SEPTEMBER 2017
11/09/2017



 

Friday 1st September 2017

 

I’m good, I’m strong, I’m punk, but be Jesus, was I meant to be so hardcore? Yet authenticity and passion are king’s, especially when born with a seemingly untameable wildness to your nature. Feral; a flight animal. Ever the spirited Thoroughbred, alert and likely to throw her tail in the air, content to startle on a whim. I get bored by what has no depth. Some call it Capricious.

 

Knowing only the feeling. Mental agility is freedom, it itself, is intrinsic to creating change. Whilst too many times I’ve played the unintended catalyst in the play. Yet with creativity, a need for healing and travel as my central themes. Its like I’m always the one that dances in, stirs up the conversation, and then disappears again, leaving behind seemingly only yet more to think about??

 

They say ‘Know thyself.’ I see a hunter and gatherer of the authentic, forever searching for the real; where is the truth? The impetus, a fascination for finding what’s hidden behind the mire of shallow surface bullshit. Digging in; shovelling questions to find that thread to the real answer. A natural and honest interest...

 

An inquisitiveness I actually like about myself. Now learned of and adamant to, the healing art of owning your truth; there's nothing to hide here. Yet I’m impatient, tired of wearing the hardcore shrug of ‘what’s the point’ as the shield against the ever trend of pretenders and folk so shallow they couldn’t fill puddles. When actually at heart I know the wish is only to sing louder? Oh ffs maybe I should just paint more flowers?

Saturday 2nd September 2017

 

When you think about it, really the only thing that feminism has ever achieved, is a load of empty shelves on ‘Maleism.’ Yet observing our population, seemingly these past fifty years of hardcore ‘feminism’ has actually inadvertently, somehow stripped us girls of our real Goddess.

 

Our fight for equality; the right to vote, our right to work and claim equal pay. Fantastic, commendable, we’re brilliant. Multi-tasking genius’s. Yet lordy we’ve dissipated ourselves; we’re doing it all, shouldering more than we can do well; we’ve entrapped ourselves.

 

Snared to the cost of living, and the now, universally accepted expectation, that we women can do ‘our bit’ to bring in the bacon. When really, we’ve merely torn ourselves from our children. So much pressure, so much to do. Motherhood today, driving your child to the child-minder, or trusting a Game Boy to do the same. We’re busy, what else can we do?

 

Yet having lived it. I know only the regret of it. Childhood is short, gone so quickly; yet prioritise we must? Thus leaving aside our rightful Goddess, that is the ever nurturing mother within. We ignore the guilt of our deeper womanly screams, deny all that feels so unjust and entrust another with what we would rather do ourselves. Then kissing our kids goodbye, we go to work to pay the bill.

 

Ever wondering and always questioning ‘Why something feels dead in each of us?’

Sunday 3rd September 2017

 

The story is one of madness. The fine details of the illusions and delusions of the flights of the human mind. The journey into the recesses in which we dawdle with the whole untruth. Madness ever lingering between that which we desire and believe, and that, which is the reality of all our own nothingness. Belief itself, being only a strong belief in what we believe, we believe. Yet whilst nothing illuminates like that which we believe; it is desire that remains the more dangerous impetus and root cause of madness and its way.

 

Existence itself, the manifestation of ‘What it is we desire.’ Whilst to the mad nothing could be more luminous, than loosing oneself to the fantasy of all that stands desired. Without limit to wantonness, all is possible. Hence, to be ‘in & sane’ remains a dull place, it expects nothing, it has no attachment to a desired outcome and therefore, never lets you fall...

Monday 4th September 2017

 

As an example of our undeniable Spiritual Sickness, watching the live stream of the United Nations Security Council meeting on North Korea, was like the pulsing representation of all contemporary disease. The warmongering pretence of ‘Peace Negotiations.’

 

Really, if anyone in that room possessed an ounce of considered acumen for ‘the greater good of all souls’ they would have pulled out a sub-machine gun and annihilated the entire UN Council. Alas we live in a world built on cloaks and mirrors, in which the unjustifiable continues to be justified. Cause, in the consideration of doing the right thing by all souls, the rightful thing would be to build a very large bonfire, duly destroying all weapons of mass destruction and arms that harm. Whilst decreeing that if the likes of Donald Trump and Kim Jong Un wish to fight, as with Mayweather and McGregor, let them do it in the ring without hurting another.

 

While in the field of all possibilities, this is the dream. The stark and ruthless reality of our 21st Century existence is that these leaders we endorse, and allow to act on our behalf; are but a bunch of ill-evolved kindergarten souls intent on sanctioning and destroying ‘the completely innocent.’ Yet what is more amazing is that we let them?

Tuesday 5th September 2017

 

Here catching up with myself on the 6th ?? Wtf, where is my head?? Dissipated and doing too many different things. This benign commitment to writing something everyday, beyond my book that lingers still unfinished, is like a game played with the world that is far bigger than me.

 

There is no plan in this scroll titled ‘Soulful September.’ This said, here lies the fun; the joy in never knowing what will be written. As with removing a dead weight; so much of life and a creative existence has a plan and a long list of objective and expectation. While freedom can be found in the fine detail. To write three or four paragraphs a day just cause I fecking can, has a kind weightlessness to it. With conscious effort not to concede to a subject prior to sitting down to write these snippets. There is a beautiful moment when I open my laptop, ignorant to what comes next, loitering on an empty mind, I throw the question out to the universe and see what thought returns.

 

It means nothing, it is nothing, yet in my own unique and crazy head, this is where the natural trust in something bigger than myself is the gift. The unknowable remains the fascination, and whilst a few paragraphs are never going to change the world. In a world in which nothing is free, this little bit of my day…

 

....is called Freedom?

Sunday 10th September 2017

 

So the lazy sub-personality, whether it kicks into protect or sabotage remains an uncertainty. While conscious and ever wary of this epicurean shortcoming of self. Tired and a little mentally frazzled by the consistent whipping demand of fending off life’s dissatisfactions. And well, the call of lazy scored a major result this week.

 

Some five day’s later, 7 series’s, 67 episodes accomplished. I, she the slothful and presently work-shy has just devoured the whole of ‘Game of Thrones’ in a single sitting with a few hours sleep in between. Ffs, unbelievable, like being ill when you’re not, or lying on a beach without getting a sun tan; idle to the extreme. Yet really, as someone ever sceptical of the contemporary distraction tactics of so much we define as Culture. Previously, so adamant about dismissing all the endless Game of Thrones hype. Now look at me, absolutely converted; the best bit of TV I’ve ever watched, days on the sofa screaming ‘No, ffs, what the feck’ wholly seduced by the pulsing twists and turns of the fantasy of it all.

 

Alas, days later with all now watched; this marathon of arse-numbing, sofa surfing sub-lazy self-indulgence has no where else to go. Instead I realize only a state of mourning and disillusionment and a strange lingering sense of loss, with the now extended period of waiting for Series 8. Five whole days of brilliant sublime distraction and its back to reality and my desk with a bump. Albeit I’ve acquired a new nickname in this house, ‘Hodor’ or ‘Hold the door’ which is apparently with some reference to me not leaving the house for a week…