welcome to my diary

 couldn’t find my pen  and then i found it  surprising with the state of the insides of my bag.        there’s a dull ache     pressing against the edges of my brain.  i’ve yet to have a coffee, perhaps its that.     i’m poor but im not.     i live in comfort . food . bed . dishwasher . washing machine .  a dryer  it’s too expensive to run     i want some sort of life that requires risk but perhaps that involves more thought than i thought...        i look like something you’ve seen before .     even though i have purple cropped hair  i assume i am an assumption.     there’s a couple     they look fresh  like they haven’t figured out what they enjoy least about each other  yet.     i feel crazy     and yet sane  but mostly crazy     summer is coming and i’m happy about that.     i’m not happy with me yet, however.     winter gives grace to stay inside.     look at my insides.     do i want to live a life the is just enough petrol     to get from one location to the prefered?     and what does it look like to be a person who loves God?     is it living your own life really well  or is it giving everything  every.  thing.   

couldn’t find my pen

and then i found it

surprising with the state of the insides of my bag.

 

 

there’s a dull ache

 

pressing against the edges of my brain.

i’ve yet to have a coffee, perhaps its that.

 

i’m poor but im not.

 

i live in comfort . food . bed . dishwasher . washing machine .

a dryer

it’s too expensive to run

 

i want some sort of life that requires risk but perhaps that involves more thought than i thought...

 

 

i look like something you’ve seen before .

 

even though i have purple cropped hair

i assume i am an assumption.

 

there’s a couple

 

they look fresh

like they haven’t figured out what they enjoy least about each other

yet.

 

i feel crazy

 

and yet sane

but mostly crazy

 

summer is coming and i’m happy about that.

 

i’m not happy with me yet, however.

 

winter gives grace to stay inside.

 

look at my insides.

 

do i want to live a life the is just enough petrol

 

to get from one location to the prefered?

 

and what does it look like to be a person who loves God?

 

is it living your own life really well

or is it giving everything

every.

thing.

 

in the middle of somewhere

 Matthew is a man  Who wears glasses  He stares at his laptop  And sips  Alcoholic beverages  He has a bemused look on his face  He glances at his phone  Waiting for a text  Swipe swipe swipe        His head nods to the beats     Of Lauryn Hill  All hail  “ you might win some ”  His foot twitches to the music  “ matt is not very good at turning people on ”  He says, in a rhyme of which I can not remember the first line  And then he attends to his sludgy rice  Sloping it onto the plate        He grabs his sharpie     Creates a phallic shape    Out of the T in the word The on an  Expensive bottle of wine  Pours another glass        He moves slowly out of the dining room chair        His back sore from a day of painting  And settles in a wicker chair,  The slow groan of the seat, reminiscent of most childhoods     Changes music  Justin Vernon  Acetate     Studying his hands,     “ these are my favourite things about me ”  Calloused and bruised  “ cant touch a women with these ”     Reaching for his book     He mentions cowboys and passages that are only written in  Espanol  His daughter won a spelling bee  And is good at math  As was he  “Prodigy”     He has a stack of books     They are all about the light  Or the lack thereof  “ how the light gets in ”     His head is often in his hands  And perhaps with his thoughts     Another glass of white        He yawns “ i guess this is me for the night ”     Turns a page.     Matthew is a kind man  He leaves me coffee in the morning  And next to it a single flower                                                                     

Matthew is a man

Who wears glasses

He stares at his laptop

And sips

Alcoholic beverages

He has a bemused look on his face

He glances at his phone

Waiting for a text

Swipe swipe swipe

 

 

His head nods to the beats

 

Of Lauryn Hill

All hail

“ you might win some ”

His foot twitches to the music

“ matt is not very good at turning people on ”

He says, in a rhyme of which I can not remember the first line

And then he attends to his sludgy rice

Sloping it onto the plate

 

 

He grabs his sharpie

 

Creates a phallic shape  

Out of the T in the word The on an

Expensive bottle of wine

Pours another glass

 

 

He moves slowly out of the dining room chair

 

 

His back sore from a day of painting

And settles in a wicker chair,

The slow groan of the seat, reminiscent of most childhoods

 

Changes music

Justin Vernon

Acetate

 

Studying his hands,

 

“ these are my favourite things about me ”

Calloused and bruised

“ cant touch a women with these ”

 

Reaching for his book

 

He mentions cowboys and passages that are only written in

Espanol

His daughter won a spelling bee

And is good at math

As was he

“Prodigy”

 

He has a stack of books

 

They are all about the light

Or the lack thereof

“ how the light gets in ”

 

His head is often in his hands

And perhaps with his thoughts

 

Another glass of white

 

 

He yawns
“ i guess this is me for the night ”

 

Turns a page.

 

Matthew is a kind man

He leaves me coffee in the morning

And next to it a single flower

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Acetate 

    i can hear the stop and start of the garbage truck out side  heavy and tired gears   its cold out  theres still mist on my windows  woke up tired and warm under my covers  sometimes thats the prettiest world to exist in  alone and covered by the dust of your dreams  the warmth of rest  if you can find rest  the outside world is changing colours   becoming bare and scarce under the winter sun  the light has changed, burning bright and harsh  deep shadows   inside i’m changing  i’m worried about how much

 

i can hear the stop and start of the garbage truck out side

heavy and tired gears 

its cold out

theres still mist on my windows

woke up tired and warm under my covers

sometimes thats the prettiest world to exist in

alone and covered by the dust of your dreams

the warmth of rest

if you can find rest

the outside world is changing colours 

becoming bare and scarce under the winter sun

the light has changed, burning bright and harsh

deep shadows 

inside i’m changing

i’m worried about how much

the proverbial etc

 

 

Today is one of those days that feels like a heavy sigh.
Gray out with rain switching on and off and on and off and heavy and light and so on a so forth

An uninspiring kind of day that makes you want to stay inside.
I ambled out of bed, ambled almost sounds too graceful,

I fell out of bed.

My morning as usual begins with fits and starts. Too long in the shower, not long enough time over the bronzer, leaving my cheek bones two shades too dark. 

Grab my camera stuffing an extra battery into the bag and hurry off to my first job of the day.

A bathroom renovation.

Not the most creative.

No creativity in this one.

But its fodder for the week.

This is the life of a semi creative trying to be her own boss.

Ive been doing this gig for a while now - photography. However, days like today still make it feel like I’ve just started out.

The last year has been a bit of a hard pill to swallow.
The pill of    "you’re not quite there yet"

" There " still being a slightly unknown vocation or perhaps known but seemingly unobtainable.

As of late its looked like the juggling act of trying to narrow down my jobs to more regular ones in order to fixate more on the creative aspect of what I do, yet somehow this has created a cycle of busyness that I didn’t anticipate. Rinse and repeat.

Scrambling to pay rent or wondering about the next pay cheque is a constant ( or how long you will spend chasing up that invoice ) which I guess is the creatives lot in life, at least at some point. In that regards I try to find solace in biographies of the greats, Patti Smith, Bruce Springsteen, Bob Dylan and with some slither of hope have a mantra that perhaps this is the hard yards before the goodness comes through. Though I may be a few years too late to be holding onto a similar fate. 

Inspiration is something tricky to figure out for me. Especially in the age where you're flooded with images and it seems that everything has been done a million times over. 

I find creativity takes form of some sort of winged creature that visits at unexplainable hours.

At times this creature appears in a flurry of feathers and wind in the wee hours of the morning, or just before the fall of sleep.

But other times its in the middle of the day when I’m arms deep in monotonous admin and I have to make a split decision to follow its lead or to hunker down and get the proverbial did.

It always has a sort of urgency with it. As if it needs its landing place or it won’t be able to rest until it does. I once heard a ted talk of a writer describing this as a sort of wind and that if she didn’t take action on it the moment it arrived it would pass her and go to someone else.

I worry about this sometimes, when I don’t take action, if this thing has passed on to someone else and I am forever on the back foot in my lethargy.

So I’ve decided that I need to starting carving my life around creativity more. That probably means one less coffee out and a few more hours spent alone letting the feathers settle and searching out the words or images that give it .

And here enters this blog . 
Something that I let swim on the web, something that I commit to.
Whether the winged creature visits me or not.
Perhaps this will be a discipline that gives me ownership over this creature.

Here is my first entry, on a glum day where creativity isn’t crawling under my skin but I still want to usher it in regardless.

Heres to the first and hopefully not the last entry

and welcome to my ridiculous mindless banter.

Following this there may be anything from a favourite photo to poetry entries.

Who knows.

But you are welcome to pop in and out as you please and maybe you will identify with some of my ramblings or perhaps you will have some sage advice to give me along the way.

If you made it this far through, 

thank you