a sweeping statement...

I'd written a long note to god

about being happy that i wasn't broke

it's funny how something like money

allows you to be comforted

like the comfort

of knowing

you'll

pay

rent

or food

and not be thrown out

to the streets yet another month

living paycheck to paycheck

is it zen to worry about such things?

is it zen to think

"oh no, i'm going to die from loneliness and a bad living environment"

what do zen monks do in squallor?

One thing i think they do is... clean.

They take a broom and sweep.

And as they do, the mind is dusted for cobwebs too.

i need to clean my mind as frequently as i can.

Sunday Coma

Didn't cook.

clean.

sing.

Or

Do anything.

So

Did
it sting
to think that I'd done not an inch of human racing rave?

No putting up walls
or making rooms.

No new blooms

Or simmer algorhythm recipe resume

no future to hurtle

no past exhumed

didn't even

get caught

in someone's fumes.

I woke up from monday

thinking of sunday

wondering

if this was enough

to be so still

But

still...

Ode to String Theory...

I came across something fascinating.

It's a theory by quantum physicists.

It speaks of one thing that holds us all together.

And it goes a little like this:






Guitar

with your pluckable tension

that drifts

sweeps

stretches

from

my

depths

all

the way

up

to the gardens of heaven

and you wave

back

and

forth

back

and

forth

fingers

at some

fret board

to make sounds

from you

and

our

humble earth
comes from a chord

a set of strings that play us

and here we are

with

our fingers toes

our haleys comets

our caspian seas and casper friendly ghosts

our champagne flutes

and drunken toasts

our ones for the road

are all coming

from one set of strings

and we are humming

this same tune

because

we

come

from

the same

chord strum pluck hum

and we don't die

we don't get

destroyed

we are

what

happens

after one note is played



does it die?


does

Faaa...

die?

when

Sohhhh....

and

Laaaa...

appear?

Then, are symphonies sad?

Because so many notes were brought to life?

Only to be taken over by another and another and another?

Are the subsequent same notes, our selfsame selves?

Or our brothers, siblings, children?

Our others?

So...

say we are all

strung together

by the vibrations

of a songstress string

we are

all

of

us

just one note

in the orchestral dance

of that agile incredible nimble hand

that one man band

that

holy

choral epic scope and sweep

that plays

while we toil

or restful

sleep

and

we are the song

there is no escape or lament

we're all

also

mentioned

in the chorus


we're

all

in too deep


in too deep...

for

without us

and our lives

our deaths

our tiny

ticking

pirouttes

prance

and

pout

without

us

the

tuneful

swirling

gambol

agape

won't

hear

a

peep.

And

for

our moment

would be an indiscreet silence.

truffle: what is it?

What

shall

I say?

That

you

are

like

musty

nights

the

way

we

spent

our evenings

in the forests

near streams

and moss?

Do I speak

or whisper

about the blanket

of moon silk

over our skin

so fragile

we
cannot

unveil

with

mere
fingers

and

what
do

i
mention

when

speaking

of your

oh

so

delicate

tingle

earthy

burst

aroma

like woods

like nymphs

who play

in fallen leaves

in autumn

rainy

drizzling

where

you

and

i

lay
covered

all
moist

delectable

all
edible

like lips

that are for touching

tasting and sucking and inhaling

can i say

that you are

so deep rich

so ripe wet bite rare

so wise

so raw

that

it's easy

to remember you

your intense grounded

delicate whole robust smear

upon my tongue

like unapologetic burgundy upon my soul...

your colour

mysterious

dark

and still

that

with

a

simple

sliver

atop

light
creamy
soup

and

upon
my

senses

you
fill...

you

simply

fill.

Green Baked Chook

Let it seep

thick

green

paste

of chilis

the colour of american greed

add

lemongrass

add

garlic

add

basil

add

fish sauce...

and pause

inhale

immerse

insinuate
yourself

into

the
wood
marsh
tropical moist

call it temple mantra chanting glow

call it ancient inspired savouring

call it anything

but

ordinary

how can you?

What

with

pungent

lemon

acid

sharp

sweet

stings

like nettles

like bee sting

on the senses

imagine galangal

all crushed into the mix

and your paste

loving

dissolved

mulch

muddy

gooey

flavours

glued

rubbed

massaged

into skin

into

blood

bones

But

don't

forget

olive oil

garlic

sugar

salt

oregano

marjoram

chili

over

wings

thighs

breasts

and

then

light up your fires

and let it rave

rage

caramelise

tantalise

until

heat

and

roar

turn

mere flesh blood and bone

into more

--------------

serve with steamed rice

or baked potatoes loaded with guacamole

bellow, yelp or scream

It's been a week since I've written.

Inside there's a feeling of an imploding heart.

Collapsing into itself.

I look towards skyscape.

Up on cloud castles.

And wonder if I will one day live up there.

Where I look down on emotions, that grip us like vines.

And dragging me down to the earth.

Finally when I'm able to see everything

not just the streets ahead

but the words yet to be spoken

the caresses yet to uncurl from my arms...

when i can do that...

i wonder if that's what life up there is like.

I've been having a difficult time

getting out of bed

and getting anywhere...

i hope that anything i do here

day to day

actually

does

something

for someone

a sigh that comes

from deep inside my gut

erupts like a bellow yelp or scream

am i in a dark dreary dream?

and the only thing

that lifts me

is the scent

of chocolate

and flowers

the smell

of comfort

of love

and

memories

of being

in the arms

of reassured

warm

--------------

speaking of dark and dreary I decided to treat myself to Maple Syrup.

So I took some stale rye bread and dipped it in beaten egg (add dash of sugar and salt and pepper and milk).

Fried it, topped with Maple Syrup.

Maple is such a wonderfully toffee-esque caramel even smoky flavours coursing through it.

We're accused all the time of being animals for anything related to blood.

Yet think nothing of drinking the 'blood' of this maple tree - which is what the syrup is; the lifeblood that runs through the bark trunk leaves of this mighty plant.

It's something vegans can now agonise over too.

--------------

Sydney Here I Come/Go...

In my pick pocket there's a locket

and inside it

gleams

shines

blazes

rages

it's my heart

and in my other pocket

human words

human papers

all saying

where

i can come

where

i can go

and today

I got

my walking/flying/running/soaring/going/entering/leaving

papers

and

the first place

I want to visit

is my other heart

the other piece

that keeps me

listens to me

understands

when i'm not speaking

when i'm not lyrical

when

I

am

in the darkness

the shade of all my imaginings.

My desires

wait for me

like a loyal

companion

by the fire.

And I tire

no more.

For

I have

more than what human arms can give me

I have love from something so big

I cannot even begin to put a name to it...

I will say

thank you

you big blue beyond

you splash wash huge ocean explode

You eternal soul

you larger than the universe...

you loving force

so great

that

you

feel

me

all

the way

down to my tears of joy

as I weep and thank you for my life... my hopes... and everything in between...

Meat and Sausage sauce...

What:

Italian sausage (chopped: bite size)

Minced meat
Garlic
Onions
Shallots
Chilis

powdered corriander
a dash of garam masala

Basil
Fresh Corriander
Parseley

Red Vinegar
Water + chicken stock (or cube)
6 large tomatoes (diced)



How:

Sautee garlic, onions, shallots, chilis, basil, corriander and parseley.

Then add minced meat. Add powdered corriander and dash of garam masala.

Add sausages.

Add water, chicken stock, red vinegar and tomatoes.

Simmer for about an hour at least.

Add sugar and salt for that balanced taste.


Serve with spaghetti or bow tie pasta.

Words to my amor...

My baby...

I don't have the words

no more words

only tears

only smiles

only sighs

only all the
most verseless

the most silent

the most quiet

the most swift quick thought

but no words

nothing

that i could

utter

mutter

make

syllables

to sound out your love

like how you are so intensely loving

and so fiercely wonderous

and how you roam with me

how you travel with me

no matter what

the distances

say to our minds

your heart

screams

to be

heard

so that

in your kisses

your embraces

your letters

your holding hugging gestures

are all the words I need

and i hope all my

spirit's warmth

that reaches

out these

distances

do

just

that little bit

to remind you

that i too want to love you

beyond the fences, cages, waters boundaries

and i too

want you to feel me there...

where

there are no such things

as miles or wing sweep... or journey...

there is only

constant

connection

to one another

for now and ever more...

i love you my baby

how you keep me in the embrace of adoration

and i want you to know that i feel you

and hope you feel me too...

if only a whisper

but i'm here

i'm there too...

with you...

i love you

i love you

I love YOU...