Heritage Day

Today is my last day

 

I manage to crawl off the bed that ceased to be coupled almost a decade ago

then land in my still relatively tiny bathroom, though my own physique seems to be shrinking by the second now

I look up at my reflection and I realise the purpose of mirrors

There is a headline,

my face

wrinkled and grey beneath its letters seems to unfold like an over ripe flower without ever having been touched

it says;

Heritage Day

I shuffle along until I trip over the now almost dry white board marker and I begin the list:

One: I inherited the dark lines of deceit off my mother’s core

Two: I learned how to live with being a liar

Three: I came as a foreign being full of love

Four: I was denied love but I’m still leaving filled with only those four letters

Five: Life was beautiful though the darkness is always the beginning of a new story

Six: I inherited the art

Seven: I will never forget

 

I rinse myself off and decide that it would be better to leave full of hope

After all

3 months before they expected me I was ready

13 years before I was

they weren’t

my family

 

The wardrobe whispered the call of majesty

I obeyed my longing eyes

past the dioors and my goodbye suit

I found the two letter phrase barely in disguise and I remembered why

Heritage day:

One: I learned how to judge myself better than anyone had ever judged me

Two: It wasn’t always sunny

Three: How to fake the smile through heartache

Four: How to cause the same

Five: My clothes are cheap

Six: I am unworthychocolat_l

Seven: I knew this each time we made eye contact… after all; we are self proclaimed judges

 

So neat, tidy and fresh I walk towards the lonely seat and the non functional tv

and on the top right hand corner of the screen

A phrase in white paint screams out at me

Heritage Day:

One: My skin colour murdered my first love

Two: I inherited the skill of not caring much for those attributes

Three: My father Died of a broken heart

Four: You saved mine

Five: Our life was puzzled together by vibes and muted sentences

Six: In the end, my quirks were irrelevant and your were my indica

Seven: I fell eternally asleep with the very thoughts that days and nights before had always haunted me.

 

Palm on palm now

My eye lids find their space

No tears left in me

My heritage day is eternal

and I only grew to know that the moment I looked into you!

 

 

 

 

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And baby… oh, by the way;

Her forehead had suddenly become the home of a trillion sweat droplets

The scent of a lost race against emotion was on her like a stale ashtray left in the middle of a tiny room for decades

perhaps the ashes of that which can never be repeated was exactly that

and the thoughts; no matter how consistent could not

clear out the depths of the buds; the heart that beats without feeling

the eyes that see without seeing

the sound of music without reaction

the dripping of sacred juices without an allure of passion

 

And baby;

That phrase will never be repeated

baby

that home will never be rebuilt

skin, fingers,flowers and hair

are the forefathers of a numb heir

to an empty castle

with naught but walls, bars, creatures, dragons and demons

 

the wolf alive in me alone will continue

baby

but wolves

oh wolves love once only

and… baby..oh by the way;

once only

Circles Of Meaning, Labyrinths of Fear – A Review

‘The twenty two relationships of a spiritual life and culture – and why they need protection’

Yet another from Moon Books’gems!

This wasn’t an easy book to put down, yet it was necessary to do that from time to time in order to get the full message of it!

We all know that there are certain ways of different cultures and religions, including sacred rights, days of celebration, and fewer know that even some day to day routines are also rooted in the sacred.

This concise eye-opener could not have come at a better time, for our generation is possibly among the most fearful the universe will ever experience!

The pages and messages and lessons are honestly comforting for a time when the silence is scarce and the noise is utterly scary.

‘The Good Life’ as Mr. Brendan Myers describes it, becomes less of an abstract, almost unreachable idea and simplifies it in ways that once read cannot be forgotten.

Learning the relationships between yourself and the landscape, the neighborhood, animals, doctors… to name a few; is the lightest, most pleasant melody of an alarm that wakes you to discover that you have just begun experiencing life at its true pace and meaning for the very first time.

A must read for the truth seeking soul.

Circles of Meaning, Labyrinths of Fear – For those of you more curious here’s the link that will help get hold of this one.

Love and Light!

Canis Lupus

Druidry and Prayer – A Review

It is just before midnight in a small, stuffy, but comfortable enough room to feel like home and I certainly am not fully aware of what I am writing; I find this is the best time to actually take it on. In my previous blog post: Experiencing The Storm I had only begun reading a book which in a matter of moments helped change my outlook on life.
I wanted to write the review in a formal manner, I  was going to research and practice until I felt I knew how best to write this (as if any formality or craftsmanship could ever do this piece justice).
When it comes to Nimue Brown’s work (the bits I have  been fortunate enough to read) I feel like a sort of groupie, never having anything but amazing things to not only say, but also feel.

‘Hello! Would it be so wrong of me to say, that I dislike religion to such an extent that I get nauseous just reading the word?’

Druidry and Prayer is not a self help book (because I cannot stomach those)… neither is it your conventional guide to being spiritual (those taste like cardboard in my mind) – it is the calming tablet for an uneasy mind…

The uneasy mind which loses sleep more often than not, because the ignorance of the world and its politics drives it to a point of maddening anger; because life is shit and there definitely would be no comfort in performing a mindless hand-me-down ritual of a religion that is filthier than the most neglected sewerage place thingy.

What I appreciate most about this book is that right in the beginning we are soothed and our doubts as to, whether or not we made a mistake opening the book  are erased as we are taken through the context of otherwise sickening words… for example,
‘ Religion: For me a religion is a formal and proscribed social structure with functions that can be understood entirely in social and psychological terms. ‘
Had this not been part of the book, I probably would have not carried on much further with it.
‘Talking about Gods’ in itself helps broaden your perspective and prepares you for an easy to swallow reality check.

I could ramble on about all the bits of the book that resonated and the bits I am certain will have an effect on any and every person who does read it all the way through, but why spoil this magical journey for the rest of you?

‘Dear whatever is out there, I climbed out of my self made grave because you threw at me a thing I would have never imagined could exist.’

Let’s forget all we have been spoon-fed, let’s work on the magic within ourselves and in the process empower those around us who need it most.

If there is one book I would say is a necessity to have read; Druidry and Prayer by Nimue Brown would be it. I’d have someone read it to me when the time comes and I begin chasing the white light – really… I would.

They Sleep

No sleep 

Somewhere in the crooked spots unseen she melts, cradles and cleans 
Those bits of her that remain haunted 
Stalked by: 
What could be insanity, but 

Is it? 

No sleep 

Her body no longer controlled 
Maneuvers its way in confused motions around the breadth of her bed 
Heat rising 
Although 
Not arousing 
She stares out of the window at Sky and dreams awake 

She dreams 
Of being asleep in the moment of bliss 
In the absence of kisses 
Replaced by an embrace 
Lacking tenderness in ways, yet 
Reassuring her that 
Dreams happen not only when we are asleep 

She sleeps 

In waking terror 
Running ever toward the place of 
Darkened snow where 
She waits for her 
Awake 
In a dream of her 
And her 
With her 

Eye-lids close 
Others open 

Then… 

The last, 
Haunting sentence before they both vanish: 

“We’re here at last!”salome

Letters To You… (2)

Complications are most frustrating. I do not know how to speak to you still, I don’t even know how to begin a conversation… so I send you songs and subtle wishes, hoping that you will realize. I would love to be myself around you. I would like to whisper kisses with the rain and hope that you will feel them. I would like to be the sand on the beach you walk on, to radiate warmth and to tickle gently… I would like to be the glass of Merlot, to feel your breath on me, to fit comfortably in the curves of your lips before you indulge in a sip of me. I would like to linger as an after-taste, an evident memory of some distant time and place…

Hearing the melodies of songs that lead me into the head-space of you. I have lied to myself. I have filled the empty spaces with different faces in attempt to erase the memory of you. I wanted to banish it,to fall in love with someone else… to mean it. I cannot say that I love you, but I know that I feel you.

This takes me back to the time when circumstance brought me into the cage of convenience. Living day by day in a falsetto, I lost  hope… Sitting on the bedroom floor and moping the dirt away with my tears as a detergent. Fate took pity on me that day.

“Happiness hit her like a train on a track… coming towards her, stuck still no turning back…”…

“That was Florence and the Machine with Dog Days are Over right here on Tuks fm, please stay tuned for the latest on…government…”

Your name escaped from the depths of somewhere in me I never knew existed, and the teary smile could not be prevented then. I cried and smiled and mopped and knew that there was something I had to succeed for… I didn’t know you back then either but I felt you… you must have felt me too.

I got dressed that evening with confidence and purpose, I cleared my thoughts and proceeded to work. The night was a little cold, the restaurant was empty… I thought of you  and wondered whether I’d ever see you again. I had seen a lady who resembled you many times but I knew she wasn’t the one who stole my breath and knocked the strength out from under me.

There you were… as radiant as I had ever seen you, your face winded me and I shook like a leaf in a storm.

Composing myself, the glass of wine was delivered… then the conversation… the memory of your eyes and smile, the contours of your face… the longing to trace each of them, to follow my gaze into the depths of you. I wanted to understand the secrets to your heart and keep it with me and scream out to the world so that everyone may know that true connection is irreplaceable.

You’re such a big part of me… but I can and I have lived without you. When winter gracefully announces herself, the scent of the season reminds me of that space… that dismal moment… incapable of reaching out or speaking out or fighting, I let you slip back into the grasp of the other.

I want to be brave enough… no,not yet.

The story is not complete.8565005911_3226c37790_z

Letters To You…(1)

I am reminded of you no matter what I do.

There are parts of my life that I cannot quite remember, they are usually those which do not include thoughts of your face or voice… I promised you that I would one day tell you the stories of yourself that you have not yet heard…

This is the beginning of those stories although not chronologically at the start; this is the first time that I feel you deeply in a very long time. You press yourself to my chest like a comfortable pillow, impatiently waiting for our contact. The cinema seat cradles me and the pre-film music prepares me and I can almost smell the way the atmosphere smells when you’re close to me.

I remember that life is not unbearable… I think of you and know that you are in my life, you have found me and oh my – you pull me out of the gutter like a magnet designed to lift my heart up – out from under the layers of ‘hell’. Like a quiet whisper which calls me to itself over, and over, and over…2007_11_serendipity

You are my teacher, yet you are unaware of how much I learn; from your silence, your distance and disposition.

I am deciding, that cliché as it may be; I will write… each thought of you and colour as well as I can the squiggles and dots with this pale ink in my grasp.

I will clear my heart out and fill it with the innocence of my feelings… I will purify every dirty speck in my anatomy and mind with the sanctity of our memories, or rather; my memories of you.

I will focus every bit of pink and turn it into black – and blue.

Black… as the night sky of my humble realization that you bring me comfort.

Black… as the space which surrounded us when you touched my hand.

Black as my room, black as the landscape whenever my face lit up the world at the sight of you.

Black as the innocence at the roots  of my core, black as the infinite grandeur of my craving for… blue.

Blue… as the shimmer in your eyes when the same coloured your coat and you’d waltz onto my territory…

Blue… as the morning sky when expecting your return to this continent…

Blue as the dreams while you sleep at night…

Blue as the watch on my wrist, the pen in my hand, the covers of my bed, the clothes that I wear…

Blue as the colour Black chose to remind her of you…

Blue… as a dream come true!

Pre-Noir

I need to create an instance, a circumstance where light is eradicated. What would humanity be if we were to live in darkness?

What would humanity see?

How would you react if you were to suddenly be shown that the core of humanity is actually demonic?

Is it so difficult to understand that darkness is at the core of our natural state of being?

When you close your eyes… you re-generate into a state of darkness. We wake to light – to

live the surface life of flesh and ‘sin’… our fake i.e: carnal-lives are composed of what we term as “light”.

Darkness does not provide for the flesh or the body… even so – some of our most physically gratifying moments stand out in our memories as moments of pleasure under a dark blanket in the arms of someone we love.

Black_4

The blind may not see but they dream as we dream and imagine as we imagine!

Switch your light off and see what happens!

Become still and unfettered.

We need  to be freed from the blinding light in order to win beneath the veil, to fight the battles that many are still unwilling to acknowledge!

What is the use of making love if our souls fail to sing out louder than our physical bodies do?

Where am I going with this?

We all want to be heard or seen, but in reality, all we actually strive for is to connect, to be FELT and RECEIVED instead of rejected. In darkness rejection would be impossible… there you would simply have the magic between souls and the texture of it.

At some point in my life, a sip of Gin could help place a smile back onto my face.

What a paradox…

Loving something as clear and see-through as Gin yet romanticizing the darkness.

The hero of my own literature shall then be named ;

Noir…

Gin Noir!

A Story of A Blue Sun

Just a poem written for someone 🙂 very late one evening!

Blue-Sun-web

Yellow
They said was what made the world red
And red being the color of love… meant that everything yellow
was good for a smile and a dance
But his color was blue
So he thought it true
When the world would tell him he couldn’t

One evening he slowly
headed for home after a long day of shining blue light on the world
he though to himself a miserable thought
that all was lost at bright yellow’s high cost
and about love he completely forgot
With his sad face on his chest
and a torn heart at his breast
he continued to walk on home

Until one day while shinning sadly on us
a stranger figure appeared before him
and she seemed to like his blue light
she told him that one day blue would take yellow away

His heart trembled gently
with wild butterflies in his sight
when she looked at his blue with her eyes
and such a surprise for the color of those eyes were so
shining
and loving
and blue

so since that day
when any man says that yellow is the color of a true sun
he smiles broad and brightly
and holds his love tightly
and he says’
“So?
blue is the color of love”

For K.

Glorious Mistakes (part 2)

Among the 1 800 goths: or should I say the constant of about 600 of them at my bar alone; a small and narrow face peeked at me curiously. His hair was bushy and the animated way in which he carried himself was a little difficult not to notice.

The smoke machines were heavy, ventilation felt almost non-existent and soon I seemed to have run out of oxygen. Meanwhile; across the main floor our neighboring bartender at ‘The Wizard’s Bar’ had just collapsed, however this wasn’t just due to the heat and shortage of air… In his case, slight intoxication was a contributing factor.

That same hobbit-like person came rushing to my bar,then under it and straight to me.

“Hi! My name’s Tristan! I heard that someone had K.O.’ed and had to make sure that it wasn’t you, but I can see that it might be you very soon, so you’re coming with me to get some air!”

So out I went, dodging the angry screams and violent hand gestures of the 600 obviously grumpy goths who now had one of two choices:
1. Wait for me to return
2. Wait at another bar behind at least 300 other goths.
In the end they seemed to have picked the more sensible option; 1.

That was Zeplin’s the way I remember it. Grand, vibey and never short on clientele. The music always amazing, the company never boring – it was the home that so many of us so desperately needed, but above all Zeplin’s brought Tristan into my life.

My dad was never fond of any of my male friends… And upon discovering that I am not very “straight” he seldom liked any of my female friends either so I found his excitement about Tristan in my life inexplicable, especially since he had piercings, painted his nails black and his means of trabsport was a motorcycle. They used to sit on for hours just chatting away about life and love and ambition, dreams, goals and things I had never dared attempt to speak to my dad about.

A day or two without Tristan around was too long for my dad… At times he would ask me to invite him over and I did… Tristan seemed to be just as attached to him, so when the news came to him that my Dad had left our world… He grieved with me…

A few months passed, his gentle way was difficult to resist. His persistence made him strangely attractive and the way he stole my whole family’s heart was extraordinary. He taught me to ride his motorbike, I taught him to DJ and in this way we were constantly doing things we both loved.

I broke his heart in the end… Being unable to change… Knowing that my lifestyle was never a choice, for if I had the ability to simply wake up and decide to want to be with him the way he wanted to be with me – I would have done. I did attempt to make that choice when I said “yes!” to his proposal… Yes the one where the boy gets down on one knee and asks the 4 words that most of us long to hear…

A few months passed before he could speak to me again after we realized that there are just certain things we couldn’t change. But those months went by rather swiftly and soon we began to tread on a new path of friendship. He soon found Chantal and his happiness was infectious…

Alas… A year and a few months after my dad passed… Tristan did too. In among my tears I smiled a lot, knowing that soon the two boys (my dad and him) will probably be chatting away again just where they had left off.

This post is to him and to my dad and to Zeplin’s… Neither of them exist in this reality anymore, but in my mind they will always be there… The smiling faces… The warm embraces… The grandeur and atmosphere of home… The man who understood my love for Zeplin’s and who fell in love with the personality of the boy I miss so terribly this morning.

I would say I am sorry for the mistakes I made in my life… But considering the joy they brought with them… No…

They were glorious…glorious mistakes.
They were mistakes that now give me hope for the love I know I seek… Unconditional, gentle, innocent.

Perhaps he was it?

But I’ve been visitted in my dreams by him many a time since then and he keeps convincing me otherwise.

So here’s to you Tris!

To us…

To you if you are reading this and to the glorious mistakes we’ve yet to make!