Jumping with his shoelaces untied - this guy has been living dangerously since he was born.
"LANDED ON A MOONROCK!!!"
We've recently discovered the lamest of lame free online two-player games. Our favourite is "Bad Ice Cream 3" and when either of us dies our ice cream just deflates and up on screen, the words flashing "You have just had a meltdown."
I may have recently ignited in him his life-long love for Eminen, sealed when I found the t-shirt I bought at Em's concert five years ago when we took his big brother for his birthday.
The other day he turns to me in the car and said "Mum at least you weren't as bad as Eminem's mum" which I didn't really know how to take. Do I agree, or do I tell him Eminem has forgiven his mum, that she did the best she could, that mothering is all relative? I just laughed and said thank you.
Rocco is in LOVE with his second-cousin, Logan. Logie calls him Dodo, sometimes they have sleepovers together at my cousin Rini's house where when anybody farts, we all laugh.
Straight after his soccer presentation one day he asked me to teach him how to cook but only he can choose the ingredients which has made for some interesting meals. This was a sausage, egg, vegetable curry stir-fry which didn't taste half bad .. he wore his medal to bed that night, this guy could kick a soccer ball like a champ since he was 18 months old. I wrote out the recipe instructions on a piece of A4 to take to his dads house and cook it again there.
He often writes me letters and hides them before he leaves, tells me that when I find them I don't have to miss him so much. (We miss each other so much but we're getting used to it.)
When I put him to bed at night he asks me to lay down next to him and just talk. So we talk and talk and talk - about everything he wants to. He asks me so many questions and I answer them all. He tells me that he loves talking to me. He tells me his dreams, new thinks he thinks, who his girlfriend is (but DON'T tell anyone mum) ... he says he tells me things he doesn't tell anybody else. I tell him he has the most incredible imagination and heart ever and I'm so, SO proud of him.
Just then we were jumping over the pavement cracks on the way back from the post office and when I drew him in close for a hug, he hugged me back more, said "Mum, now I get it."
I said "What do you get, mate?"
"Now I get why you always want to hug me so much. Because right then I wanted to hug you at the exact same time. Love you so much. I'm going to have a really fun christmas but I promise to call you and see you when I get back."
Told him "Sweetheart, I'll be right here. I'm not going anywhere."
UGHHHHHH. Fuck. I hold back, don't write this, don't write that. Used as evidence, stay balanced and cool.
Sometimes I can't. Have had a recent slew of messages from people thanking me for writing about my brain/heart/spirit. Which is nothing new but UGH. All going through our lives. I was whining on the phone to someone tonight about being hardly done by and they started into shit about being grateful/thankful/appreciative. Which I am, truly. But I just said "Dude, live in my skin. Feel my feelings. Have my experiences. I've been to the furthest reaches of the actual literal world which I think about a lot but sometimes .. shit's just hard." Then this person says "Hang on a minute I gotta buy a white magnum." And left me hanging on the phone while a white magnum was bought at a service station and I thought - hilarious. Seriously. Mental breakdowns happen legit weekly for me but sometimes you need to wait for somebody to buy a white magnum before they come back and start talking to you again. Like waiting on hold for a mental health team that is useless except a white magnum buyer is better.
ANYWAY here's a song that I'm listening to. What are you listening to? Please tell me, I'll be embarrassed if you don't. My comments are back on on on. A year and a half ago I went through a horrendous psychotic breakdown when I thought Dave Grohl was God and his book This Is a Call was the bible. Don't judge. I'm better. I am not that anymore. (But seriously how good is Dave Grohl.)
Anyway here's to somebody getting the best of us. Here's to music as therapy. Here's to music keeping us afloat. Here's to #stillhere.
Really. I've written real poems for you. On parchment, all original, each one signed by me. Messy handwriting, limited edition, with pretty ribbons. Shining true words .. no swearing but fuelled with heartfire, love. Truths. A gift for you. Maybe one of your friends. Somebody you don't know very well - anybody. Everybody.
Last week I stood in Katoomba Post Office carefully mailing some out. Very carefully .. these are my wordbabies. Actually sealed with a kiss. Some have inkstains (sorry) .. one had tearstains. Heartstains, lovestains, truthstains, bloodstains. (Have had a few requests for swearing, who am I to argue with the odd well-placed f-bomb?)
$30 each. All posted from the Blue Mountains straight to you. My words are all I have and I'd love to share them, now more than ever. You can email me at [email protected] 💛
"One of the most marvellous things about poetry is that it's useless. It's useless .. 'what use is poetry?' People occasionally ask in the butcher shop. They come up to me and they say 'What use is poetry?' And the answer is no use, but it doesn't mean to say it's without value. It's without use, but it has value. It has - it is valuable. It's the first thing, the first people that dictators try to get rid of are the poets, and the artists, and the novelists, and the playwrights. They burn their books. They're terrified of what poetry can do." - Michael Longley
Yesterday in my brain: Fucking loser from loserville. You're a loser doing nothing.
Yesterday in my heart: Will I always be this broked.
Yesterday in my Soul: Oh sweetheart what to do but keep getting through? What to do?
Decided to ignore everything but my Soul. Put my sneakers on, get the hell out of my house. Go for a long long walk. Tourists travel from all over the world to see the beautiful sights that are just down the road from me.
As soon as I got outside my front door (didn't lock it, couldn't find my key, got nothing to steal anyway) .. I came across this bunch of stuff in boxes in the landing that one of my neighbours Gary put there. LAUGHED when I saw this random pamphlet on top.
EVERYBODY LOVES A WINNER YOU GUYS! Therefore everybody hates a loser? Conundrum.
Started walking. And walking .. and walking. No running, cannot commit to that right now but jeez I walked. Listened to Sia over and over again in my headphones which for some reason made me CRY. Sick of goddamn crying so I started flicking through my playlist. EVERY time a song came on it remained me of a person or a memory or a sad hard thing. Walking down near the multitude of tourists by then and did not care how I appeared as I said out loud to each rejected song .. "NUH." "NO." "FUCK THIS ONE." Every song that came on was annoying! You know how sometimes you need a whole new bunch of songs?
Hitting the Three Sisters (not literally, couldn't reach) .. I was judging the people and their selfie sticks, full backpacks equipped with practical things like mosquito repellant, bottles of water. I just had a hat, headphones and sneakers and hadn't even locked my front door. There was only one option at that point - Eminem. And I felt it all rising up, the energy of the anger and the force of the words hitting headphones like punches and I felt BETTER you know why?
It feels much, much, better to feel angry than hurt.
My angry anger all these years has masked all the things I do not want to feel. Anger is easy. Feeling your pain sad loneliness lies regret - THAT shit is hard. Over six months on the straight and narrow and boyo boy am I feeling and I do not like it. So thanks Slim, for helping me stomp my sneakers to the goddamn lookout and admire the wonderful breathtaking view right near my house. Obviously I took a photo (angrily) because these days how do we know where we've been or what we've done without taking a photo? Prefer it back in the olden days when we just experienced our experiences and committed them to memory.
Yeah so that's pretty I mean I've even got some tree in the pic to frame it nicely and how cool are cloud shadows. As I snapped this Whatever I Am was blasting my ears so loud the two French guys next to me visibly startled and my head was so mean - go spray your mozzie spray and leave me be you guys. Walked back on the trail past two young Asian girls - one of them was wearing silver sandals with high heels I mean come on. Really? Who does that.
And then .. then, back at Echo Point to start my incline home I happened to swat a fly just as the cutest little boy walked past and he mistook my swat for wave. And he waved back, his face broke in a huge beautiful smile. So I waved back to his wave back because my first wave wasn't a real wave it was a swat but this time, after seeing his shining face, I meant my wave.
Wave at kids, Eden. Stop being an arsehole. My whole mindset changed. We judge other people to make ourselves feel better, probably because we're judging ourselves the most.
Walked less stompy up the big hill thinking about things. Not being able to make other people change, act differently, or even love us - no matter how hard we try! No matter even that. Acceptance why you so painful. (It's painful because it's so hard to do.)
Ok so THEN I saw a Wanked Campervan looming in garish hues before me up the hill and I just thought oh no no no please do not be an awful one. People know how I feel about these vans, how I've vandalised them, how revolting the slogans usually are: "Blowjobs - the only way to shut a woman up." "I can already imagine the gaffer tape around your mouth." "Inside every little princess is a slut wanting to try it just once." "Make the world a better place, shoot a gay."
Yeah. Oh dear lord if this van was a truly horribly offensive van I knew I'd most likely grab a stick and hammer it until dents appeared because I just wasn't in the mood. And I can't do that I'll get in trouble, big trouble. It was just this slogan. Stupid, lame slogan. But one day .. one day these vans will begone. I've chosen this particular battle to keep fighting, even though others say "What's the point? Stop putting energy into it, they're harmless." No they're not.
We don't choose our wars we choose to keep fighting, whatever the fight might be. And we can't win them all hey maybe losing is winning anyway. Or maybe sometimes there's no winners.
Anyway so here's a sweaty unfiltered face .. people these days take sweaty selfies to prove they've done exercise?
By the time I got home after a two-hour stomp feelings walk I FELT BETTER. Hey I don't want to alarm anybody but there's a LOT to be said for walking, yoga, pilates, all that shit. Moving our bodies and getting out there in the world to change our mindsets and achy hips and belittling brains, broken hearts, and sad Souls.
I'm going to keep this shit up because I told myself I'm going to keep this shit up. Apparently the human body should be made to sweat at least twice a day so I need discipline, chutzpah, determination and just not think, not listen to head, get out there do whatever work needs to be done.
Nobody can do that for us. It's not their job.
It's hard, to stop dwelling and living in the past. Our past is just a story. So the end of this particular story is that I had a shower and stretched out on my living room floor where I live, nobody had broken into my house there's nothing to steal when I'm not there. When I am there? There's a host, a plethora of things to steal from inside us, thing is, nobody gets to do that without our consent. Therefore I rescind the invitation to all vampires from my house.
Zipped up my backbone, put myself back together again, chucked a few pretty flowers and even prettier weeds in there for good measure. DECIDED to just live hope and love and gentleness. I've done it before. I can do it again and so can goddamn you. Yesterday? Yesterday is gone.
It's gone. Feet forward. Move forward. Write forward - craft forward cook forward forgive forward work forward hell even fuck forward - ANYTHING. Because it's time to forget yesterday. Yesterday has already forgotten us.
This was never written to be a song but it turned into one - a timeless one, the kind of song you want your sons to hear. Written by Mary Schmich, a columnist for the Chicago Tribune in the 90's.
"Accept certain, inalienable truths. Enjoy the power, and beauty .. of your youth. Sometimes you're ahead .. sometimes you're behind. The race is long. But in the end .. it's only but yourself. Don't worry about the future."
Sunscreen.
(Comments off. But how beautiful are Sagittarians.)
This is ostensibly a piece of writing about trains. But it has nothing to do with trains.
I been catching a lot of trains recently. Not with my bare hands anymore, knees weak arms are heavy and yet .. how illuminating is it to be on trains? With strangers? I keep taking photos. The pic above is one of my all-time favourites. Wasn't even cranky at the guy at all, it was afternoon peak hour and he was SO exhausted and snoring. His head kept falling onto my shoulder then he'd snap back to reality, go to sleep, fall on my shoulder again, etc. I didn't begrudge him his sleep in fact I admired him for being so tired after going out there in the world.
Every single time I'm on a train I look around and wonder where all the people are going. What are they doing, who are they, what's their name rank file and serial number. We all go about our respective days every day. The hell do people do?
I've learnt a lot from recent train escapades. Especially about personal space, common courtesy, acceptance of loud people on the quiet carriages. In India they have pink train carriages reserved only for women which was a relief. When I was over there on a train I was standing in a crowded vestibule facing the window but in the reflection I could see - a sea, every single man crowded behind me was looking at me in such ways as unnerving. Vile, ugh. Afterwards I always went on a pink carriage with female security guards who would YELL at every man who attempted to get on. I'm no man-hater I swear but standing in that vestibule with those hungry males eyes and thoughts was one of the most disturbing experiences. I may as well have had no clothes on at all.
So recently on a train this guy completely invaded my five-seater. He sat down, cloistered and squeezed all of his luggage encircling the five-seater. The only baggage I had was emotional so physically I wasn't taking up much space - but when he plonked himself down there was no chance for me to escape unless I actually climbed up on top of the train seat. I had my headphones on, listening to Tupac who I really wish wasn't dead but that's not the point. Point is, I was having an "I'm out in public in public spaces with members of the public uggghhhh yuck anxiety-ridden day." And there were other seats for him to choose - entire four-seaters he could have claimed as his own but no. My dark sunnies meant I could watch him look me up and down, back and forth, with that old familiar feeling that women know when they're getting leered at. I wasn't in the goddamn mood. And I knew I wanted to write about this eventually so I snapped some happy snaps of the occasion:
I speak fluent body language and even though this guy sat diagonal, I had to keep moving my legs and scrunched myself up so he wouldn't touch me because he kept "accidentally" touching me. His hand almost fell off his knee onto my knee I JUST WANT TO LISTEN TO DEAD TUPAC. I was actually already aiming my phone at my face for a selfie to illustrate my peeved offness and happened to snap it RIGHT at the moment he asked me a question while I was wearing headphones listening to Tupac, my body as close to the window as I could, trapped in this five-seater unescapable fort.
Getting. Very. Angry.
See how I had my arm across my chest? He kept looking at my breasts. My brain actually thought "Oh I shouldn't have worn this top or he wouldn't be staring." See my eyebrow raise, the tight lips? It's because I ignored his question. I heard his question perfectly, just didn't want to answer it but when I didn't answer .. he threw his hands up in the air like I was the rudest bitch in town. Oh dude .. you have no idea how very much more than the rudest bitch in town I can be. I started filming thought ok, let's go. The video is over on my facebook page if you want to take a look but it goes a little something like this:
Me: (Takes headphones off.) "Sorry were you trying to ask me a question when I had my headphones on?"
Leery: "Yeah yeah I was just sayin' ... are those cowhide boots?
Me: "Yes. Yes - my boots are made from cowhide. Umm, I'm gonna go. I feel really uncomfortable and looked at. (At this point I was CLAMBERING over both seats and his Mt Everest luggage like a blanket fort gone wrong.) "So, you know, have a nice trip."
Then I ranted into my camera phone something along the lines of "This shit happens all the time. Men stare at women and claim space that is not theirs ... I'm 44. Not asking to be looked at, I'm just too old for this shit." He started ranting loudly. "I only bloody asked you about your boots!" So I changed carriages and THEN my phone died which obviously was the real tragedy of the situation.
However just a few days on a train (lots of trains I'm telling you #trains) .. something entirely hopefully unexpectedly happened! Two young women talking, I pull my headphones to one side because curious busybody - to find them animatedly talking about one of the best philosophy conversations ever. I got lost in their words, even turned my music off. It was magical. They talked of Homers Odyssey, Jung. How Frankenstein was representative of something I had no idea about. The entire story of Archilles Heel .. so, so much more. And they were talking LOUDLY. Are chicks even allowed to talk loudly on trains?
Look!!! Both sets of hands, waving wildly to illustrate all of their glorious points on Greek Gods and existentialism and all this stuff I'd never heard of. I really wish I'd thanked them for their conversation before I alighted but I didn't. I'm actually quite shy and was headed to a big day in Parramatta, defeated already.
THEN THAT SAME DAY ON THE TRAIN BACK UP THE MOUNTAINS THIS GUY WAS CRANING HIS NECK BACKWARDS TO KEEP LOOKING AT ME. I was wearing a red puffer jacket? Last time I checked red puffer jackets are not on the list of top ten sexy things to wear. WHY keep looking? I didn't have my headphones, just this face. So he soon stopped looking.
Anyway, this entire piece of words coming out of my brain to my fingers to your eyes isn't about just the surface stuff of people on trains. It's about their Souls and their Spirits and what they've been through in their lives, why do they look so defeated. Why are they so jovial. What are their names? Do they stay up until 2am questioning the Universe too? Have they just welcomed a new baby into their lives? Have they had their hearts smashed to smithereens against rocks like all those shipwrecks under the sea my boys and I saw from that lighthouse at the beginning of 2013? Are the people on the trains on medication? Which ones? Ever gone crazy? Ever came good? How do they cope how do they live?
Do the people on the trains wonder about the Federal Reserve? The UTTERLY CORRUPT Dakota Pipeline and how the authorities are itching to infiltrate peaceful gatherings of people and turn it all into a civilian war protest and get them the hell out of there? I wonder if the people on trains know about the damage the Rothschild family have done to the world for generations, funding all sides of wars since Napoleon days? Do the people on the trains and the platforms and the stations spilling out into the cities beyond the trains .. are they nurses or students, office workers, nothing people, undercover detectives, bored shop assistants, busy builders, writers dreamers hopers thinkers artists midnight creatures? WHO ARE ALL OF THE PEOPLE AND WHAT DO THEY DREAM ABOUT? You can feel so lonely on the busiest platforms. Especially when you look around and people have such purpose in their steps. But we don't know what the other has been through, the deaths, the hard, financial woes, heartbreaks and joys, grief and betrayal.
Anyway this entire post has gone off the rails and I've lost my train of thought. I've been on the wrong side of the tracks for some time, it's painful to be a trainwreck, lose your schedule and get scheduled. But right now I'm in the library, or as I used to call it when I was a kid "the liberry." Thinking about all the meanings, definitions, and symbolism of trains. Paulo Coelho says life is the train, not the destination. Marianne Williamson says if a train doesn't stop at your destination, then it's not your train.
The best bit about travelling somewhere on any form of transportation is the freedom one feels about being suspended between two places but you're still travelling somewhere. With purpose, even. That's a good feeling, don't you think?
Now when I'm on a train - and ONLY if there are a veritable plethora of vacant seats - I purposely don't let anybody sit next to me. I'm being quite a wanker about it really. Just making a small personal statement that I'm allowed to take up space. Spread out a bit.
My 8-year old son and I recently watched the entire movie series of Star Wars and we were both fascinated. He for the first time, but me because I finally GOT it. The storyline, the Force, why Jedi is considered its own religion. I love being on trains with my son. I love being anywhere with him, he has this whole different slant on things I wouldn't ordinarily realise. We were talking about Darth Vader and the reasons he turned "bad" after being one of the best boss Jedi Knights of all time. (That I completely understood why Anakin turned to the Dark Side of the Force scared the utter shit out of me.) We both love Yoda the most. Rocco stood in front of me looking into my eyes and waving his hands all Jedi-mind trick at 10pm. "You WILL let me have an ice block before bed, mum." "An ice block shall you have, son."
Coincidentally for ages now I've been seeing this exact quote pop up everywhere, long before we watched Star Wars, way longer than I started catching trains so often.
That's the end of this blog post except to say I lost everything I feared to lose but I hadn't trained myself to lose everything. Therefore I've got some training to do.
I'm catching a train early in the morning AGAIN because I don't like driving to Sydney. I prefer my trains. Especially all the people on them.
Oh this song. (Did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there?) (Comments to this website are still not enabled .. I'm still in training.)
A lot of us are our own worst enemies so I thought I'd share a few examples where I'm not fucked up. You're probably not as fucked up as you think either so maybe you can count up your myriadness too if you like. Probably do us the world of good.
1)
Slowly learning at the end of a hard day that I'm still here, I still rose like the sun, and I did my best. Even if my best was shit - I still did SOMETHING.
2)
Parramasala Slam 2014, owned it, won it.
I slam poetry down quicker than those guys in the 80's VB ads slammed down their cans. The word "poetry" has negative connotations but slam poems are political firestorms of machine-gun words in quick succession. It's hip-hop music without the music, just lyrics. I've been asked to headline a poetry slam next month and I've already built a bigger boat for the words in my head.
3)
The art of not giving a fuck and actually giving a fuck is an art I'm practicing. We must give a fuck about the RIGHT things, and not give a fuck about the WRONG things. A give-a-fuck tightrope walk, if you will.
4)
I'm an extraordinary, loving mother to my kids. Put my hand up when I haven't coped. I've parented so well and so hard for 16 years, starting from the year 2000 when my (step)son came to live with us at age 8. I did courses on how to be a better mother. I slogged my heart and guts and soul out to make sure they are ok and felt loved and secure and stand up for themselves and not be bullies or arseholes or meek. I have failed as a mother, I have shone as a mother, and everything in between. Currently watching the last season of Nurse Jackie. In the first episode she puts makeup on and walks into the bar her husband owns which they used to own together but everything is his now she's cool with that. He was serving drinks to customers and she politely spoke to him about seeing her two daughters and he said she couldn't see her two daughters because he didn't think she could be trusted because of previous transgressions of which she is fixing, fixing. He says flat-out no and goes to give another beer to a customer sitting at the bar.
Nurse Jackie didn't give a fuck who was in the bar, who heard, who thought what about her causing any kind of scene. She shouted at her ex in front of everybody that she WILL see her girls, do NOT start this shit Kevin, or he won't know what hit him. She was fury. Said her piece, walked out. And eventually saw her girls in the next episode and hugged them so tight, cooked the wrong thing for dinner, the youngest asked what Jackie's two days in jail were like did she have to poop in front of other people? Her eldest was wary, resigned, but very clearly had missed her flawed mother. Called her mother unreliable, called her on her bullshit, told her to face exactly what she thought. Nurse Jackie, after everything, was still afforded the time and respect from her girls.
5)
I'm feeling you Daryl but your brother isn't coming back. Time moves on and we live with the empty gaping unfillable hole. Ironic that it's called "loss" when loss never goes away, it's here to stay. (It's personally taken me three years and one month to reach a level of acceptance I never ever thought was possible but it IS which means all things from here on in are possible. All. Things.)
6)
Did I hit Melbourne airport last Monday afternoon in terror thinking oh my god I have made a huge error of judgement whose dumb idea was this how will I stay at Nathalie's house for three days I DON'T STAY AT PEOPLES HOUSES. But she zooms in and picks me up from the airport and it was only weird for a few hours until I settled in to join a quite extraordinary family Indian meal where everybody talked and laughed over the dinner table and everybody listened to what everybody else had to say. Laughter and love and wow. I should have done that been that worked on that for fifteen years MISTAKES WERE MADE.
7)
Finally met Berry, the editor of Dumbo Feather Magazine. She spoke, the CEO of Greenpeace Australia also spoke, then I spoke/laughed/cried/swore/apologised told everyone how I gave a copy of the issue to my sons to read, way too dark but this is who their mother is. Berry is *insert incredible adjective here* Afterwards Nathalie and I found a boutique eatery whose food exists ENTIRELY OF CHEESE. Omg. First time in my life I've eaten non-Kraft mac'n'cheese fancy like Iggy hell yes.
8)
This is who I am. Who I am is ok. Who I am is ok. Who you are is ok. Keep saying it until we believe it. Who we are is ok. It's ok. And when it's not we work until it's ok again.
Ok?
::
(COMMENTS STILL OFF I'M SO SORRY BUT THERE'S TOO MUCH BILE BEING WRITTEN IN THERE LATELY SO NO, YUCKY PEOPLE. You don't get a say. If you want a yucky say email me [email protected] with subject line "HATE" and I'll file it in emails marked "never to be read." Thanks.)
