I think back to a time when I used to feed off the refuse of good. I was in love with the liminal space between despair and death. Relief found in pain. I still don’t truly understand that love.
These days I still like a minor chord. Although it probably doesn’t translate in my writing, my taste tends to include a lot of brooding tones, dark words and things generally categorised by many as ‘depressing’. Not to me. I don’t think I’d still dwell on such things if it took me to these places. What I do like about the raw and shadowed is its potential to encapsulate a vivid human trait. That, and to emphasise things of beauty. There is something shockingly beautiful about seeing the golden light on gum leaves when storm clouds pervade all else. Or the reflection of light on drenched black asphalt. The dark is necessary to see the light at times.
Filed under: stuff
12th May 2007. It’s a gorgeous sunny autumn afternoon in Kalorama and the air is pregnant with the nostalgic smells of warm earth and wood chips. A perfect day for a birthday or two, and with due accord, a nice big happy birthday to two of my much-loved blogger friends Christina and Gurzilla. Go indulge in a nice long espresso brew and a few melodies that’ll make you smile guys.
I don’t have a birthday card, but I found this little fella wondering around my garden and after hounding him like the paparazzi managed to snap a couple of shots for you. XX.
Filed under: contemplation
Do you ever catch your own reflection in a mirror and become oddly disturbed by the image of your eyes staring back at you? It puzzles me. Or sometimes I will find myself talking to a very close friend and I’ll be struck by a look in their eyes which seems entirely unfamiliar, as though belonging to a stranger. Like a little reminder of the hidden things.
I came on line to ask a question. Or rather, to put to you, my unspecified reader, a proposal as to what is the most significant question you could ask. I emphasise the pronoun you here because our questions stem from the experiences and knowledge of our being. I know God. Therefore the way I approach this question matter will be indicative of such knowing. In fact, the question that underlies my question will be, what is the one thing that I would most like to ask God?
I think I’ve said enough. Maybe there’s too much wondering going on here and not enough asking. Gurzilla has also just posted on a similar vein of thought and has done so in a manner much more thrilling and thoughtful than this dull little lady. He suggests that all of our questions are weighted with significance. There’s truth in this. And perhaps the answers, or lack of answers we receive, are also equally central to this quest called life.
