*so invite it’s cool hand to float over you
to quell your swollen rage
let it consume the fires of your fear
and watch as strange flowers twist from your ashes
from the place where you have been*
- The ecstasy of life is woven intimately with death. For those of us who have found ourselves dangerously close to the edge we have (had to) invite it in, make a home for it in our hearts. There it is very much alive, moving us from within -
Distinguishing and distancing ourselves from one another in the name of safety, superiority or indifference is futile and soulless…separation is the illusion that builds artificial prisons within ourselves - damaging and distorting our connection with the divine and each other in our natural forms.
A life unjustly ripped from another, no matter how distant, is a life ripped from us all, and it should feel like that.
Those who perpetuate violence, who abuse others cannot have experienced death as a truly integrated state of personal evolution.
What a wonderful foray into typewriter poetry!
Combining two of my loves - writing and the streets - was truly a heartwarming experience.
A special thanks to @mrmaxmarbles for the typewriter and chats
to @poemgee for taking me under his expert wing and illuminating the path and
to @nathanhenry for allowing us to inhabit his kooky corners, thanks mate.
started the day here in Mexico City with a little earth quake to get the head straight and the moon is just now growing wolfish, spiking the blood with courage
so then - let’s see - renewing my commitment to experiencing and documenting the flutterings of the collective soul in various states of undress
grateful yes - for the year just lived - thank you to those who in myriad and unexpected ways helped me to share more of my heart and prompted me to critically analyse my internal systems of navigation (lookin to be a lifelong pursuit)
special thanks to those who entrusted me with their embodied truths, and those who explored collective and universal truth with me
and hopeful yes - because there is still so much we’ve not yet had the balls (questionable) to do -
i know in my heart that we are here to embody love but it ain’t no easy feat. I suspect at the core of it is a commitment to radical truth telling about the human experience
this year may we be deeply moored and swimming freely in the voluptuous expanse of our own divine mystery
taking frequent trips out to one another, wide eyed and curious
coming in hot and heavy with the symbolism here but that’s ok it’s probably not a phase? There will likely be more of that and more wigs and silliness and cringe and perhaps even some raw imagery/wording that I usually refrain from posting, maybe
infinite intellectual eros as in ineffable as in let me run my mouth until my soul learns to speak
Becoming one of @surfaceofbeauty ‘s wallflowers 🌸
poem of the day
empty bellied:
I sat by your side for the longest while
waiting for you to arrive
I danced I writhed I burned and faded
but you never came
only your soul in ribbons
bargaining with the wind
I call this one “fake fish on the rocks and in the kitchen life is treacherous and crushing and only loving makes it worth it”
Many won’t admit it but most of us have both craved and feared all forms of intimacy (emotional,physical,spiritual…) with ourselves, with each other, with the world. we fear all forms of nakedness, and, if we are lucky, we suspect that nakedness can heal us, return us to ourselves.
Wearing the last item I bought on Amazon before cutting ties completely never to collude again! There’s only one real fish in this series and it was so far from home and trying to tell me something.
This is a bit of a tender one.
Photos of my sister Emily (and one of me) the year before she became a mother…accompanied by Joanna Newsom singing about her sister Emily.
The final photo was taken today with a polaroid sx70.
street poem for sisters:
Strung together -highly- by the finest of threads
woven
Infinitely together
As far as we spiral outward - we are found-
In the unique web as only we can cast
Spinning our song silently
Along imagined threads
Until it is time
For it to sound, to glisten on the strings of our making
Radiant against the darkening backdrop of our time
*the sweet version ;p
Nathan’s kooky corner in New Orleans.
If you let me into your home and it is eccentric I will conduct an unauthorized photoshoot and I will deliver photos of your cats.
As a child I loved trinkets, small things, odd things, treasure! I think I still do.
Typewriter poetry from the street- written for a strangers heart - something about childhood fading
Fragility and the machine:
my heart swoons
and the keys leap up to catch it
but there are teeth in my heart
pennies and rings and buttons and spoons
hurts I have collected
and voices that have lost their names
to waves of tenderness
shaping the arrow of my anger
into something new
“dellusions of grandeur”
society is unlikely to make a sovereign woman of its own volition - reticent to celebrate one (a woman who acts in concert with her soul) unless she’s materially successful or a saint, easily identifiable
the powers that be prefer her indoctrinated, consumed, victimized, one dimensional, held responsible, confused, doubting herself, drowning in invisible labour, beholden to rigid paradigms of thought, medicated, ashamed, subservient, controlled, conforming, bought and paid for - an unknowing foot soldier of capitalist patriarchy
why? because a woman who is first and foremost loyal to the land, to humanity, to the indivisible spirit
is
dynamic and unpredictable (traversing multidimensional reality whilst maintaining an integrous whole, rooted in the physical, the sensual, the soil)
Indomitable (where it counts)
an uncontrollable force
omnipresent
immortal (as a collective force she cannot die)
- the sovereign woman reminds me of something else -
poem written on a street corner in front of a bin overflowing with oyster shells
I want to be clear that this post is in no way diminishing or denying the physical, emotional and systemic realities of violence against women - I have personally and professionally defended women’s rights and will never abandon the goal - which is harm prevention, we will accept nothing less
and, also, born of a structurally violent system hurt by and healed by a structurally violent system doesn’t work for me, nor does staying loyal to a system that benefits you or protects your comfort while it harms others- let it be known
#divinefemininerising
I reached for you
or was it me
in the darkness beyond youth
fingers slip on fibres of thought
so finely laced with defeat
and glowing somewhere gone and just passed
the radiance of you imagines time
as petals fall from centre
“and what if we decimate the socially constructed world just to see who is left standing at the core”
Something I wrote for a stranger on the street - we connected over our exhaustion with the socially constructed world -
What have we become?
But a sea of crimson voices
licking at the wind
Who among us will it carry?
onward upward on its wing
and which of us will fall to earth
embrace beneath the skin
Have we all forgotten?
where it is we ought to meet?
We’re waiting in the valleys
far beneath our tired feet
we’re bathing eyes upturned like mountains
where I suspect we’ve always been
in the river of it all until the silent moon is free
