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watching the wind on the surface of the water
flattening the waves, plumping up the froth, shrapnel stipple pockmarking the surface
playful agog, then it is gone, to alight elsewhere, some capricious djinn
to be a sailor, when all is calm, idle, marooned on the placid expanse of ocean
to whistle for the wind, a gentle summoning, subterfuge, an act of sympathetic magic
tacit acknowledgement that the wind, with all its blustery pomp cannot be controlled
that when it wants, and only then, it will fill the slack sails with its burden brute force
i like wind because it is invisible! rejoice in the bleeding obvious, known only through its consequence
hung out washing dancing on the line,
a fire just as it catches, wind coaxed, the joyful fury as the wood surges into flame,
prayer flags, colourful, aloft, in the high himalaya, clap flapping their prayers to the heavens
else the augury of birds, a seagull that stalls, stukhas then slow dives to the waves
a hawk as it hovers, a subtle manipulation, the angling of bone, sinew and feather, miraculous stasis midst the roar
mastery. to blend with its element. grace

………. its fun, waking up, writing words and at the same time half heartedly perusing facebook! x

ice cream head! best cosset me noggin tea cosey stylee, back from an early morning jog, trust me ice cream head is much better than colly wobble goolies
…off in my jogging pantaloons following the frost sparkled pavements up to the cliff tops
Running across the ice brittle grass, stiff bristled as a crunchy ocean bed of sea urchins
clip clop, kept on looking around for a horse, but just the sound of my own passing over the iron shod ground
i love coming across horses on a hill side in the early morning light, it is not their full fettle movement, but the utter stillness, entranced, dream phantom still
i digress, below, like liquid nitrogen(?!), the sea is frozen into a wave… the hunger, the loll tongued stare of the steppenwolf
the water cradled within the harbour walls is calm and gentle, stippled… like cling film on jelly
surrealy the only sound to break the stillness (to quell the rattling in my head) are chimes, a few wafted bars from an ice cream van!
i imagine mr softee, wintering in his mobile home, apron and feather duster, with a sigh, with a smile, unable to resist pressing the button, simple nostalgia for summers sake
anyway i get to my turning around point, where i get the first glimpse of brighton, usually a shrug and ‘naaaah’, but today, the low slung orange sun behind me
and there, with the furious snarled grimace of the sun god, or more likely the rictus grin of a cartoon character stung by a wasp, i raise both my arms, the long shadow reaches out, gaping to the horizon
and tho it might be fanciful to claim to have blotted out the whole of brighton, i did, at least, obliterate peacehaven heights… some might say a very good thing

he he i love a bout of early morning poncification! to make up for it, a lovely pic of finn from way way back when! stanmer house in the background

always loved this song, evocative, melancholic dick gaughan, perfect for a winters afternoon, sometimes the sadness leads you deeper, towards the beauty
‘But waking in your dawn
I saw you crying in the morning light
While lying where the falcons fly
They twist and turn all in your air-blue sky’

touch, most gentle, intimate and sincere of all the senses… nourishing in most of its guises, whether through massage, the pummel of muscles, which relaxes, then releases the fraught stored clenched memories
or from a hug, warmth shared, summoning something greater
it disturbs me that society has almost banished touch, cuddles reserved for your own children, a caress only for a lover, sometimes people shy away, almost flinch when you reach out to touch them (like salt on slug lips?!)
‘how dare you!’, ‘invasion!’, ‘keep your filthy paws… (off my silky drawers)’
yes touch can be rough, abrupt, ambivalent sexual, but also and, even, sometimes, at the same time gentle, playful, releasing, forgiving

it is ancient, that which is deepest, oldest, first… fundamental
think of the oldest life, as they squirmed through the primordial ooze, the world as a felt experience
or the foetus us, shrimp curled in our mothers womb… held, contained, feeling only the pressing outwards, inwards, of cusp and boundaries.
Our ancestors, plains dwellers, frightened within the night, huddled close to the genius warmth of fire, eyes gazing upwards, marvelling at the cold distance of the crystal stars
… but from the safe, held, coddled warmth of the rummage of bodies, the we, the closeness of us

humans sweaty, grubby, present

ha! indeed i greatly enjoy my own grandeloquence! boa constrictor squeeze the life from a thought with the clammy clasp of words
a tumble of words written first thing in the morning, inteersting space, before we are grounded by conversation

………… and a mail that got totally ignored … struggle with that sort of energy!
…
was doing some sun salutations this morning, such a gorgeous b-e-a-utiful day out there, and was thinking absent mindedly about your status, of course i should just have been with the postures, but my mind so often doodles in spirals.. was going to say the obvious, that when i split from my ex, barely took anything, tried to embrace all those ideas of letting go, making space, but in all honesty i don’t think it was that succesful for me, as always trying, rather than allowing it to come from anywhere natural… ended up with less stuff to lug around though, so guess that was good!
.. but actually i was thinking more of the temple metaphor, i tend to feel more like what? a small fearful creature scurrying through a sprawling decaying city, the city of all that i have ever known, baroque, medieval, prague probably, where i used to live, but knowing well that i am not merely that creature, but the city itself, the faces and guises on all the statues (ooh thinking grandiose like the bayonne at angkor wat, amazing place, hope you’ve been there!), but also the beautiful woman glimpsed turning away from the window, somewhere on the outskirts fading into other people, the social realm, ancient archetypes… oh but also the new life, the flowers pushing up growing through the paving stones.
hmmm enough of rather obvious morning fancifulness, my kids are over, shall have to see if they fancy being roused into going for a walk… teenagers!
………………………….

my nose is cold (healthy if i were a dog!). my socks are DAMP. love is only for others… a waltz to the co op.. thought as a tight knit barricade against the world, brushing aside the rude intimacy of sensation. early morning gloam, this the late november dish water bilge light…. and verily death stalks the trees, leaves that once were all a silken shimmy, those that remain, tattered, brown, with a dry death rasp, husk of a rattle, aagggh… lies of course, the leaves are soggy and look like their made of polyester. mulch of thoughts. mulch. thought. mulch. march along the concrete. ah but song! outward looking, open, embracing, the loose woven billow of a tune. croak along ‘my old man said follow the van and don’t dilly dally on the wa-a-ay’

i love to stomp around, the ego rage of indignation, a pompous preen of arrogance, subsumed by the sudden squalls of feeling
mind and emotion are so closely interwoven, thoughts and feelings topple into each other, a dunken lurch, the waltz round the dance floor
today i woke thinking more of kindness, what is the basis of kindness? why empathy and compassion, often people proclaim their heart centredness?
but with me, what do i achieve, being good to my friends (who does not do that?) being friendly to people i like?
hmm, actually i do not believe that altruism is merely a sop to ego…
i like to think of myself as kind, but i think this is because often i have been stuck on the edge, peripheral
alone, feeling ignored, with nowhere to look but outwards… yeah, many of us knows how that feels… somet
and sometimes compassion flourishes through reluctance, of grumpily not much feeling like helping someone but doing it anyway
or of seeing someone, feeling incapable of acting, but feeling that twinge of remorse.. and i actually think there is merit in that too
of course it works best when heart, emotion and spirit are all in yoke! Be helpful with joy in your heart! cultivate the softness, cherish feelings of gentleness, gratitude and generosity x

……. old blog post for Yuki, from my adventures away travelling last year
………………..
…………………………
Back in Bangkok again
Brush bustling down the Khao San road. Jostled by the endless stream of tourists.
Depressing in their hordes. Feeling part of the great Wilderbeest trek down through south east asia.
Cow Pat Khao San Road
I have grown used to the tatty charms of Nepal, almost tourist free in the chill of January.
But here, oh, oh the heat! A bit like being flopped beneath one of those giant hot towels you get thrust upon you on the airplane. ‘more coffee?’ A teensy snapette of a biscuit and a huge heat steaming hot Flannel!
But the heat in the city is not so cleansing, a great, dirty oppressive heat.
The air bereft of nourishment, all dust and grime.
Mingled nicely with my continual tingle coating of sweat.
Mug swamp hot. Uncomfortable!
………….
Funny I didn’t mind it so much up at Angkor Wat. Banished by good company!
My mind still stirred by thoughts of the Bayonne, of Katie, of Eva and Martin
my friends! an Austrian Woman and a Slovakian couple.
How we’d hire a Moto, a Tuk Tuk for the day and bomb off to the ruins. A cool breeze as we whisked along on the road through the jungle, mostly laughing.
And yes …the Bayonne, a miracle, a temple with over 200 sculptures of the Buddha Alokoshivetas head
Each carved 12 feet high. They are positioned so that wherever you sit amidst the ruins, at least one of them is staring at you and others, in profile or perched beakily at angles.
Like being in a stone, crazy, hall of mirrors
Panopticon.
The all seeing eye
But somehow, really calm. I shut my eyes, now and still clearly see that face, the calm expression, a tease of a half smile. the promise of gentleness. In stone. In me. Forever
……………..

In Bangkok, slumped beneath a twirling helicopter of a fan. Sipping an ice coffee.
My torso pockmarked with bites, machine gun riddled, as itchy as fuck.
Kel, she says they’re from bed bugs. yeucchh.

Relax don’t struggle against the tide of tourists, enjoy it for just what it is
gawp, hopefully not too noticeably, at the girls, a pageant of passing beauty. Both Tourists and the Thais. sigh. joy
But to escape the heat, hop on a tourist boat, the splash, the slap and giggle gurgle of water beneath the prow.
Away, downstream past the huge megalopolis of buildings and swank of brand new sky scrapers.
then on the Sky Train and along to

Siam Square

The biggest shopping center in all Bangkok. a palace of AIR CONDITIONING
Hurrah! Acres and acres of cool
Inside everywhere are fountains and walls of water
up, high on the fourth floor is a Mercedes Showroom. Dozens of cars, Shiney beasts.
How did they get there, somehow winched in? Flown up, to it’s nest by a giant metal eagle? Rok
down in the basement is a pool full with Water Lilys and Lotuses, where enormous Coy Carp and goldfish loiter.

I spend hours in the oriental food section of the supermarket. Free tasters. yum.
A meal from just absent minded grazing
exotic weirdly coloured chutneys which i daub on crackers
next debating the differing merits of a handful of spicey peanuts versus four dried strawberries. hmmm. yum. maybe
We all enjoy the tipple of the conniseur. the contemplative grimace of the gourmand
Too much I’ve got a tummy ache!

Later, the serene swan glide on the up escalator, snoop around a bit, then drift back down on the next down escalator. I could pllay on them all day! My own imagined Prozac Muzak playing in my head.
Super Smooothe
The gentle drift: hither, then thither. Like at the beach, a calm, toe tickling, lap lapping tide.

Up in the loft is an Imax cinema, a ten pin bowling alley. everywhere gaggles of thai teenagers
just out and about. like me, having a fine day
Goodness Gothness Gracious, some of them, mostly in black, with smeared down hairdos are even Emo’s!

A parade of Gucci, Yves San laurent and Dolce and gabbana boutiques.
each displaying one garment and gaurded by a very snooty, frosty shop person.
yeah yeah check out boy.

Finally though i settle in the wedding section
There is a big banner which proclaims ‘We are in Love’
nearby a carousel of mannequins dressed in wedding dresses spins slowly, around and around.
Gently Surreal
There is a 3 piece band, live, in tuxedos
with a hammond organ and much plinkety plonking they churn out songs of embarrasing, syrupy Romantic Noodling
There are row upon row of seats. All empty. I sit there all alone.
Pathos, In the Palace of Romance. beneath the banner ‘We are in Love’
solitary, forlorn and greatly entertained
They finish their set, a little bow.
I applaud. bravo. well done. encore!

molten metal, a drop of a lump of burnished orange
Flung suddenly into water. the seethe of its abrupt solidity, startled into personality
this flower, brittle yet strong, this ingot, unique in its vibrant contortion
and? as multidimensial souls are we thus thrust into this our world?
forged, tethered to the realm of perception
it is natural that we feel the vast sense of sorrow, of loss
but beyond, through our summoning, through this blossoming, majestic, the continual flow of beauty

there ya go, bit odd for facebook prob, written in a burst of insomnia last night, strange to be kept awake by the fret of words rather than all the other more obvious worldly worries
rather too many this and thus for my liking, the inspiration tho was an epsiode of horizon, frequently mind blowing, in which they were casually discussing extra dimensions which lie coiled up within the usual four, which i guess got me a spiritually pondering

oh and the other obvious inspiration metal! bones of the mountain, the earth, north, apparently all metal workers in ancient egypt were dwarves (dwarf? delve?) and this tradition continued with the greek god hesphaistous (however ya spell it!)
we take metal for granted today, but what must it have been like centuries ago, the allure of shine, in a world dowdy with dust
how hard won and hoarded each and every shard, alchemy
oh and the sound of metal, blacksmiths hammering, the continual brutal pound, the Ring Ringing throughout the land
else… once more the summoning, the call, the moist clamour of the peal from the tongue of the bell… indeed

grrr-ness and grimness of dvla!
for some reason they want to renew the photo on my licence
so i got this one done… but
your not allowed to smile! your not allowed to wear a hat!
yes – no smiling. no hats.
so officially everyone looks like a convict or even a cadaver
…its good to have govt departments to vent your spleen on
i’m rather impressed as to how lopsided my visage has become