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aw gotta love the weeds, stubborn, robust, flambouyant… life as wriggle preposterous and just about everywhere as it gets
as a friend pointed out phone box must make an ideal teensy green house, plus you’d get watered by the occasional drunk
the street furniture of yesteryear… explain to the yoof, phone boxes are from a time when we were mobile … and telephones not
fumble for yet another 2p as the pips go… beep beep beep
mostly sky some sea, mostly sea some sky… seaford head tryptich, late august
Rothko in charcoal? a grey that dwells, both mournful somber and shine singing, myriad, exultant, breathe, world yearns through nuance
grey that hunkers down into green, pushes up to blue, swallow surrenders to black, else dissolves into white… ah i so love the sea
of course photos (and even more so words) flatten rather than plump, ha, cheerful preposterous midst this newsfeed flow
…………………………
but what to say here?… beyond the ‘read more’ ellipsis
hmm mbe green too?… at the festie, i went into the woods, out of the bludgeon sun, eau de bins still pong clinging to me… away from the heave of people, nourishing workshops, the good natured yabber of friends
there to stand, looking up at the mingled greens, a leaf canopy of dabbled ash, dappled beech, then to peer out across the pond, white lotus water lillies, subtle hues of water and stillness
a friend comes by, she stops, a few words, a warm tender hug… who could ask for more, here, in eternity, i am nowt but a creature of what?… strewn pond weed and love x
ha, earlier over brekkie, whilst guzzling copious croissants i was thinking, rather obviously, what a powerful human impulse it is to share… d’oh not croissants tho, that would be absurd
but specifically that which we find beautiful!… in the spirit of that, i love some of Rothkos work… usually i connect better with the solid tactile presence, the weight of sculpture… and yeah with Rothko, somedays it’s ‘so what’, more than most artists, the hang is crucial
i was lucky enough when a young, impressionable, even pretentious, student, went to the tate, the only one at the time, in pimlico… wandered into an entire room of his work!
gobsmacked. mauves, purple, magenta… profound, intense, transcendant… sat there. ooh forever in jelly fish quivering reverie
rightey ho reluctantly on with my code… tho suddenly fancy a jaunt across the channel to see monets huge water lily canvases (canvii? blooming latin). any good?
Hayley: Oh so eloquently written. So evocative and emotive. Real words to open the day as I read I look through the open door to the open sea and skyscape beyond. Daily Rothko moodscapes in my sites.I went there too at the Tate all those years ago and lost myself in the huge works that’s enveloped me and yes drew me in totally . Wrapping me in the painted blankets of sensuous and deep colour. I found it hard to leave that space. In my head now after your reminder I have returned there to sit upon that bench in meditative awe. Thank you.
thanks lovely, always powerful to surrender to a feeling, to be engulfed midst the immensity, a crowd, the sea, a painting… ha, dissolved to the merest jot of an iota xx
heres my song for the eclipse
not that we’ll see much of it over here… antidote to any bland moral admonishments
a song so louche, baggy, chock full of desperation, a churning beat beneath the fullest throttle of gospel chorus
just reminds me of what? that there ain’t no easy answers, that life is an electric cable straight, live wire, through our hearts
not much hope of controlling it, somedays enough just to hang on
take huge gulps, uplifted arms and hearts, oh yeah, whatever else world may bring, ‘may the good lord shine a light on you’
Let the season of crumble carnage and mayhem commence!!! Blackberries and scrumped plums…
this one bound for the community garden, but ya gotta sample it to make sure it’s ok first… yeah! X
catherine: mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm look so good!
Super scrumptious… would save ya some but all guzzled! Xx
sun, raindrop, leaf
looking down from the bridge, pondering the placid calm of the River Mole: sludge of green, drear of brown… a congealed euphoria between
most of the sunlight scatters, dancing off the surface… some tho plunges deep, rebounding with a sonorous glow
there to be set on high, mongst mauve opalescence of cloud and this, the dark squid ink of leaves
thinking of donnes ‘sun rising’ the playful lovers ego-centricism, literally, no truck with coopernicus, ha, placing our entwined joy here at the heart… delish, gotta love the summertime!
wanted to get ‘nacreous’ in, pseud, just becoz one of nabokovs fave words… tho apparently mauve was too! here prefer opalescent
ooh … and a beautiful mellifluous reading
‘on the cusp of eternity’… wind scattered zimmer, the sword of damocles… an in situ piece newhaven swimming baths
its jaunty angle suggests there might be some banter to be had with mortality itself? that which looms above and beyond all of our lives
just as well we’re all horribly middle class, else there might be a suspicion some oiks had heisted it from the day care centre and frivolously hoist hoiked it up there? as if
‘Computer in a puddle, i know, i know, it’s serious’…. sung to the cheerfully maudlin’ tune of the smiths ‘girlfriend in a coma’
had a dismal computer tech calamity last week, left the window open in the loft overnight, a fearful, beautiful storm… the wind was howling and gn-gnashing its teeth in precisely the wrong direction
went to start work the next morning to find my computer languishing in a vast pool of water, puddle of tears… ‘waiter, waiter theres a fly in my soup whats it doing? … the backstroke i believe sir’
unglaublich computers can’t swim… and despite my lazily thinking… it will dry out in a day or so? it didn’t… so, i’ve been unable to code for yonks, no pay in july, it shall be a lean month
new kit now finally here… all day waiting for the delivery fellow yesterday, much drumming of fingers and peering forlornly out the window… and so begins the laborious chore of setting up all the various complex gubbins required
tis endless! currently installing adobe photoshop cs2… software released in 2005… moving with the times? proper old school!… gfx wise all i do is very simple image stuff
i’d like to smugly say that i backed everything up recently? nope, but there was a backup from about a year ago, so music and pics mostly good… my adolescent poetic musings shall endure. hurrah!
gosh this is a dull post… is there anything i can learn from this… an approapriate moral homily to garland my turgid musings. nope!
tho on my bike ride i encountered the usual conumdrum, sped to the cliffs, thinking how wonderful the world was… turned around to find a wind pounding into my brow, where i had been thinking there was none! leg flail and churn
so rejoice my fellows when the times be good, or just cheerfully commonplace, that in itself is wonderful, don’t be oblivious to the benign circumstances that unbeknown to us, bear us up
world is extravagant and more beautiful than we can bear… listen to much bob marley… and praise the retro power of photoshop cs2!
… oh and i trod on a ferocious nail in the back yard… pliers to coax it from my foot… but thats another more gory tale
‘Computer in a puddle, i know…’
hare… i saw at hare at buddhafield, the first time i have ever met this astonishing, beautiful beast
i was working, visiting our team in the top car park at buddhafield, stepped away into the next field for a pee
perusing the view, out across the dark green of the woods, to the tree strewn fields and the blackdown hills there beyond… blakean, majestic, a mythic vision of british landscape
what? what on earth is that?? some sort of kangaroo? the size of a small dog, a lazy yet purposeful lollop strut as it came towards me
i had always thought, hare is but a bunny on steroids, yet no, not at all, a completely different energy, none of the rabbits twitchy flight
he stopped and looked, pugilist ugly face, before, as if with a shrug, continued on his way… a creature of intent, you know when you have been considered by a hare!
yes, the sleek long attentive ears, when called upon, a burst of impossible speed, helter skelter hare, with his darting quirk jinx flight!
but actually, pugnacious, just as likely to stand his ground and fight…. hare
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awww buddhafield, realm of bliss, laughter and joy, a treat being in the field! … gentle segue into my traditional, sprawling annual post… buddhafield my high summer honeymoon, a romance with life itself, a love song to the endless transcendent beauty of the ephemeral world of form… ha… all the things, most of the people i love in one place, in nature
a brief but busy week, of curiosity and the warmth of gorgeous hugs…. sounds cheesy, i know, but its true… yes, sleep deprivation, being outside, mild exposure, induces a state of perpetual euphoria, but so, so much more than that!
it has taken about a decade of going every year to get ‘there’… ever changing, usually deepening connection
on arrival peacefully sitting under the dripping leaf canopy of a huge old beech tree, next to a near empty pasture, waiting for the rain to stop… eyes on the sky, gauging whether it would be dry enough, long enough, to put up a tent?
the joyful hodge podge of inumerable small events:
making magical fire from a bow and notched wood, summoning a bright burst of welcome warm flame, with focus, effort… the help of the teachers, dandeion fluff, bracken… and the power of the elements themselves…
i sat with a love, chai and cake, in the teepee at pachamammas, subtle music, a fire, the close comforting babble of other folks chat, watching the gentle unfolding of a long languorous sunset… conjuring, coaxing the beauty of impossible colours, rummaged as if from the dressing up box of the sky and earth itself!
3 communal rousing and varied singing workshops, ‘freedom is coming, oh yes i know’ bellowed aloud to the heavens!
looking deeply into the eyes of strangers… one soul… no longer strangers
superb vegan crew food grub, guzzling whilst slurping herbal tea, guffaw laughing much of the time
stewarding, rocking the gate in the busy welcoming hours of wednesday, every other car an old friend to kiss, the other vehicles with folk to gabble cheerfully away too… new friends
in the quieter hours nattering nonsense with our lovely steward team, them thar in the ticket office and security
else late at night in buddhafield east, singing along to my fave dylan song with an old school banjo playing hippy, being massaged, dancing arms flailing, whilst supine on the floor with the groovy boogie-ers high in the upright realm above
kirtan, puja and ritual… followed closely by the latino calypso vibe of dende… wriggled through to the front, where the fun always is, flung about, dance sweaty madness!
late late at night, getting home to my tent, gawping up at the stars and the moon above, my neighbour, with whom i have never spoken comes home, we cuddle for half an hour, satellites, a shooting star to wish on, whispering to each other, her about aliens, me about the different energies of the stars and moon… very buddhafield
oh so so many more memories to wallow in, a thousand festivals blossoming in one
how to anchor these truths deep within ourselves? engaging body, mind, speech, heart and soul… only when our hearts are open, buoyed up by the infectious glee of each others tender company could this ever be possible
the thrill of a gentle, soft, slow, strong hug… there is no rush… here, in your arms, not always, but yes, sometimes.. ha!… beyond time, beyond space, tumble into the immense, eternal rapture of the heart… one love, thank you x
pics by Kit Williams, from masquerade… and Rima Staines
Mahasukha/ Xavier Rudd Spirit Bird… from midst the funky bass massive
Vimbleeydon! said in a fake ozzie ardilles tottingham tone
perfect for a scorcher sunshine day… Finn had the telly on yesterday whilst i was working, no distraction whatsoever!
as a kid i’d always be ill at this time of year, it would be my birthday and i’d have to lie in bed eating strawbs, wearing sweat bands, pondering tennis
it was always only a few train stops up the road from where i grew up, so went several times late 70’s early 80’s usually with flaps
the famous time (yearly trundling out of same hoary anecdote) skipped college and went up at dawn to join the queue for free standing…
once they opened the gates cheerful mad dash and got to front row on center court… it was 82, got to see a grumpy McEnroe in his pomp!
first week, so he turned up, thrashed his opponent in about an hour, as tho flicking off a flea, then was gawn, superb
82, ha must have been the year federer was born! Vitus Gerulatis! Roscoe Tanner, Borg frolicking on a baltic island with all of abba
anyway fabulous day, except turning up for college the next morning… usual excuses ‘sabre tooth tiger ate my homework’, except my kindly form tutor Dr Rispoli
‘where were you yesterday?’ he’d spotted me on the evening news, front row wearing a bright orange t-shirt…. camouflage seldom my forte!
….
anyway been up since 5:30, failing to mend my bike puncture, it’s blooming impossible!
aw wimbledon, must admit the genteel english middle class-ness makes me cringe, but should be a bumper crop this year, possibly the last hurrah for federer, nadal, djokovic… oh and murray too, fabulous players!
won’t see any of it at buddhafield… will just be too busy ecstatic dancing… nimble skipping towards enlightenment x
RP: You always were a malingerer x
ha, fey artistic temperament you mean, bet keats never had to put up with such heckling ‘stop moping around, get a proper job!’, still i spose the poor fellow really was under the weather x
Julia C: Wobbledon Wimble on x
went to see a fascinating talk by Dennis McKenna yesterday, hosted by club imaginal
he covered an impressive coagulation of material in 2 hours, mostly with aplomb… occasionally at a plod… consciousness and psychedelics
i came away with the notion that perceived reality is a mental construct, the realm we inhabit a symbolic hallucination
that and the extent to which we, and all living things are, whether we realise it or not, in profound symbiosis with the plants
not new ideas, but well expressed… as with many of these talks some of the science is speculative (a smidgin spurious)… but dennis equally stressed the importance of poetic insight
are the plant guides external or internal? he was refreshingly agnostic about that
a priviledge to have the opportunity to see and hear these counter cultural icons… not quite the firebrand like his brother, but 50 years working in the field of ethno botany is an impressive haul
me.. wafflesome as ever, was still thinking of it this morning, marshland awash with mallows, bike got a puncture so a long purple push in which to admire them! fractal
pink blush of blackberry blossom, the purple tinge to the thorns, stain and harbringer of the coloured fruit to come
‘amongst ungulants’, as soon as our hominid anscestors left the cradle of our arboreal home, dabbling with fire, following the herds, curious mushroom guzzlers, consciousness flowering, dwell midst this the radiant (528) frequency of hathor
