tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9665019384271420052024-03-19T03:44:39.874+00:00sang chansonNorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492963967165912925noreply@blogger.comBlogger60125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-966501938427142005.post-3210318349275076142016-11-18T14:43:00.001+00:002016-11-18T14:43:29.808+00:0005 11 2016, BrusselsWhat to do.
<br>
No one is there anymore to hide your doubts
<br>
behind
<br>
Rather exposed
<br>
Alone
<br>
But maybe less alone than usual
<br>
You'd Never Know It
<br>
Something has been passed through
<br>
Is being passed through
<br>
This must be why there is so much pain
<br>
Can we make it?
<br>
Will you still be there
<br>
Will I still be there beside you
<br>
Will we be unrecognizable to the other
<br>
Or will we find ever more love beyond this pain
<br>
Which I feel and maybe you share
<br>
Nonsense pain felt anyway
<br>
Inexplicably as weight and doubt and fear
<br>
Let me be rid of you but not lose the one I loveNorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492963967165912925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-966501938427142005.post-60072753113686926302016-11-18T14:33:00.001+00:002016-11-18T14:33:53.469+00:0009 2016, Brussels/Ljubljanaempathy for the bloody countess
<br>
melancholy and bestiality
<br>
(beasts do not have language)
<br>
the Red of the bloody countess,
<br>
to kill all those girls
<br>
and for each one to be I.
<br>
All bodily
<br>
“girl monster”
<br>
(rise from the dead)
<br>
return to
<br>
a torrent of words.Norhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492963967165912925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-966501938427142005.post-29753377428157464362016-01-19T12:38:00.001+00:002016-01-19T12:38:32.468+00:0017 01 2016, BerlinInside the boiling water of the artichokes is your and my frustration<br>
Inability at communication<br>
clashes<br>
it steams and bubbles<br>
dying the water<br>
dying<br>
green<br>
like envy<br><br>
I turn the heat down<br>
because I love you too much to see your frustration<br>
pain tells me I know better<br>
and loss – this time –<br>
would not be welcome<br>
Norhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492963967165912925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-966501938427142005.post-81993673209145556602015-08-28T05:07:00.000+01:002015-08-28T05:07:04.913+01:0025 08 2015, MelbourneBeats and cowbells à la The Rapture at 8.30 in the morning in a café where everyone works alone in the guise of a collective morning experience. The morning bar/club music keeps pace as people type emails ever faster. It gives the sense that what they're working on, while eating their 1L organic muesli is in time with the pace of the city. That their very soul is part of the fabric and energy that holds the economy together. I'm interrupted of course by the demand to order for, after all, this morning vibe is expensive. A lot of soy FWs keep this place ticking over. There's always rent to be paid to someone. The morning breakfasters~workers must know they're paying rent for the privilege to be in public, alone, with others. At work.Norhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492963967165912925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-966501938427142005.post-71940264154684205672015-07-16T01:27:00.002+01:002015-07-16T01:36:21.505+01:00early 04 2015, TokyoI find myself in Tokyo looking for<br>
signs of queer on the Yamanote line<br>
The circular one<br>
Circle line in London<br>
Something else in Berlin<br>
Anyway, a ring<br>
A feminine moustached person<br>
Low cut top<br>
Crossed legs, angled hips<br>
A young girl who<br>
Just<br>
Says dyke<br>
That hair flick, the way she looks at<br>
her friends<br>
The clothes<br>
But mainly the way she uses her<br>
mouth<br>
<br>
'You're in the right place, it's just that <br>
there are multiple ways to get here.' - <br>
USA man at Otsuka station to <br>
another Caucasian manNorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492963967165912925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-966501938427142005.post-77822355160076703312014-10-02T00:20:00.000+01:002014-10-02T00:20:43.604+01:0001 10 2014, Pariswhen struggling in the quagmire of one's own thoughts,<br>
-stories, people, futures-<br>
which swell and cross like rough surf<br>
not permitting - not wanting - a clear line to shore<br>
the best approach is to tread, lightly,<br>
water<br>
cultivate patience,<br>
stamina<br>
and remember that there is always more to come,<br>
that waters calm and roughen<br>
as the pulse that tempers them needs not much<br>
to fall in and out of sync<br>
with the world<br>
the moon, for example,<br>
could suffice<br>Norhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492963967165912925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-966501938427142005.post-10741805564299482232014-01-22T01:43:00.000+00:002014-01-22T01:47:32.069+00:0022 01 2014, Sydney<u>'Cannot believe you pulled the gender card. BUSTED.'</u>
<br><br>
Yeh I will pull it whenever I want sucker!!! That card is stuck on you like a lick of fresh cum in the morning sun. And I meant it like I said it , the male is there no matter what and my maleness will never touch yours, cunt
<BR><BR>
[Poem of the day via iMessage]Norhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492963967165912925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-966501938427142005.post-17649910009458783852013-12-23T04:30:00.005+00:002013-12-23T04:32:17.531+00:0023 12 2013, Sydney<u>Cup poem</u>
<br><br>
The cup is full<br>
Whether we like it or not<br>
We fill it up with things<br>
Like history, habits and personality traits, relations and obligations, desires<br>
That we believe define us, give our life shape<br>
And then we attach things to them that seem impenetrable, indisputable<br>
Like loves that come to serve as cordial that flavors all else in the cup<br>
Until nothing can be tasted anew<br>
Only through the taste of the self-spiked liquid<br>
Colouring all<br>
We toil over the sloshing cup nonetheless, ignoring its bias<br>
Rearranging particles, trying to get to the essence<br>
But never able to see clearly<br>
Due to drunkenness<br>Norhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492963967165912925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-966501938427142005.post-8719068777201785542013-06-10T14:40:00.000+01:002013-06-10T14:41:10.172+01:0010 06 2013, Sydneyi wish.
<br><br>
that would be cool.
<br><br>
i wish i cld be cool.
<br><br>
but i'm in a fug meNorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492963967165912925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-966501938427142005.post-41308556375881622242013-06-10T14:37:00.000+01:002013-06-10T14:37:34.109+01:0007 06 2013, SydneyI read in <i>The Marriage Plot</i>: "Breakfast was a coffee and the biscuit that came with it" and I remembered I'd been given a biscuit with my coffee this morning and put it in my <i>left</i> pocket. I got it out and took a bite with my afternoon coffee, just now.Norhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492963967165912925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-966501938427142005.post-9861223530075822912012-12-06T12:11:00.003+00:002012-12-06T12:13:38.863+00:0006 12 2012, Sydneyif my love is blind
<br>then i don't want to see
<br>
<br>- R. OrbisonNorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492963967165912925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-966501938427142005.post-91583881110678283962012-08-19T15:14:00.001+01:002012-08-19T15:14:34.943+01:0019 08 2012, Sydney'Chance of a Lifetime'Norhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492963967165912925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-966501938427142005.post-82472258022112753102012-08-17T17:57:00.006+01:002012-08-17T18:17:20.167+01:0017 08 2012, Sydneylife question numero uno :<br /><br />opportunism or attack ?<br /><br />going with the flow can be wise, comfortable, complacent, even to the extent of fatalism<br /><br />until the day you wake up and see that the flow took you somewhere you didn't want to go<br /><br />but where do and did you want to go ?<br /><br />and does it even matter ?<br /><br />in any case<br /><br />$$ won't make you happy; but it can get you where you want to go.<br /><br />so there must be a want.<br /><br />want is the opposite of flow<br /><br />want makes things happen.<br /><br />but where and what is want in a world of obligation and prescription ?<br /><br />in a world of flows?<br /><br />(answer : attack)Norhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492963967165912925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-966501938427142005.post-30999893273011378932012-06-05T07:31:00.002+01:002012-06-05T07:32:26.400+01:0005 06 2012, Sydneymy mood is the rain<br /><br />the rain is my mood<br /><br />so keep raining, sky<br /><br />but not for too long ...Norhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492963967165912925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-966501938427142005.post-13435358924270460832012-05-15T15:49:00.001+01:002012-05-15T15:49:48.788+01:0016 05 2012, Sydneywe live in dark<br />dark<br />times<br /><br />and yet<br />the sun<br />still<br />shinesNorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492963967165912925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-966501938427142005.post-59420392594089848682012-04-21T03:12:00.000+01:002012-04-21T03:12:44.175+01:0021 04 2012, Sydneyit's all about expropriationNorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492963967165912925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-966501938427142005.post-3663396462819097882012-04-20T14:48:00.002+01:002012-04-20T14:54:53.422+01:0020 04 2012, SydneyWe will look back and laugh at how ignorant we were.<br /><br />Soon the lives we live now will seem like strange hallucinations.<br /><br />The things we did and had and said become absurd nightmares that occurred in the most utter blindness (voluntary blindness), producing the thickest darkness the world has ever known.<br /><br />Our light will be the day we can - if we're lucky - look back and see how dark it really was right now, what horror we undertook in the name of complacency.<br /><br />To see this world, back, will be at once the reward and the torment of those who survive.Norhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492963967165912925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-966501938427142005.post-73924646982956231352012-04-09T07:19:00.000+01:002012-04-09T07:20:03.471+01:0009 04 2012, Sydneythat's <i>so</i> funny.Norhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492963967165912925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-966501938427142005.post-90258846797451371332012-03-21T06:44:00.002+00:002012-03-21T06:55:36.672+00:0021 03 2012, Sydneyif you think it -<br />but then realise,<br />suicide is not even an option,<br />then,<br />everything is suddenly wonderful,<br />nothing feels quite so heavy as it did,<br />for,<br />with the knowledge that you <i>want</i> to live<br />even if life is confused right now,<br />one is given strength, power.<br />the knowledge is:<br />living (right now) is infinitely preferable <br />to giving up (right now)<br />which would mean (i assume) never knowing<br />what life could <i>become</i><br />whether more confused or less so (beside point).<br />so the thought of the <i>possibility of suicide</i><br />is a force that can breathe life not death<br />into tired, overwhelmed heads<br />lucky, i suppose, that there is so much breath <br />to be breathed, lived<br />(so much more confusion to be had)<br />so much to wait and see!<br />and make happen oneselfNorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492963967165912925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-966501938427142005.post-58685750875097940712012-03-20T12:42:00.001+00:002012-03-20T12:42:58.654+00:0020 03 2012, SydneyDo it all<br />Then change the planNorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492963967165912925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-966501938427142005.post-52019089325326833982011-12-12T18:05:00.002+00:002011-12-12T18:10:56.286+00:0012 12 2011, LondonI found this, today, quoted at the beginning of Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri's <i>Commonwealth</i> (2009):<br /><br />"People only ever have the degree of freedom that their audacity wins from fear."<br /><br />-- Stendhal, <i>Vie de Napoléon</i><br /><br />Glad to see we have all been thinking the same things for centuries...<br />Sad to see it still needs to be said...Norhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492963967165912925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-966501938427142005.post-51956280334314995932011-12-11T15:00:00.002+00:002011-12-11T15:10:07.162+00:0008 12 2011, London[Written for <a href="http://imwithyouclapton.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">I'm with you</a>'s <i>I'm with you : Occupy London</i> event - 08 12 2011, London] <br /><br />I woke up in a new bed, well<br />I laid in luxuriously<br />I was warm and I was comfortable and I was enjoying the light<br />I was daydreaming<br />But I was annoyed at myself<br />Because last night I couldn't do what I'd set out to do that evening<br />I couldn't bring myself to<br />Make the move that I so wanted to make<br />The move that seemed so easy in dreams but so impossible in confrontation<br />Because I was somehow, somewhere, irrationally<br />Fearful<br /><br />Fearful of rejection (which logically I'm quite sure would not have come)<br />Fearful of putting myself on the edge, making myself vulnerable and responsible and risking comfort<br />I despise this fear, it is poison, <br />And rationally, existentially,<br />I know that audacity in fact very rarely brings about rejection<br />And that being comfortable, secure and acceptable is not what I want – in theory<br />For surely if audacity could bring about rejection, in any form<br />Then it is a pill worth swallowing<br />For it can only help<br /><br />Whereas fear, the opposite of audacity, or <b>boldness</b> as we may like to call it<br />Is like being rejected without even the attempt! <br />Automatic-reject!<br /><br />So to choose fear over audacity <br />Because there is less chance of overt rejection<br />Is like choosing rejection straight up<br />Choosing rejection before even permitting the attempt <br />Choosing rejection before even attempting to move<br /><br />I know all this ! And yet … the fear is there<br />So how do we confront?<br />How do we move?<br />We must move!<br /><br />I propose the attempt itself as the kernel of audacious and bold life<br />We know we must move<br />We must move in all directions<br />In any direction<br />We must only ensure that we are not deluding ourselves that rejection isn't worth the risk<br /><br />So don't let me stand on the safe side<br />The side where my sensible, well-trained mind is very comfortable, actually<br />The side that prevents us from moving<br /><br />The side where there are no attempts, just preemptsNorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492963967165912925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-966501938427142005.post-59895519078257203982011-12-03T13:01:00.002+00:002011-12-03T13:11:46.217+00:0003 12 2011, LondonWe talk when there is nothing to say,<br /><br />we don't talk when everything needs to be said.Norhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492963967165912925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-966501938427142005.post-46468735781838744032011-11-14T19:44:00.008+00:002011-11-14T19:56:54.220+00:0014 11 2011, Londontailored fags<br />
<br />
smoking friends down to the filter<br />
like tom says<br />
<br />
we want to<br />
but the other prevents<br />
(usually, but not always, I HOPE)<br />
because of 'work' and fear<br />
<br />
and laziness<br />
of mind and spirit<br />
<br />
and the self condones<br />
oh! the horror<br />
<br />
of denying magnitude<br />
for the sake of the safety of this phoney world<br />
<br />
(of 'No Smoking'!)Norhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492963967165912925noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-966501938427142005.post-17520763802371587792011-10-27T08:21:00.011+01:002011-10-27T12:06:06.489+01:0027 10 2011, Moorlandfarm <br />fags<br />fortified shiraz<br />father<br />family<br />food<br /><br />slow conversations<br />of past <br />waiting for sentences to finish<br />learning of grandparents, great grandparents, Switzerland, Sydney, Moorland, and the depression<br />"country bumpkins" ? ha ha !<br /><br />Benedict Weber (great grandfather, immigrated from Zürich), James Otto Weber (grandfather), Ada Aileen Weber née Pryor (grandmother), Flora Helena Weber née Kidd (great grandmother, whose pendant I wear now), etc.<br /><br />Benedict came to Australia in (circa) 1883, first to Kangaroo Valley, where he married Mary Flynn, and had two children, then settling in Moorland after Mary's death. There he married Flora Helena and they had seven children, including James Otto, born 1906.<br /><br />Jack (Otto's older brother) was visited by Joseph (cousin in Switzerland) in Paris where he was in hospital during the First World War.<br /><br />Aileen lived in Sydney with her Aunt Jean until she was 25. They went to the Randwick Races often; Aileen's father Arthur Pryor bred horses and Aileen liked to bet!<br /><br />Aileen went to evening dos with her cousin, a dentist. She wore crocodile skin shoes.<br /><br />Jean and Aileen cooked and served food to homeless and hungry people during the depression. She wore crocodile skin shoes.<br /><br />Otto lived in Moorland, where he worked the farm, played piano in a band called The Chequers, and represent the North Coast of New South Wales in both Cricket and Rugby League.<br /><br />Aileen and Otto married when Aileen was in her mid-thirties, Otto was seven years older. Jean didn't approve of Otto for Aileen, who she thought could do better (read: richer).<br /><br />James Michael was born in 1949, when Ada Aileen was nearly 36.<br /><br /><br />love over money romance rendered so by (me) (and) decades hindsight<br />maybe it was<br />we will never know<br />but the story goes that they loved each other<br /><br /><br />we play piano, violin and sing <br />go for walks in the paddocks, along the river, creeks and dams<br />to explore familiar land<br />with those still here<br /><br />looking at maps of the world, maps of possibilities, histories and lives lived<br />by someone important to someone<br />then looking out our own broad windows to a whole world<br />a whole history<br />that is somehow irrelevant, somewhat irretrievable<br />and at once vital, necessary, useful for self-narrative<br />for future narrative and time perspective<br />connecting now flesh to then flesh will enable future flesh, perhaps<br />otherwise it is lost? lost is a silly concept. it doesn't need to be found if it is really lost.<br />i guess that's why we attempt retrieval while it's still possible <br />to get an idea<br />to create that narrative<br /><br />this irretrievable is sought<br />through the slow conversations<br />the wandering across paddocks<br />the attempt to ask, to retell<br />to remember<br />what is long gone<br /><br />people who i never knew, will never know<br />people who never knew me, will never know<br /><br />people i have nothing to do with <br />except blood and earth<br />depending how you look at it<br />what day it is<br />and if you are on that earth<br /><br />which is a lot and nothingNorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11492963967165912925noreply@blogger.com1