true disillusionment in life was being confronted by a Trump Tower of washing up, piles of old clothes, miscellaneous socks and all the undergarments of domestic demand.

 

Yup, in these things, she viewed only the gravity of hell….

 

 

Sunday 20th August 2017

 

The middle of the night again. Sleep has been eclipsed from life, these evolutionary waves are exceptionally intense. Here, sat on the kitchen floor at 3.05am pre-eclipsing about, being served exactly what are the effects of my own thought process.

 

Surfing for alignment; this ain’t no curl. Physically the manifestation is a frozen shoulder; the jolts of pain, ouch. Yet its all in my head. The picture is as if, pushing and pushing against a door, every ounce of strength begging it to open, when actually the push is in completely the wrong direction. Ffs…

 

The Cosmic Intelligence Agency whispering “It’s simpler than that.”

 

A little deafened by the general Rock & Droll, not always listening? Wincing on the anguish of my so contemporary life, the day before this full solar Eclipse; all this as above and so below. The picture is of two door’s. One reads Hardcore, it’s a fuck off ‘armoured door.’ I say ouch again, I know it. The other reads Fragility, you’ll notice the key’s in the lock. However here, on the floor on an early Sunday morning conceding to the experience; it’s like choosing the right wave, as with Nature herself, all is fragile.

 

Monday 21st August 2017

 

...from chaos to form? Sitting, perched on the outer-net, merely the social observer; ‘the not so social’ loitering on social-media. Removed and separated, aware of my own tic of inverted Tourettes. Ever restricted by the feeling that ‘I just can’t get the words out.’ Loving much and rarely, cautious of stepping into ‘the collective’ thick of it, greater security found by immersing myself on the edge of life.

 

Yet sitting here, in this isolated position, the vision is clear. It’s out of control. The thick of it; the eye of the storm, is like a rabid dog chasing its tail. It’s scary, the ferocity deadly, the vortex so powerful its pulling everyone in. None of us are free of the atmospheric conditions. It is as it is ‘wherever attention goes, energy flows’ and WAR is the pinhead the 21st Century is whirling on. ‘The collective mind’ forever being dragged back into The Kingdom of Darkness. Everyone seemingly pulling up their sleeves to get in the thick of it; shouting, pontificating and arguing about ‘the right and wrong political answer for pure evil?’ Ffs… Trump is the Tower card.

 

Alas from this lofted position on the outer-edge, here, dawdling in the lesser populated Kingdom of Light, pirouetting on the peaceful pin head of love. Whistling and waiting, waiting and whistling, and still whistling, still waiting for that mad rabid Dog of Darkness to see the light and change direction…I feel only lonely and sad.

 

Tuesday 22nd August 2017

 

We lit a fire in the garden last night. Girl’s playing with matches. Sensitive to the Eclipsing environment and the potency of all they can portend. This process of eclipsing out what we don’t want and eclipsing in what we do.

 

There was a time, way back, when I wore attachments like other’s do their Rolex watches. So many things, inanimate objects, trinkets, a vast itinerary of bits of sentimental value. Things; stuff everywhere. A mountain of accessories, a vast rucksack of responsibility and restriction, and years spent dragging the weight of them from one place to another.

 

Purging is a process. Today, a vehicle, a laptop, a camera, enough funky clothes to last a week; look how well I’ve let go? Me the traveller of no fixed abode? Okay lordy, I’ve known a lot of sofa’s, but life’s taught me I am my home. Still here, maintaining a capacity for clutter. Last night with my Amazonian sister’s, with the smoke getting in our eyes, eyes watering, cheeks damp; we built a proper fire. All the misery, all the sadness, all the injustice, misjudgements, the inadequacy, self-sabotage and endless regrets. We stoked that fire, we threw it all in. All and everything weighing us down, in it went.

 

As a phoenix rises from its ashes, we threw in these inanimate objects and watched them burn to but smouldering embers. All gone. It was then, we eclipsed in there natural opposites.

 

Waking up on the sofa this morning; this my home, feels lighter, shinier than it has in ages...

 

Wednesday 23rd August 2017

 

Extraordinarily, I woke up thinking about something I’d completely forgotten about. A decade ago; back in the 90’s?!? Travelling back from the Maldives with a friend, our flight delayed, sitting in some shack of an airport, biding time, idly doing my tapestry. I’d seen him watching me, but in a public place there was no big deal about that.

 

Albeit nothing had really prepared me for what happened next. A voice “Please excuse me for disturbing you.” I looked up and there he was again, the Buddhist Monk in his orange robes, he who’d been watching me. Obviously, I’d smiled, nodded or something.

 

To which he’d continued “It has come to me that you’ve recently started working on something; I’ve been instructed to tell you that you should know it’s very important, and that it will in time, evolve to be two to three times bigger than anything you can imagine.” It is as it was, some complete stranger came up to me in an airport, and said this to me??

 

Yet it was true, I had just started working on something. It’s here on my desk. However, this morning hit by the memory, today all these year’s later. I don’t believe he was talking about my own work, I think he was referring to all the research I’ve done, this my whole expedition into what appears so fundamentally corrupt and simply wrong about our 21st Century??? This, yup this is definitely two or three times bigger, more of a problem, more serious, than anything most of us could ever have previously imagined. Actually, most of its beyond imagination...

 

Thursday 24th August 2017

 

Observing the media storm surrounding the re-emergence of The KLF. I conclude is like finding a long lost, but once deeply favoured old cashmere jumper, pulling it on and experiencing a warm wash of memories of all the times, happy events and places you’d worn it before.

 

In the history of Generation X, The KLF were a jumper worn by many. For me, just the mention of Drummond and Cauty portals me back to the freedom of my youth and the long night, that was the Helter Skelter Rave of it all. Twenty-three years later, The KLF aren’t the only one’s that disappeared; swapping the coke, E’s and Fiorucci jeans for the responsibility of children, mine is a generation, that feels like its been somewhere else for a while.

 

Now, justified and ancient… Children grown. In my head, its as if the re-emergence of The KLF is hugely auspicious, like a shout to all us teenagers of the 80’s to get our Mu Mu back on. A loud scream to each of us, to swiftly gather in The White Room and end this Trilogy of Dystopian fiction… Now.

 

25th August 2017

 

Its the word. Too many have an issue with it. Like its something dirty, that’s going to tarnish an otherwise contemporary and hardcore image. I’ve had it off my own son, “Mum, don’t give me your spiritual shit.” Ffs there’s nothing like a statement such as that to hammer home, where you might have completely fucked up as a mother.

 

Querying the issue, as me, a natural sentient being, an immortal spirit experiencing the human experience of existing in both the seen and the unseen of all that is interconnected. Here, questing to live rightly, and ultimately die rightly. Really, why do we have a problem with being what we are? Why is the very mention of ‘the spirit’ of our human experience so consistently denied and downtrodden? It’s everywhere, spiritual suppression the dominant trend. Wholly fucked over by the indoctrinated wrongful religious separation of it all and the fallacies of a New Age Movement?? Kill all Hippies???

 

Who knows?? Actually I do, because in the mind and the body of my own experience in this my seen and unseen consideration of life; the light and dark of everything, the ever struggle with equilibrium remaining central to what I manifest. There seems to be two systems of understanding, and each, as with the sky, the earth and the drainage system, are built on the foundation of a trinity. The three points of an isosceles triangle with two sides equal, the spirit of the matter, the rightful way forward being somewhere in the middle of the two opposing forces.

 

Thus in my head, my natural system has three main houses; ‘the university of life itself’ that shapes my mind, ‘the garden’ that feeds my body and ‘the temple of friends, the community’ that supports my soul. Is it not the same for all of us? Yet, here in this our Western System, the contemporary way by which we presently exist, denotes that religious separation and supremacy feeds the mind, money feeds our body, whilst military force suppresses our soul. An isosceles triangle laid from Vatican City, to the City of London and Washington DC. It is as it is, the need is to bin the ruthless Western System. Alas, until ‘We The People’ collectively reconsider our spiritual shit, and the moral of our story, that’s never gonna happen...

 

 

Saturday 26th August 2017

 

I can’t see what’s happening, its just happening. Yet when ignorant to what’s happening, waiting for something to be revealed. To the mind, the taste is of suspicion, its suspect and on guard, looking for the next clue. Your doing it, working it, watching for the invisible strings, signs and connections ever pulling your thought’s in there zig-zag direction. The journey is the adventure, but its all the unexpected that you didn’t intend upon, that appear as the lesson in the matter. Still, there remains no way of telling which way its gonna go, when you’re in the middle of something.

 

Wtf, life is intricate, complex, and sometimes just tricky. They say “Trust the creative process.” Struggling to trust anyone based on limitless past experience. Still the mind remains the finite tool, capable of changing direction on a whim. Yet the process of the both tangible, yet intangible process of creativity, this process of art; the turning an idea into form. Today hurts; in the effort to get something right, I’m on a roll of having to look at the fine detail of where I’ve got it wrong.

 

Yet recognising this thing about art, or at least my attitude to it. It is all encompassing, the creative pursuit of an artistic ambition is the driving force of my existence. It is here within, it never goes away, where ever I go it comes with me, there with me last thing at night, first thing in the morning. It is intrinsic. A perpetual state, a consistent contemplation; one fuck off equation. And the only thing that has me, ever bending in the wind like an oak; she is my soul.

 

Sunday 27th August 2017

 

They woke me up, but I still missed the fight. Waking on the back foot, instead I endured the exaggerated details, from the crew of gloating piss-takers I’m staying with. Ffs ever awake when I don’t want to be, and asleep when I wish to be awake? Sunday morning ‘She fights only with herself…’

 

Yet really fuck it, cause I wanted to watch it as it happened. No ounce of interest in a re-play, I now know the result. Mayweather’s last fight? That soft spot for the Irish. Whatever, overtired with my own fight; what 2 do? Yet, in my head, watching the prowess of a physical fight, is ‘the fair fight.’ “The go on sort it out between yourselves...” That’s a fair fight, scrap your rage if you have to, but knuckle it out one on one. Fight your own battle don’t involve other’s, accept your defeat or your glory, but behave like gentlemen?

 

Alas these day’s the fair fight is all but dead. As with chivalry, something almost lost due to some fear of overwork; who needs knuckles, when you’ve got the trump card, that holds the code for an atomic bomb? As I said, the fair fight is long gone; mass human sacrifice instead the common thread. The Gentlemen is dead.

 

Monday 28th August 2017

 

Whilst really it remains an enigma even to me; something I’m ever querying ‘Okay, how mad you being now?’ Yet in the same breath, its always been with me, you’d imagine I’d be used to it by now. Still as exquisitely beautiful as it can be, whilst some are fortunate and only see the good bits; I see it all. Since I was a small child its been the same, I see people.

 

As a kid, I found it scary, seeing things I didn’t necessarily understand, yet recognised the rot of. These horrible images merging with my senses for days afterwards. I hated it. Unable to voice, impossible to express to any living soul; I recall only the feelings of guilt, like it was my own fault for looking in a box I shouldn’t have looked in. The injustice of it though, I was just a little girl being shown things other’s believe we can not see.

 

Today it is as it is, I’m wiser now, its easier to stay more compassionately unattached. Sill this curious gift, is as much a burden. I’m too sensitive, age has made me more so, and whilst all my intelligence has been born out of my stupidity. Yet conscious of being one of those character’s that knows two kinds of people. Those that love me and those that hate me, with seemingly no grey bit in the middle. In the past it would upset me, affronted ‘I mean what did I do?’ Innocent to my core?

 

Yet like that little girl I used to be, rarely voicing what I’m shown; what lingers is merely a knowing, more of secret to be shared only if a person asks. Yet really there are no secrets, it’s all in the ether, its just how you tap the information patterns. Still I had to hit forty before my neurons worked out this love and hate thing. Perhaps a little slow, because it’s very simple; those I get on with are those that have nothing to hide. Those, that dislike me, well, maybe its my fault for seeing them first? As I said, we can’t hide anything. Alas, today, now in this moment of 21st Century time, there is one overriding essence being carried by the masses; yes it is one of discontentment, but actually more prevalent, are the so many riddled with misery ‘because they are not being who they truly desire to be.’

Tuesday 29th August 2017

 

It lingers with me, there right at the beginning, there is one of those coloured topped pins in my head ever illuminating the point where it all started. London’s Natural History Museum, Christmas time 1994. We cut dinosaurs out of polystyrene, pinning layers of leaves to them to affect the scaly reptilian skin. Under Dippy, the Diplodocus skeleton that dominates the museum, thirty or so tables each decorated with a dinosaur; it worked. There is this great picture in my head of Sony’s guests leaving at the end of the evening, coming down the steps, heading home with our dinosaur's under their arms.

 

It is as it was, this was the launch of the first Sony PlayStation, mine was the company decorating the event. Alas, today I look back and see only the beginning of the contemporary Armageddon, that is the ruthless assault on the fragile, innocent minds of our kids. Today, well ‘What the fuck...’ unbelievable, pasty white faced, red eyed kids completely addicted to ‘the virtual reality of it all.’ Sorry, but here, slaying the dragon in this Game of Consoles (or is that con-souls). Yet twenty something years later, ffs whilst I could bang on about nurturing violence as acceptable and reality as a farce. Actually, the bit that upsets me the most, is all these kids I now know, that have never developed their hands. Clumsy and awkward, an entire generation that knows only their thumbs.

 

Ask them to do something precise and intricate, fine and concentrated. They can’t do it, they haven’t developed the skill. They haven’t spent their childhood colouring in, cutting out and endlessly making and creating things. Instead, they don’t know how to use their fingers, they haven’t developed the bend, curl and natural fluidity of the muscles, they have no mind and hand co-ordination, and with it their hands are like flippers. Sorry, but beJesus...

 

Wednesday 30th August 2017

 

The story is harrowing. Horrific; those that know it, breath out in disbelief, their eyes wide with lucid shock, only reiterating the reality of the ruthlessness. We can ask ‘what is the inner lesson here’ yet, the view is one of desolation and absolute destruction. The aftermath of the battle, what’s not dead, is a bleeding mess of laceration and open wound. Where is the good in that?

 

Its hardcore, really hardcore, the well worn sign reading ‘Madness this way.’ Survival is certain, but the brutality has damaged and dented, nothing can be viewed with the same eye. It has morphed, mutating everything that went before, the experience chomping into all areas, now lingers like the unwanted guest. This is the tragedy, what happened, happened; it can’t be changed or altered. Acceptance the only key. Yet sadly, when the demon of mistrust insinuates himself into the storehouse of all perception, there is a problem.

 

Thus spoke I, this damaged narrator.

Thursday 31st August 2017

 

Rain. More rain. Blazing sun. Melting icebergs… the wroth of God??

 

Texas, Asia and everywhere, crazy crazy weather the top topic. Something just aint right round here? ‘Global Warming’ our Day of Reckoning, we’ve really fucked up??? Another Chemical Haze falls from the sky? Let’s tax the Diesel cars and blame the cows??

 

The clouded sky and the manipulated mind sees nothing, hey? Climate change, its happening, its real and very wet. ‘The weather’ everyone’s talking about it, yet the overriding reasons why, make our ignorance apparent. Like we just don’t see what’s right above our head, all that is weird now so normal? I read these Social Media scrolls, the greater population really doesn’t get it; nodding with the mind-programming, seemingly the news hasn’t got through.

 

Did we give our consent? Oh ffs ‘Don’t let the masses hear’ this weather has been initiated to speed The People’s increasing demise. ‘We’ll blame the weather, it can drown vast numbers of them?’ Just part of the decadent dance of this 21st Century mass de-population agenda, our ruling Lords of all Destruction quietly messing with the weather. Yeah, messing with the feckin’ weather! They’ve been doing it for years; clandestine ‘Climate Engineering.’ The Wickedpedia of all untruth confirms Geoengineering as ‘the deliberate and large-scale intervention in the Earth’s climatic system’ they then state ‘with the aim of affecting adverse global warming.’ Again, she wipes her brow with these perpetual lies…

 

Living here, in the authenticity of truth, the obvious is glaring; to STOP this onslaught of crazy weather; STOP the geoengineering. It’s no more complicated than that.