what the water wants is sunkiss

Hi there.
I've been keeping a new blog over at blogger.com: http://spiderly.blogspot.com/
My relatives had been asking if I've got a blog, so I decided to make one that's public. I think I'll still post here with the occasional indecipherable poem, drunken rambling (already have one in the new journal though...), or sex-related talk (though I might be brazen enough to post that there too). Wasn't sure if I'd actually use the blog, but it seems I am, so feel free to go over and check it out. I'm still totally on livejournal, I've got some communities I watch, and I like to read my friends' journals, just lettin you know there's more of my crazy over thataway. Cheers!

looking for home on a high wire
why is it so hard to find poetry

does it take some kind of presence to find words, some kind of certainty? i reach for them inside myself and find a place that has been replaced by experience, by the sensory. it makes my head hurt, because everything I say just sounds like something I've made up, to have something to say.

Create your own FACEinHOLE


Create your own FACEinHOLE


Create your own FACEinHOLE


Create your own FACEinHOLE


Create your own FACEinHOLE


Create your own FACEinHOLE

draw a line across my moon shape face
let's fly on this trapeze wire
underneath the midnight sky
underneath the earth where we become
compressed by fire
formed to fit the caves and spires
molten glowing metamorphosed
pressurized

I take your hand and feel it burn
place cool coins into your palm
we'll take these to the boatman
and he will take us home

I wake with moonlight on my skin
faintly glowing trickling in
bathes the landscape white
snowcovered to alight
into the cool and cleansing night

A powerful anti-war article that Dom pointed out to me:
http://www.lewrockwell.com/orig9/gaddy-c1.html

To understand why the quote that I'm going to post is funny, one must know about the extreme pornography law that was just brought into effect today in England. The law essentially criminalises the possession of "extreme" pornographic images which might include: any kind of S&M that the courts can construe as "extreme", probably needle play and suchlike; necrophilia; bestiality, rape fantasies, the list of image content which could potentially be deemed offensive (that is, it is considered offensive even if it is a staged scene between consenting adults) goes on and on, which is a big part of the problem with this law (the vagueness of the wording leaves the law open to abuse by individuals and groups trying to put a point across or set a particular precedent), to say nothing yet of the fact that it criminalises innocent people and their fantasies. And it does; it turns fantasies into thought crimes, giving the government the power to monitor peoples' internet activity, go after them, seize their computers, and prosecute anybody on the grounds that they possess any pornographic images "conveying a realistic impression of fear, violence and harm." Hopefully you're starting to see how ludicrous this is.

For the content of the law, see here : http://www.opsi.gov.uk/acts/acts2008/en/08en04-g.htm

And some explanation as to why the law is a threat to innocent people and their civil liberties: http://www.backlash-uk.org.uk/faq.html

http://www.backlash-uk.org.uk/unintended.html

and another useful site: http://www.caan.org.uk/

Now, a quote that Dom found in a news article regarding the enforcement of the law:
"A statement from ACPO suggested that they would investigate material as they came across it"

*gigglesnort*

Very interesting ideas:

http://www.newscientist.com/article/mg20126911.300-our-world-may-be-a-giant-hologram.html?full=true&print=true

I gather jugs of river water
down where the current flows so smooth
around my hands and through my body
as the sun light streams over me
in waves of heat all yellow

meandering
like ancient summers full
of dandelion wine
and sleep
and colors moving underneath
my eyelids
into corners
into cracks where I can't reach
my arms of stone and mind of teeth
aching to chew the meat off of life's bones
and to dive in to the writhing deep

let us enjoy a picnic here
and rest our legs where once had wrest
my heart, this river violent, out my breast
to keep beneath the roiling waters deep
where naught could reach, not tongue
nor hands nor teeth
let us twine together limbs and lungs
in prayer to the gods who often come
to wash and while the days away
who watch awhile, I say they may
allay what may
draw down the day
let's rest here for a while
in garb of skin
resplendent in the sunlight pushing in
which stays and shines beneath all quivering

"Life is full of contrasts, of facts and figures and moments of feeling and action, rational or irrational. All just words, and must be stripped down to the form that lies beneath, the movement of hands typing words, the brain processing the information flickering across the screen. No matter the nerves beneath the skin and the chemicals that flow, I want to believe that some things are transcendent. Music, perhaps, and love. Even if they are not, I will tell myself that they are and it will be okay because every word is its own small fiction. And yet the greatest truths I find are in love."


Mix and match new years post this year. I wrote that up there sometime early in June, a good month, but then I thought every month this year was a good month. January and May were special, in a way I can't really quantify, and I feel I don't need to justify. I changed a lot this year, and it was a busy year, I moved around a lot. I hold all the experiences I've had this year dear to me. I've been in love twice, once with a beautiful dreamer by the great lakes who told me fantastic stories and wrapped me in the most wonderful spiritual warmth. I am so thankful for the time I spent with her. Now I am with another beautiful dreamer from the southern hemisphere who I fell in love with unexpectedly and suddenly. I never really believed in soulmates, but if I ever were to change my mind, I guess I'd say he feels like mine. Unexpected and beautiful, like so many wonderful things in my life. I know I sound a bit floaty right now, I haven't really been eating enough and I spent last night and most of this morning in a perfect benzodiazapine-induced haze. Don't worry, I'm not addicted, and I only have one left, my doctor prescribed them for anxiety attacks. But yeah, it's been a good year. Aside from the disabling anxiety and depression, but that was intermittent, and I'm on SSRIs now, and those have really helped me "reclaim" my life. I think I've become closer than ever to the person I see myself as, to who I want to be rather than anybody I feel forced to be. And that seems to be a really good thing. That's one reason I feel so secure in the relationship I'm in; when I'm with him I feel no need to try to be a certain person, in fact I feel like I become more of my ideal self, if there is such a thing. My counselor said that makes sense though, and that it's a sign that this is really working for me. I've come a long way, personally this year, learned a lot of things about myself and become much more independent. Yulia was right about my trip to New Zealand, it did change me a lot, and it helped me become more emotionally independent and forced me to deal with my anxieties up front and seriously rather than hiding away. I am in a good place right now, I deal with intermittent anxiety and ill health brought about by strange things like old eating disorders and antibiotics, but I am so lucky to be as healthy as I am, to have the means to live comfortably, to be able to speak my mind without fear of censure or attack, to be able to pursue the life that I want. It is a blessed life, and I'm so thankful for it. And to those friends who read this journal, you and my friends who are not on LJ are a part of that, of what makes me grateful to be alive, thank you.

Happy new year everybody, I hope this will be a good one. I'll just quote Neil Gaiman because he says things so well:

"I hope you will have a wonderful year, that you dream dangerously and outrageously, that you make something that didn't exist before you made it, that you will be loved and that you will be liked. And most importantly (because I think there should be more kindness and more wisdom in the world right now) that you will, when you need to be, be wise, and that you will always be kind."


And for fun, a small meme about childhood foods!

Share 5 food memories from your childhood. They can be your favorite memories, or your least favorite.

1. Mac & cheese from a box- I love the stuff, what can I say. It's pretty much what my mom considered cooking. She'd make me eggs and toast too, but I lived for boxed mac & cheese, and still love it.

2. Jello cups- It's aliiiiive! I'd eat one of these every night after dinner. Maybe that's why I was such a chubby kid... but no, they were great and I still like to make jello in the fridge, I don't buy the cups so much, to save plastic and all that.

3. Salad dressing- was basically the bane of my existence till I was about 15. I still won't eat any kind of creamy dressing, I stick to vinaigrettes and similarly non-creamy dressing. So this is one of my least favorite food memories, thank goodness I wasn't forced to eat salad dressing too often! I remember eating caesar salads with just lettuce, chicken cheese and croutons, no dressing, and those were really good salads! My family thinks I'm crazy because I still eat them that way...

4. French toast- It's one of the only things my mom ever cooked, and she'd make it on the weekends when she didn't have to work. It was really good and I'd love to make it more often. I remember I once told her I was bored of it and she never made it again. Later in life I clarified that just because I said I was bored of it didn't mean I never wanted her to make it again. I'll get her recipe and make it myself :)

5. Pizza- My dad used to make pizza, and it was delicious. I remember seeing the ball of dough sitting out to rise all day so he could make the pizza in the evening. Inspired by traditional Neopolitan pizza, he liked to use a lot of tomato sauce, thin crust and Buffalo mozerella (sounds weird, but is delicious). I was a weird kid, though, and didn't like tomato sauce, so he'd make mine with just olive oil and cheese, which I thought was the greatest thing in the world. I still love it that way, even though I'll gladly eat tomato sauce on my pizzas now. Btw, in NZ, tomato sauce means ketchup, but the kind I'm talking about here is the kind that goes on pizza and pasta yay :D




And here's a picture of me (upper left) and some awesome friends in front of our old highschool:

twenty long steps from the starting line
the race becomes a thing of wonder
brushing up against a seeing stone
you make me wish the days were longer
that my beliefs could match my hunger

my body is made of love
voice the sound of heart beating
running my feet through the sand
I almost touch who I am
as my skin touches yours
something we found
as the world turned around
I am where you are
holding each others' fears
in the palms of our hands
gentle so that we are not afraid

little girl, don't be afraid
of things the palm tree said
jealous of jacaranda
and wanting to be placated
accusing you of fickleness
you loved no less than you ever did
and you love no less now
hiding behind a wall
covered in scrawls
teenage graffiti proclaiming
that forever is never too much
and we are all eternal
god oh god little woman
you are living on an island
where you sway when the wind blows
and cry when the salt gets in your eyes
jacaranda still kind
and palm a ghost who doesn't know you
get lost in the embrace that drifts
from across the ocean
there is love in the water if you look
and heat in the sand that warms your skin
until you have returned to that safe place

This is an awesome video:




There are shots of Auckland and Los Angeles :) The one in Auckland is in Albert Park, right next to the university I am at every day, and the shot from Los Angeles is of Santa Monica beach.

Nobody knows my true name
I am a creature buried beneath the stones
with earth in my hair and under my nails
curl my fingers around rocks
smell of rain and sound of laughter
sweet land keep me safe for ever after

what earth do I live in?
what heat do I cut with a breath?
there is a landscape lingering languorous
beneath my head and hand
delicate machine breathing steadily
through canyons and golden sands

sounds build shapes, a game of questions
am I rectangular? perhaps, a tesseract?
shaped by hands and time and music
singing a song from my skin so loud
change of costume in the last act
littoral drift along my coast
it's sedimentary, my dear

I don't want to be the person
who never does anything unexpected
I want my foundations to be eroded
until I collapse into the sand
and am carried away by the sea
I feel the notes rising heavily
waves to crash upon me softly
lend an ear to me
like any seashell
I will tell you the truth

Do I dare to give my words away?
history does not repeat itself
for we carry out the motions
as we choose each step
and breath each breath

the truth is in the tides
between latitude and longitude lines

I had a dream about buying asparagus and playing pranks on people in fancy houses by the waterfront. I rollerbladed through the city, which had a lot more trees than it should have, and it felt like some place in my heart where you can watch the stars... the lights flicker when a door is opened. Growing old, what do any of us know about growing old, yet here we are, doing it every day. I've always been good at getting older, welcomed it with open arms in an open door, of a clean, well-lighted place. I didn't mean to imply that you could not be as joyful as I... My heart is a constellation in the southern sky, watch for it, bright as my eyes. Let us go then...

There is a word for it and not its alchemy, a secret I don't tell is that I treasure every story. Little lizards trying to find their way home, we are all lost, standing on somebody's balcony, looking to the water to reflect the light and remind us of our hearts, our libraries of stories. Ever morning looks beautiful from here, every breath warm. Scintillating intersection of light and water, blankets and bodies, words and memory, seasons and centuries.

walk with me down to the creek
going to sail a little boat in it
carrying fossils in my pocket
going to skip them on the water
so they sink to the bottom of it
going to carry my heart to the Pacific
set it afloat with a candle lit
and hold so tight till I drown with it
sway sway sway
winter rain don't go away
handprints on the window
pot to the kettle
pour the water while it's still boiling
steep the leaves loose

bring your ghosts to me
and I'll line them up on the windowsill
in the cold of midnight
they're afraid of heights
like you
I'll bake them in a cake
and let them past my lips
softly singing sweet things
restless hands
playing sounds of sighs
lost my way on the way home
lost on the way down
and found a drum
beating a tattoo in the dark
moonlight lines through the blinds

"'Is that a true story?' I said.
'Stories are always true,'
said Handsome. 'It's the
facts that mislead.' "

-Jeanette Winterson

Tonight I felt like I was in a Hopper painting, the edges of things got more defined and less connected, and I wasn't wearing my glasses, but the lights still looked sharp, the contrast between light and dark was... it made me want to walk and keep on walking until the world became a code I could break by feeling around the edges for clues. I wanted to walk to the edge. I suppose that is what we try to do, when it is night and the corners of rooms get darker, I suppose that is what we fill our glasses with, the chance to see the truth. But I ate too much tonight. I wanted to get gone, but my vices cancel each other out, I guess. I bought a latte at the Starbucks that felt like a Hopper painting. There was one other person there, sitting at a table studying. I got a five-dollar latte to go, wished the girl behind the counter goodnight, and walked. I was going to keep walking, but I sat in the yard between St. Pauls church and the motorway, on a stone bench, waiting to understand. I ran my hands through my hair, and it got messy, and I smoothed it a bit, after a while, and went home. It was alright for a while, but then the lion showed up, somewhere in the corner of the room, lady owl sat on my shoulder and asked me if I knew what I was doing, and I said no, but I'm going to open that door and rinse this mind that feels like an open wound. Antiseptic. Taste of antiseptic. This is not elegance. I am not elegant. My skin becomes part of the code, it's there somewhere, I just have to find and decode it, it's in the colors, the taste, the sound, the meaning of me is somewhere behind the curtain, and I just have to find it. What are these visions, these visions of you, hold my head as it dizzies, the universe is too great to fit at the bottom of this glass, it is not enough to search for it, I need...

Hold me, hold me, hold me. Every word is the end of the world, and my thoughts are driftwood. I wanted to get gone, but what I really want is to walk into an open door, and I want it to be yours, the skin I want to feel yours. Whose revelations am I searching for? Beneath my skin is blood, and my heart beats but I can't feel it, I can't make my hands move. Tell me, tell me tell me. Wires, wood, stones, flesh. Wires, metal, plastic, porcelain. I am digging to find truth, I am drowning to find truth, and I am seeing again the answer, don't let me forget, don't let me forget that we are soaked to bursting with love, that we want to hold on to each other until we are broken, we want to hold and hold and be free. I would drive into the dark to stumble blindly to your doorstep, to fall into your arms. I would walk and walk until I got to the edge, and I would jump, oh my god, I would jump if it meant I would come to land in your arms. Search, the search, the search that we take to the hills, we wander into the green hills, into the porcelain that hands have touched, we wander through clay tunnels, through notes voluminous, across coastlines endless, through waves boundless, to the bottom of a lake that turns into a river going down, burning. I will walk, I will walk until the words mean something, until the blood tells me I am alive and the music becomes part of my marrow. I was stained glass, blanched almond, I was nothing until names. I am nothing until somebody calls my name, drowning in the water that doesn't taste, barely burns at all now. I think now of that old abandoned factory, about thousands, about those, about those, about floors grown dusty and corners cobwebbed, the folds, the universe is folds, maps, maps, I want to call out until you hear me, save me, take my hand, pull me up and kiss me. Everything else is fiction, every map, every story. I try to find myself there, but maps, symbols maps symbols, I find myself staring at a map, staring at my hands, who is telling them what to do? Who is telling these hands what to do. Would I were at the keys again, to turn this lost little girl into music, music, ah, oh, music, please let's all search for the edges, feel along the corners, and find only music, and realize that all particles can sing, oh we can all sing oh dear oh sweetest sing, let us sing until the only thing left is...
Lose ourselves to lose our minds.
Faint, the signal is growing faint.