Tuesday, January 25, 2011

My Love Affair.

I am having a love affair. And it is beautiful. I am having a love affair with words and paint. There is something so romantic in the way I smear the paint onto the canvas, the way it blobs off and clumps together. The way it smudges on my fingers and elbows. The way the turps fills my nostrils, like a heady perfume. The way the world disappears when we are together. The ritual of preparing before paint actually touches canvas. Its so personal, so raw. There is something so pure in the way my pen indents the page. The way the words cram up my brain, the way my hand doesn't move fast enough for my mind, as they frantically caress the page. The way the words silently flow from my mind or from my lips like a tender kiss. The way they whisper in my ears. The way they both seam to bare my soul. The way they know me to my core. The way they are candid and frank about pain and love and lust and hate and passion. I am having a love affair with words and paint. They are honest. They are true. They never let you down or disappoint, what you see is what you get. They are so uninhibited, so passionate, so real.

Monday, January 17, 2011

The Art Of Losing.

I found these amazing words in a post on the superforest website. Which is one of my favorite sites. It often provides me with food for thought. It is inspirational and truly beautiful. But this post really jumped out at me. These are the kind of words that make you want to be better, do better, be more, do more. They make me want to live more!

"I start this with an unformed theme in mind. Knowing that these

words will be directionless, yet knowing as well that something needs

to be said.

These words want to describe the way the full moonlight cast itself

across the small ocean in the backyard of my small world tonight… like

the light of the distant fisherman’s lantern in the shallows.

The way the water cast its shimmering surface upon itself again and

again like new skin, or the way the sea spray cast itself upon me like

a caress. The way the lights of the homes on the hills cast

themselves out across the distance as though to speak their place and

significance in a small sky. Or the way my thoughts tried to cast

themselves into the center of something they can not nor could

never grasp.

But the thing that gets caught up in all of this is not the words

which too cast themselves out across the screen, the page, the empty

spaces of this small white universe. The words that cannot catch,

capture, grasp. Spilling out like the sea on the reef.

What is caught in the net of the night is what words cannot describe.

It is a fleeting sensation like the first glimpse of a sunset through

trees, or a cloud swept mountain, or the passing eyes of a stranger –

before the mind can register, before the thought: “Beautiful!”. It is

the undefined moment. It is the end of labels. It precedes the birth

of language. It surpasses it.

And I find myself in conversation saying: “It’s amazing how easy it is

to forget the little things like this, in the caught up of life.” The inverse echo

of a theme: “In every moment there is such richness,if you only look for it.”

And in my mind I think: I do not stop to appreciate enough. And in my

mind I go back over those moments and places when the unlabeled beauty

of a place — a moment in the midst of an indescribable became the

everything of a life:

The shore of a rainswept beach where the river bled and the green sand

swallowed everything, the limestone waterfall with its easter egg rocks,

the greek lighthouse in the night I lost myself, that swollen river hugging the

firefly field. How many places became a relationship? How many moments

define a life?

Back in the context of the lives we create, I find my keys gone. And searching

frantically for them — happily lost — I remember in my frantic search what I

had only just reminded myself not to forget.

I remember music. I remember the page. I remember words. The lines

of a favorite poem: “The art of losing isn’t hard to master. . . Lose

something everyday”. I lose what I’ve come to know. I remember what

night means before the word “night”. Or sea, or moon. I remember the

feeling of things. I remember passion.

Give yourself away. Lose yourself, lose yourself, do not stop! Leave

everything behind.

I sit here losing money over lost keys and losing words into a

directionless letter writ to no one and losing time into a small life

that was always lost, or always wanted to be.

The beauty is in the mystery. Your life is defined by the undefinable moments."

The Laughing Heart

your life is your life

don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.

be on the watch.

there are ways out.

there is a light somewhere.

it may not be much light but

it beats the darkness.

be on the watch.

the gods will offer you chances.

know them.

take them.

you can’t beat death but

you can beat death in life, sometimes.

and the more often you learn to do it,

the more light there will be.

your life is your life.

know it while you have it.

you are marvelous

the gods wait to delight

in you.

– by Charles Bukowski

I Am Grateful.

I am so lucky to have such amazing memories, people and reasons to be grateful in my life. I am often overwhelmed with joy and excitement at all that I have. So to celebrate all the things that I am grateful for, I wanted to make a list of a lifetimes worth of Gratitude, but since this could in it's self take a lifetime, I have given myself 90 seconds. And go!

I am grateful for:




music that makes you feel

all animals in general

my pets

people who truly care

the stars



old couples who are still in love

my awesome parents






my friends


bath time


wishing wells

fore play

public high fives

shooting stars

fresh flowers

trees you can climb

the beach and the sea

been south african

following my heart



the rain

the rainbow after the rain


my love affair with my bed



....ah there is so so much more!

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Lucifers' Tea Party

I have trouble sleeping.
I am living my dreams and they are real.
There is too much danger.
I toss and turn.
I wake up in fear.
Creaking floors.
A breeze through the closed window.
I am awake yet still in my dream.
I await my death.
Death, he is looking for me.
You are ready to kill me,
Lucifer at your side.
I am not a harlet!
As I drift off again I see the time - 3.26.
My phone buzzes.
And it is you.
My dream swallows me,
the ground falling from under my bed.
You have called me from hell.
I know this is no dream.
I wake up and re-live it every night.
Why is Lucifer by your side,
and why do you want me dead.
I want this night to be over.
I pull my heavy lids open,
but the dream is not over,
it is never over.
You will find me.
I wait.

G ©

Monday, January 10, 2011

Thought For The Day.


Year 2011

How will you make year 2011, simpler, happier and healthier? I think William E. Channing had it right, so I am going to borrow some words of wisdom from him on how we can make this year amazing. It's pretty simple, just make the right choices.

"Will you…

Live contentedly with small means.

Seek elegance over luxury,

and refinement rather than fashion.

Seek to be worthy, not respectable

wealthy, not rich?

Will you choose to listen to stars and birds,

babes and sages?

Study hard, think quietly

act frankly, talk gently?

Await occasions, hurry never?

Let the spiritual, unbidden and

unconscious grow up though the common?

Will you stop being busy?

Stop hiding who you really are?

Stop taking it all so seriously

Start something (anything)?

Start scaring yourself?

Start getting rid of the crap

Stop following the rules

Choose being happy over being right"

It is all a choice.

When Midnight Falls

What was this night before

man invented time

did hummingbirds still their wings

or crickets drop their tune

somewhere a blade of grass bent

humbly beneath an empty sky

or perhaps nothing changed

not the glittering ball

or a countdown kiss

the way confetti glimmers

in the flash of our self-made glories

outside in the silent places of the world

a river gives birth to itself from a cradle

of stone there will be no fanfare

when at last it joins lips with the sea

only the sand will remember

only to forget

while we throw ourselves again

into the night that swallows us