Book Extract 4

Here’s another extract from thee first draft of my autobiography Falcon Who Soars. This is a journal entry from early 94, 2 days after I moved into a flat in the city of Melbourne. I was very unhappy. When I read this I find it almost impossible to believe that this person is me. I am no longer who I was and the old me seems almost alien to my my mind and my way of being. 

Writing this book has been very cathartic. Some days it’s very painful but I remind my self – it is all just a memory and story. It is not who I am. 

When I look at my 13 year old son Toa – I see a beautiful boy who radiates such light and joy. It is my wish, that despite all the suffering he has already endured, he continues to feel that life is a wonderful, precious gift worth living – no matter how ugly the world appears to be.

 

Journal entry March 11th, 1994 1:29 am

I wish dad could see the beauty of love. I feel sorry for mum. I hope her spine heals, her OCD dies and her emotional anguish disintegrates (because she will find the man she deserves – Christian and new age). She has a pure heart. I must show her the love she deserves, as I must also with dad.

Great White near Semaphore jetty… I’ve just had my first hot purge (a bath) in over two days. My body smells of sex emulsions and my pillow of sweat and hair dye (mahognony red). No I probably don’t have testicular cancer – the left is often larger than the right…The traffic never ceases outside my window, the Tullamarine Freeway keeps a never ending vigil. I for one wish the road would crack up. …I have not seen the night sky since I have been here. G tells me that it cannot be seen through the orange glow of the city light … I’m gonna die without my otherworld of planets, pulsars, quasars, dark matter, ufos and black holes. Will I begin introversion to compensate ? I’m not ready for a Buddhists life !

11:47 am … A family of rabbits climbed out of the finger nails on my left hand this morning. They turned around simultaneously gazed at me, then jumped through a backflip into the palm of my hand. I closed my hand and absorbed them all. I had no need for breakfast. I was now as full as an amoeba with an umpalumpa man inside it’s vacuoles. I’m now on the 55 tram to the city. Dad awaits my presence in room 1712 at the Hyatt on Collins (B’s work place)… No or very little eye makeup on my face – fear of revelation, I find it most appropriate to remove any evidence of a mask.

 

6:02 pm. Should I got to Brisbane or Adelaide ? Evacuate this pit ??? I purchased a tomahawk today. I should have chosen a machete. I will buy a long bladed knife when I can afford to do so. Why ? Attack the self, destroy your own image.

 

6:10 pm A man in a seat with no hair, obese flesh, wandering transient eyes and coke bottle glasses, man o weird, his head in a pandantic disabled rythym gazing at us the passing train…I sit here. I guzzle junk food like water, CC’s and Burger Rings ease the pain in my gullet. They leave the taste of burning shit in the pads of my tongue.

 

6:27 pm Another tram No 57 – a leaf runs down the road like a wheel – a mobile wheel.

 

Journal entry March 12th, 1994 10:50 7:14pm B’s House

Dad would be in the South China Sea about now … but where the fuck is G ? B is on her way to Quambatook … Fractal like emotions diverge and converge inside the intangible realm of my mind. I the thought am spliced with threads of complexity and emptiness. What am I ? We ? …Where is home ? I need a home. I need a job, I need to feel useful, I need the money, I need motivation. I need love. That’s all, just love…I’m tired of hearing cars on the freeway 24 hrs non fucking stop. I need some FUCKING SILENCE. I could easily start a major pile up and kill people. I only need drop a bottle on the freeway but how riduclous. Anyone could do that. What are you, some kind of standup comedian ? You are really down, pick yourself up, everything will be allright. It always is. For once in your life look on the bright side ‘Always look on the bright side of life’ (Life of Brian).

 

Voodoo men find the one who shamed them. They remove all of his organs and dismember his body. Drain the blood into old blue rum bottles. Stick him to the wall using tribal blades, with limbs switched. Left arm in place of right foot, right arm in place of left foot, right foot in place of left arm, left foot in place of right arm. His head is buried in a hole in his chest. His mouth contains both his heart and his genitals. Black candles burn from his rectum and the hole in his neck. His family arrives home after walking the dog. The children are the first to enter the room.

 

I cried at boarding school because I failed a test for a football referees certificate from a fat guy with the strangest most fucked up nose I have ever seen. What a joke. I was so sensitive as a child. When I first met A C he was on crutches, we were friends. He hated me by the end of year 10/11. Fucker. Why did everyone hate me so much ? I’m so alone because of that place, because of MG. Maybe she meant well but it didn’t turn out that way. I have to forget all that shit. I am here, now, I survived, so now I have to start living. After all G loves me, what could be better than that ole blue eyes ?

 

Running to stand still – there’s too many sharks in the gene pool, the jetty’s are getting smaller – there used to be giant mothers in the inland sea.

 

3:10 am You know I am so little in this universe. Every day I think about love, death, sex, god, the universe (origin – what is it ?), G, my future, serial killers and the animals. I wish there were peace, not only with the human species but between humans and other species. Serves some of us right if aliens are abducting. I wonder was the face I saw real ? Or imagined ? Or dreamed ?

 

I wish I could focus on into physical reality but I can’t. I’m so worried. Must be positive, decline/bury these thoughts, these fears. 

 

One

Separation is an illusion.

Earth Songs

I absolutely love when 2 cultures meet musically and it works well. Here are some inspired works that bring the best of 2 cultures together in what to me is a kind of transcendent music.

These Threads Between

These Threads Between 

Here I am in the heart of night

Stretching your life over my words

My imagination touches on the presence growing inside you

But I cannot know who you will be before the time has come

                                       And yet I picture you

                                       before you were conceived

                                       some fleshless soul journeying beyond this bloodied room

                                       and later, much later

                                       when all your work is done.

These threads between – the scattered meanderings of life to come

Empty and unreal – so strange to believe I may be wrong

Your life will not be like mine

Your death will be your own

The things that carry substance for you will far outweigh my own

Their unseen weight tethered to the anchor of my own history

Still as light and free as breath.

I know in my deepest centre

That you have noticed me from the beginning

Your senses more gentler than my own

But now that you are here

I am almost frightened of the things that you will perceive

My every action becomes the template

Your face the palate of my expression

Your hands the temple of my destiny. 

 

Written for my baby son 12:47 am March 2nd, 1999.

Life of the Body

For the first time in history, mankind can record the life of the body and share it with others.

 

And for those who have a penchant for bizzare infatuations with the human body.

The Road Less Taken

The idea of the road less taken is more relevant today than ever !

Here’s Gill Fronsdall’s take on the idea from a Buddhist perspective. Buddhadharma = teachings on the middle path = avoidance of extremes = transcendence of extremes (including everything). Buddha = being + wakefulness.

?

 

http://oki-churaumi.jp/en/index.html

Altrusitic Blog Travel

It amazes me how many people are learning to travel the world, by piggybaking off the altruism of others. If I was 20 again, I reckon I’d give it a go ! What a time to be young !

It all reminds me of One Red Paperclip (http://oneredpaperclip.blogspot.com.au/) and I wonder how far can wanting, altruism and online bartering go ?

http://www.familyadventureproject.org/

Pussy in India

Last night I went to the movies and saw The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel – which is based looslely on the book These Foolish Things by Deborah Mogggach. For a film about a bunch of oldies, I couldn’t believe I alughed so much. I loved this movie. Much of the way through, I suffered a severe dose of B Grade Itis (uncontrollable crying which is out of proportion to the sadness of what you are experiencing – which often happens when I watch B Grade films). It was sooo good – the best film I have seen in years. I liked it so much I bought the book. A very conservative book but funny none the less. In the book the eldest chareacter, Randy old Norman is swayed into going to India, with the following sweetener :

There’s so much pussy in India, you’ll get a fur ball !

That pretty much sums up the book !

A Folk Renaissance

I’ve been exploring a lot of new music recently, as I have always done. I have always rejected the idea that we should only like music we grew up with. Now as I approach my mid forties, I feel like I’m rediscovering music across the centuries and I find it so exciting that many new artists are shying away from current trends and doing their own thing – which is probably a trend in itself. 

One of my favourite genres at the moment is folk/alternative rock – which seems to be paying tribute to many of the old folk/rock bands of the 60′s and 70′s; with a similar musical feel and similar lyrics. It’s almost as if you could take one of these new folk artists and transplant them to 1967 or 1972 and they’d fit in just perfect. 

Here’s a couple of new artists that I like and a few oldies. Enjoy !