there are things on heaven and earth that move me

what are these things that move me,
trace bundy
kevin O,

they are new or in the general scope of humanity very small ..

have a look, things of beauty, moments in time, more so than before they suddenly move me. It must be the golden syrup of nostalgia and memories seeping into my ever existence. I realize my life has become fragmented through the motions of my thoughts, slowly slicing and dicing and placing memories and future dreams and current events, binding them like a broken mosaic.

Strange when we look back and across we somehow see different things and the pieces somehow don't really line up.  I look back in time, well not really i stare at fleeting images in my mind, I get starkly reminded by images I see around me; printed ones, electronic ones. Something inside me wells up, something unbeknownst to me. I see images of a past that is vaguely reminiscent of my own life, I see images of a life I do not recognize, I see faces and places filled with memories, some mine, some others and some belonging to a social consciousness that I am only a small part of, all these fragments are floating slowly together and others are drifting into the haze. The purple glazes our existence, our consciousness taking shorter or longer dips into the un-reality of this state.

I wonder if the path we choose is it the yellow brick road? Sometimes our mind wants us to believe we have taken the wrong route, other times we know we have, sometimes we know ti is the right path, but most times we wonder around in abject confusion, into the grey mists of our human existence we go, slowly unraveling the past and origins. I apologize, but I do have to return to a previous point where we do have to consider what is it that builds the fabric of our existence? Can this be likened to the nature or nurture debate in evolution? I suspect for some of us the threads used to weave our existence and grubby with the lives of people who are long gone, at other times the tapestry of our lives is woven with new threads.

And the internal welling of emotion never  ceases to amaze me, is this something that was locked deeply inside behind a stone wall. How i have slowly chipped away at that mortar, only to find tightly wound packages, each day, each week, each month
I open a new piece of my life, why did I lock this off, or did life lock me within the confines of these walls.
I stare at photographs, strange memories come welling back. I know full well we are the object of our own actions, but sometimes we feel bound by the cords of life, these long sinewy threads that run through our lives. At times they are broken at other times they stop us failing, yet on the same hand they confine us and give us that most fancifully stated  inertia. How is it that we can start living once again? Do we live in tranches of year bundles. Is it wise to move in 10 year bundles to make changes in our existence. Is it time for a new career if possible, somehow we stand on a knife edge of responsibility and adventure in life, I suppose we have to start with the small steps towards the door, without that inertia we will never leave the room let alone the house.

On something more material, why does brown flour bread really struggle so much? I suppose it is obvious, but it just gets me every time I bake the damned brown bread ;-) So where does the adventure take us next, firstly within the mind, the recesses of the mind, the ants go marching one by one huraa..  don't stop, don't fall, It could be that we have to live within fragments of the life we have created and called our own. How do we achieve these small and fantastical things without embarking on the voyage of our lives, what si it that binds some of us to the material, the ethical, emotional and does not free us from the chains we have bound ourselves with. Yea though i wonder down the road of uncertainty give me the strength to take the next step, to not be scared of the dark corners and ghouls, their chains rattle in the corners of our minds. I walk towards the end of the road, not knowing or seeing the path nor the destination.
I just have to remember the words of marshal m^3 .. I'm not afraid to take a stand, its been a ride I guess i had to go that place to get this place .. yes it is cliched, but I would at least want to keep a common thread throughout this journey of my life.

In general the fantastic still amazes me, the unreal, the existence of an alternative reality that does not really exist other than in our minds.  But all we know is onwards and upwards.

We stand once again at a cusp of decisions, now not later, more not less, live not cower in the shadows we fear so much, hold onto the the light.

"I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain."
--- Frank Herbert, Dune - Bene Gesserit Litany Against Fear



"Fear makes the wolf bigger than he is."
---- German Proverb

We get drawn down the rabbit hole of fear, at times we revolt, other times we cower and hide, paralyzed like a dear in headlights.  It is difficult to determine why we are bound to this primal and debilitating emotion. I will walk along this path I fear and go forth into the unknown world.

and of all of them Banksy always moves me most :-)

A journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step

So it does,

to paraphrase, this has taken more than one sitting so it will be disjunct and confusing, more so than normal ;-), sorry i should say post-pre-phrase

I walk, I cycle the kilometers

Every morning as I open the garage door, the characteristic crunching of my battered steel cleats on the cement floor makes me cringe in anticipation for the cold and crisp air that hits my face. Some days the multitude of small splashes hitting my face as I exit the driveway into the road, wondering why I have not sorted out the shower cap for my helmet yet? This morning not unlike any other, the air was crisper, hardly a breath of wind in the air, no rain. Yesterday a howling southerly met me outside the door, lashing me with pelting rain drops. All I know is that every day will be different, that is something I can be sure of. I digress, I fear from what I had set out to discuss on this day that is so different. The day started simply like every other, except it was different.

and then i stopped writing ... for days and days, and now the words come back.

But like always the words are milling around, less so the words, but more so the concepts the thoughts, concerns and questions.

I keep coming back to one starting point, finding it difficult to make a departure on something that has been plaguing me for days,  or should I rather say weeks and months. Something that will just not go to rest. Due to my self created exile I expend a more than normal time alone, or at least in the company of my own thoughts. What, I, (yes) and most probably a million others around the world, have been pondering relates the reality of human constructs, however weird that sounds. I sometimes sit and wonder if something like the Harley riders, the weekend warriors, is more or less authentic than any other phenomena. You may ask what the Crap Am I talking about? But in reality why would an artificially created reality that is subscribed to by a large number of people be any different from any other realities. Is it real? I know we often look and laugh at the instant nature of this sub culture and many other similar cultures. But the question that still stands, is whether or not it holds any validity or not. Yes it exists, and has little or no erudite or even philosophical basis, well there is debate around some of it? It is real, it exists even though it is as made up as Foucault pendulum by umberto eco. The additional realities then get created on this dubious starting point and the eventual interactions and manifestations are subsequently then real. Does this invalidate or validate the existence and reality of something. Where is the truth? What is  the truth in this situation, it is a self referencing and fulfilling construct. How much of what we experience and exist within is made up of the same fabric? Where the reality and artificial nature of our existence collide, we are thrown into a large grey mess.

At this point I doubt there is a lot of clarity where the truth starts or stops with regards most things in our daily lives.

So where does this leave us? Do we rely on classical representations or even historical truths or manifestations or can we live within the reality we create for ourselves? Which is better or worse.


Well that is enough of that for now,  following on this path is bound to lead your thoughts astray.
ashtrays, buckets and the sound of tinkling Zamaleck bottles.

the relativity of sound, they things sound now and then and how we remembered them and how they sound when we feel different and the same.  If this sounds like gobildeegoop. Yes it is, i was thinking about something i had thought about to many times before but always disregard as nothing?  Have you ever noticed how different music can sound on different music systems and locations, yes this is obvious we know there are differences, we can be sure of that, but somehow our preconception and bias tends to, in my case, alter the sound and experience tremendously of the sounds i experience. Thsi could change something from beign amazing to poor to brilliant and bakc and forwards again.

I saw something yesterday, it made me sad, it related to friendships.

I stand here in a quagmire of thoughts, ruminating and running through my brain and veins at the speed of a radioactive isotope.  I sit here a stranger in a strange land, surrounded by the endless unknown, I saw this in a book the other day, someone standing peering into the unknown. Yes it was visually portrayed.  To continue, I listen to Gogol Bordello transcontinental, it fills me with happiness and sadness and a longing to a past that is not mine and is only the past and drives me forward into an unknown future.   A few days hither I was watching LOR, the third movie and it was so absolutely amazing, but it saddened me a lot, when i looked at the wonder and awe that had been created by the media and the story, but it only pointed to me how we have taken away the splendour awe and mystery out of our lives. The Western society has removed the underlying mystery that surrounds our humanity. In no way do i suggest we should all abandon rationality and immerse ourselves into a form of romantic non-reality or a dream realm, what I do however lament is that the mystery of our existence has been removed, we no longer dream of dragons, i cannot dream fo the long line of green ants marching along the ridge of the red sand dunes, the Lion roars in Africa has become literal, the chameleon is no longer a spiritual animal, nor is the praying mantis.  I am not saying we have to depart from the rational and san, what i lament is the loss we have. Our reality is created on top of countless memes that contain these half truths and images bound to the human race. These memes are surgically been removed from us before we have had time to replace them with reasonable facsimiles or new incarnations thereof. We have replaced the mystery of symbols and hedgerows with WWW , you have to question how we can let that happen, we have replaced bread the source of our origin with Big Mac. We cannot go back, time is fleeting it passes on, but I can lament the loss of this reality.  In a way I am not taking a step backwards tempting the salt pillar, rather taking a breath a long the journey of life, search new yesterdays in the unending sea of possibilities. Sometimes the weight of the self imposed yolk bears me down, the added weight of the past soemtimes slows our ability to plough the lands to plant the new crop. Without the Yolk we would be nothing, without the memes which have become plaited into my veins it would not be me, those plaits sometimes strangle, sometimes allow new pathways for the blood to flow through my veins. These are things in my past that are not of me, but are as a result of things I had no part in and that happened on another continent that I have never seen, slowly the sands of time mingle with the sands of my past creating solid ground at times creating a sinkhole a quicksand trap i set for myself. Other times, I run across the hot sand, through the pine forests past the Amanita through the dark glades search for the line of lost green ants. The paua shell giving me the illusion of a silver lining on the long white and grey clouds, I search for Ganesha, the tarrot cards lay open on the plaid tablecloth laid open int he glade, splinters of sunlight highlighting the cards that have been drawn for me. I know not what they mean, but I do know that eventhough I chose a new deck a number of the old cards are still represented.

Just remember we need to break the daily bread, drink life and imbibe the suns rays when they shine on us, appreciate the moisture and rain. We remember the jade coloured light that is thrown over everything here carries a tinge of darkness with it eternally. The sun shinning from without, sometimes strongly from within, but the cloak of darkness hangs like a shadow across the view. Lucky we are that the winds of change blow strongly removing the boughs causing the shade, yet at times when the wind fails to blow and the sun hides behind it blanket of greyness to create dark recesses we have to slowly search for those inner lights. Somethings we are prepared for, others not.

To conclude the discussion, read this like the wrapper of a bright yellow chappie, sometimes silly, nostalgic. hard on the outside, slowly softening with a taste that lingers.