15/11/2010

This thing called life, what’s it all about?

Is it about money, power and respect?
Is it about love, peace and harmony?
Is it about being good, bad and repentant?
Is life simply what you make of it?

I personally feel its the latter.
Who knows when the clock will stop, will you be satisfied when you suddenly find yourself back where you started without any chance to do all the things you wanted?

Life is what you make of it.

Some may argue that its by the will of the Divine, but is it?
Has everything already been written?
If so does the Divine give you free will to follow what’s programmed deep into your soul?
What’s it all about?

Is it all about being afraid to step out of line?
Is it about being guilty for your honest actions?
Is it about being scared of burning in hell fire?
Why’s there always an emphasis on panic and despair?

What’s your life about?
My life involves seeking answers to my ever inquisitive mind, whilst exploring the vast wilderness of creativity, documenting my existence and writing a diary to give to the Divine just in case they are watching someone else.

This thing called life, what’s it all about?

It could be your own feature film or television drama.
You could be transmitting the world through your eyes into the outer regions of the universe who are so far ahead of our time, they already know what’s happening next week, year, lifetime.
If we cast our eyes back to the question…

Is it written?

You can connect the dot to instinct and intuition which allows the mind to calculate and foresee events, forecasting what is going to happen.
One must be extremely attentive to take action because some signs are much more subtle than others, which you only realise what just happened once its too late.

This thing called life, what’s it all about?

Explore yourself.
Know yourself inside out.
Love yourself.
Be honest.
See the beauty in everything.
Look on the bright side.

Its so easy to dwell upon and remember the darkness but we seldom remember the good times, the times we basked considering seven suns.
Times where nothing outside of us mattered.
Us.
Team Seven.

This thing called life, what’s it all about?

Love.
Peace.
Exploration.
Discovery.

Its only when you put these four cornerstones in place is when you can build a serene temple.

Life is what you make of it so don’t waste it because this may be one chance in seven lifetimes to live amongst and experience life as mortals.

Peace

02/12/2010

It’s very rare that I sit in silence, the only thing I can hear is the sound of buzzing from the light a few centimetres away from me.

I want to write, I felt like writing, I am writing.

Where do I go from here?

The more I write, the more progress I make, I feel like I’m pushing myself even further, causing me to improve. I write much more frequently so its more easier to get a train of thought down, much simpler to type as I think, every thought becoming words, thinking one word or letter at a time, an unspeakable rhythm of events…

The more I think I realise that this is what I would like to do forever. Whatever it is I’m writing will all culminate into something, somewhere along the line. As much as I want to hold back and wait for it all to unfold, I publish my work instantly because I wouldn’t want it to be stale, I hate the feeling of using something that has been left to collect dust, I only like dealing in fresh organic produce because this is after all a set of memoirs dedicated to all trains…

So what’s your point?

I’m not fussed about the future, I’m only fussed about the present, a body of work, and my legacy. I can die tonight and feel satisfied because I’ve littered the earth with a few treasures. I pray that I live to see all my work, creativeness, and dreams come to life as there’s so much more I want to do, so much to arrive…

The main point I wanted to make is that I’m not one of those status quo writers, I’m no journalist, I’m expressive, I’ll stay documenting trains and writing my truth. I stumbled halfway through this paragraph because I don’t want to sound selfish when I say, my truth, my trains, I just want to let you know that I’m no journalist, nor writer, I’m more of a collector because I document significant moments…

This is really annoying, I don’t know why I’m even writing this, I just wanted to let you know that whatever it is I end up doing, it’ll be something I enjoy, something creative and subversive, not anything to do with the status quo…

I really don’t like this but hey… A train of thought nonetheless.

11/11/2010

After a few successes and achievements you’d think I’d be celebrating but you’d be surprised at how different it is in reality.

I don’t feel balanced, my heart, head, and emotions conflict with each other because they all want different things, they all want to say things in different ways, and they all have different thresholds of tolerance.

This trinity of thought, feeling, and expression needs to brought into alignment.

Somehow I need to strike a balance, an agreement between all three.

The solution is to reassess to progress.

Sorta like acclimatising, I really need to take time out from everything.

I really need to contemplate, meditate, to formulate a plan of action.

A lot has happened, so much has happened.

I find myself giving myself pep talks all the time, similar to stay busy, focus on your goals and aspirations.

The pursuit of my goals and aspirations is a very lonely process because you retire inwards to be pensive, look outwards for signs of inspiration before diving into yourself to find an avenue to funnel your creativity through.

I feel exile is quite necessary because I really need to think, I need to find my direction again, I don’t like feeling lost.

Maybe its because for eight months out of my life I didn’t feel like the loner I was so used to being.

I’ve always become accustomed to retreating and retiring inwards rather than living life outwards, apart of the crowd, fitting in.

For eight months someone spoke the same language.

The life of a creative thinker is lonely because as an artist I often view the world through art and see life as an illusion.

The idea of time is an illusion, what we see, feel, language, signs, symbols, are all illusions.

What if I were to say the sky is not blue on a clear summers day, it is scarlet.

Every one would think I’ve lost my mind.

I’d have an army of people trying to contest my view with all their science and preconceived ideas trying to tell me what is, what isn’t, what it should be, why it should be.

They’ll try to shut down my point of view with their pre established habitual ideas, tryna force me round to their way of thinking, their ways of interpretation, constant comparisons of polarities and levels of whatever.

All of which result in suppression of my creative activity, making me scared to do anything outside of what the masses deem to be acceptable.

The only thing arising out of suppression is rebellion because what you ultimately try to force inside a big chest deep in the depths of the subconscious, will slowly seep ideas.

Ideas which escape and plant the seeds of inspiration in the conscious mind and allow you to progress.

I think I’ve suppressed everything creatively for so long that my chest of secrets has burst open.

I care not for the views of others nor the rules of convention, I spare nothing in the path of being artistic.

There comes a time when you realise everything has been an illusion, a mirage of sorts.

Rather than see what you really see, you become caught up in the smoke and mirrors, wandering.

To wander is not a bad thing as its a learning curve which inspires you to question these conventional illusions through unconventional art.

Upon observation I’ve realised that many people develop a dependency on people and possessions.

I myself am far from innocent concerning this but I’ve realised that as you gradually allow yourself to unravel through artistic means, it forces you to become one with yourself as you question all these things.

Why do you have a dependency on that particular brand, that particular possession, that particular person?

The way they make you feel right?

The way you get butterflies and tingle when you see the new collection at your favourite store, put on those shoes, see and speak to that person right?

Its an addiction.

You’re in love.

No matter how you try to break it down its relative.

Love is the biggest illusion of them all, not a negative in any shape or form but its always so easy to lose yourself in all its fruits which then become its trappings.

The way you feel, what you tolerate at the low points because you feel so good when you’re at the high points, the endless spirals of what you want it to be and believe, making a mountain out of something that never existed.

You become addicted.

Addicted to the thrills.

Addicted to the spoils of war.

Addicted to the fruits of emotion.

Addicted to the highs.

Accepting the lows.

Smoke and Mirrors.

Illusions.

Hurt.

Hurting.

Pain.

Broken records skipping over the same lines.

Freeze.

Defrost.

Detachment.

Pushing.

Pulling.

Self Preservation.

Broken dreams and self esteem.

A tarnished heart and spirit.

As much of a success the heights of love were, you still end up regretting the hurt and pain inflicted upon yourself and the other.

The emotion consumes you whilst the pheonix of resentment rises and burns everything within its path.

All bridges are lost.

All ties severed.

All letters turnt to ash.

Your words no longer mean nothing.

The diary you spent writing all that time ago has nothing left to it.

The only bits that survive are the memories, but even so the memories of the good times have become over cast by the clouds of darkness, which led to the final curtain being drawn.

It all becomes an illusion, which sits in the memories you’d rather not remember until you end up burying and forgetting.

I guess life goes on.

I guess its time to leave the departure lounge and board the plane.

I guess its time to bid farewell to the island and document my time spent through a string of odes, which politely capture all moments.

I’m going into self imposed exile.

I need to readjust.

I’ve sent a few messages.

I hope you understand.

Monday 28th November 2011

In a city as iconic as New York, everybody has a story. The place is so big that you don’t necessarily have to be told a story by the person in question; you automatically become a spectator when you look out of your window at the natives as your car passes.

You don’t have to sit and talk to someone to know their story, all you have to do is observe because you’re imagination starts sewing the thread through every piece of their puzzle: their environment, the way they walk/talk/dress, and their facial expression. We’ve seen so many depictions of this iconic city a million times over; The kid walking down the block on his way to the ‘Liquor Store’ to buy some candy instantly becomes the eldest sibling who has become a young carer as a result of an absent father and a mother addicted to drugs. The same kid who is the top of his class en route to a stellar career in law instantly becomes the kid who caves in to the pressure of his environment by dropping out of college to become the local drug general.

This is something that the Big Apple does to all visitors because we’re so used to the hyperreality often seen on TV, film, music, and literature.
In all honesty I can only speak on my own behalf because I can’t help but to become wrapped up in the NYC fantasy, especially on my first visit.

The city, the life, and its natives are amazing, beyond all the smoke and the preconceived mirrors is where you’ll find six million stories based on actuality so I guess this is a way of me saying that its time for me to remove my hyperrealist lenses.

Thursday 20th October 2011

My beloved duvet, the safest place in the world.

My place of peace, tranquility, contemplation, and creativity.

When times get rough in the midnight hour, I dim the lights, slip into my duvet and head straight to the notepad to write whatever it is that’s currently playing the equivalent of a mahooosive anvil on top of my cranium.

Call after call, alarm after alarm, snooze after snooze, I’m wrapped in my duvet, wrapped in a foetal or staring up at the ceiling, clicking my ankles. I dislike being bothered when under my duvet, I detest seeing random names pop up on my phone to talk all manner of triviality so I politely press the silent button hoping that they won’t call until I’m in a frame of mind where I’m not so pensive to accommodate your nonsensical ramblings.

My duvet is my paradise retreat, keeping me warm through the autumn and winter months when the temperature drops.

I don’t even wish I could stay under my duvet until the end of time because I don’t want to forget why I love my duvet so much.

I don’t want to get tired of the one place I can go to get a slice of peace, the one place I go to close my eyes and take off into the unknown.

Time to get up and get out of my duvet and experience the cold, harsh reality of life outside of my cocoon.

Saturday 19th March 2011

Pretzels look like twisted hearts covered in sweet sticky syrup. Sometimes bitter when covered in salt, sometimes sweet when covered in sugar, dark and sweet when covered in chocolate but twisted nonetheless.

I’ve never been a fan of pretzels, nor twisted hearts, because I’ve only ever tasted the ones covered in salt, I’ve never had the pleasure of indulging in a sweet pretzel.

You do get used to the taste of the salted and dried pretzels but you get to a point where you stop eating. You forget about the pretzel, what it tastes like, the scent, the texture, every single part of the pretzel becomes non existent in your taste memory, you only remember holding it in your hand and seeing it covered in those mahoosive rocks of salt, which require you to drink a gallon of water after each packet to rehydrate because every single pretzel in the packet is covered in gigantic rocks of salt.

Would you prefer another packet of Pretzels, one which hasn’t been open to invasion by the atmosphere, a closed tightly sealed packet, or a different flavour perhaps…

What happens when you’re in the midst of a sweetened pretzel?

Will you test the pretzel flavour placing it on the tip of your tongue, or shove the whole pretzel into your mouth and wait for the surprise?
Will you gamble all you fear on buying that lottery ticket for the chance of having a winning ticket?

How can you differentiate a twisted bitter heart from a pretzel when there’s no comparison, didn’t you say that you forgot what a pretzel looked, tasted, felt and smelt like, surely you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference?

How on earth could you compare a pretzel to a heart, how do you even remember the word pretzel and not have any idea of its associated images?

There are so many inconsistencies in your statements.

Story of my life…

Pretzels – twisted and bittersweet: broken, repaired, recovering, shattered, tarnished, mending, healing, sweet, warm, cold, lustful, loving, nurturing, bright, heavy, light, sour, misused, heartless

Friday 25th March 2011

The sun still shines after the darkest night, even after the darkest of grey clouds obstructs its view, its there in the midst of a storm shining bright, illuminating the path of life.

The sun still shines in the clear blue sky, on the brightest of days, when my mood is contrary to the weather, the sun shines brightly whilst I remain inside.

I don’t want to smile, I want to lay here in this duvet, wrapped in my own melancholy for a while.

I don’t want to climb out of my duvet, to glance out of the window to see the sights, I wish it was night time, I can’t seem to hide from the light.

Away from the sun I prefer to hide, today I feel like I’m hollow inside.

The sky outside of my window is bright, I feel like a stranger to the light, so I squint my eyes.

I can’t stop it from happening, revelations are bright, time to get out of this duvet and open my eyes to the light.

The sun still shines.

29/09/2010

Failure is not something not to be feared nor considered, just go for whatever it is you want and achieve your goal, live your dream.

Failure is always a certainty because its the opposite of success, it’s a 50% certainty of the outcome with anything you do.

The more time, effort, energy and enthusiasm you put into something, the more chance you have of success because luck is not something that happens, you create it by doing.

In order for luck to come your way, you need to put the right energy into the universe so it can flow back to you.

Forget failure because it lies next to success in the future, put your trust into whatever it is you’re doing and consider what you do in the present as the most important.

The present is the only place you can see, touch, hear, smell and feel.

Work on a second to second basis, all else, past and future is void.

Seek your prize, put yourself into the moment and stay in your present continuously, to build.

Each second becomes a brick, lay one brick per second of your existence, each brick you lay represents a step of progression.

Build the highest, and most robust, from a very strong and stable foundation, which will evolve into a town, a city, a whole universe of endless possibility…

The present is where destiny lies so grab it, embrace it whilst u can.

It goes nowhere but it also requires you to stand up and say:

Forget failure, I’m going for mine. This moment is forever, there is neither past nor future, just right now.

Think about it this way; a creator transcends time, a creator lives in one moment because that one moment transcends all time frames because a creator is eternal, boundless.

It makes no sense to procrastinate so become boundless, infinite, and timeless as the creator, live in the moment.

A creator is successful because they live outside of the hourglass, and dictate life in the confines of the hourglass from the outside.

Live in your moment, that’s all that matters, forget failure just do, be present because it’s one of the only places you can trust yourself to make a difference.

Excerpt From: Khalid Omari. “Catharsis: Allegorically Speaking”.