Quake
Tremors that radiate
from restless tectonic plates
waking me up during the dead of night
waiting for the darkness to give back my sight
like a frightened child I search for the light
the ground moans
like old arthritic bones
threatening to dismantle our homes
tremors that leave fractures fifteen kilometers deep
tremors that rouse me from my deepest sleep
I imagine what it would look like if it all came crashing down
all that is tangible
now a mess on the ground
all the material things reduced to dust
the rubble ruins of material lust
I wonder what I would miss the most
as I visualise the wreckage of my home
scattered possessions of what I have known
clothes and shoes and books and gold
all these things that you can touch and hold
are merely things that have been bought and sold
tremors that resound into my core
reminding me that there is something more
more than this material bore
the things we keep
end up keeping us
from feeling
something more
These are the scents that make no sense, but when inhaled, teleport me back to a certain time and place, to a certain someone’s face, in a different sphere that can not be erased.
Shortcakes baking
Zinc on a summers day
Freshly cut grass
Dove deodorant
Bittu bush tracks to the beach
Old Spice
Hubbabubba
Damp clothes
Moldy cars
Little black dress
Ocean skin
Pineapple wax
Old text books
Excessively chlorinated swimming pools
These are the scents of the smallest things
The most insignificant things
The scents that fail to explain anything
They just have a place under your skin
And over the years
Somehow begin to become all that there is
Reminding you of the tiny things
Moth balls
Babydoll
Aeroguard
Garlic rice
Plastic Christmas trees
Christmas beetles
Cold rain on warm bitumen
Worn leather on hired bowling shoes
Char grilled sewers
Fallen frangipanis
Strawberry lip balm
Clothes out of a dryer
Dried rose petals
There is no sense in these scents
A mere catalogue of the smaller things
But somehow with time
They converge to mean everything
I recently asked I whole bunch of people in my life to answer this question:
"Describe for me the one dream you have had that has stuck with you the most...and how did you interpret meaning from that dream?"
Why am i doing this???
For me, dreaming is such an amazing and bizarre and magical thing...
…to dream is to escape
to solve problems
to be without boundary or law...
so tell me...what is one dream that has left a mark on you???
These are your answers….
A culmination of extraordinary snippets from the human subconscious.
Thank you to everyone who contributed to this dream project.
…Sweet Dreams are Made of These…
When I was about 12 years old I had this dream where I was completely awake within a dream, I was fully aware of being asleep at the same time in my bed. In the dream I was talking to a friend and at the end telling him that I am waking up and had to go...and yes I woke up that second and it was like I was never asleep.
I'll be in a group, some people are close friends, others are not.
The circle of friends varies over the years.We are all talking (who knows what about), but then someone says, "show so & so how you can fly". I'm a little hesitant, depending on who I am showing.
But if I feel the right vibe, I begin to levitate, floating more than flying.... gently cruising above my friends & acquaintances.
The Meaning to Me?Well, for me it stands for always fly, always dream & anything is possible. Even when you are surrounded by close friends, foes or even someone you never met.... just fly boy.... fly.
recently i have dreamt -of my laptop becoming a piece of material that kept folding shut when i opened it.of climbing a pinnacle that turned to sand and crumbled beneath me.of my whole body turning into a little finger and making a squeaking noise.
on the edge of sleep... am in a apple tree and then fall out and BOOM - I'm fully awake and can feel the butterfly’s in my tummy from free falling to the ground - but I never reach the ground cause I wake.
I have a recurring dream; I’ve had it for as long as I can remember. It occurs in an infinite expanse of blackness, and there is many giant cubes coming towards me. The cubes are all sorts of bright colours, and gradually get bigger as they approach me. I cant escape them. The dream is not sequential, the imagery doesn’t frighten me, but the feeling that the dream evokes is always the same and always terrifying – the feeling of being completely and utterly overwhelmed. What I fear in life is the ultimate loss of control. In this dream I cannot control where I am, I cant control the cubes coming towards me, and I cant escape it. The whole situation is beyond me. As a child, I tried to stay awake as long as I could so I wouldn’t have the nightmare. I didn’t know what it meant but I knew I didn’t like how it made me feel. I think as an adult I try to avoid the possibility of the overwhelming feeling of loss of control entering my daily life. But this isn’t always possible, and so I live in a constant state of anxiety, and the nightmares continue.
It’s a reoccurring dream.
I am running up the street I lived on when I was a child.
It’s night time.
I am panicked as someone is chasing me.
I am running as hard as I can but I can’t seem to get away from whoever is chasing me.
I notice the street lights along the side of the road.
I see the dark hedges and consider hiding in amongst them.
I dig my feet in harder to the bitumen.
Fatigue hits me and I can no longer keep running.
So I decide to turn around and face whoever is chasing me.
I turn around hesitantly.
Only to come face to face with no one.
There is no one there at all.
I can see my house.
I feel the relief.
And then I wake up.
Sweaty. Anxious. Relieved.
There was no one there after all.
Face your fears head on.
Dancing Death.
It is a fallacy that if you die in your dreams it translates to a physical death also. I am not prone to reoccurring dreams. However, the following dream I have had a number of times. I have been shot. A loved one is always with me. I can feel their need for me to stay with them. I am in between realms and can read their thoughts and feel that visceral, loving, sorrow flooding through them as it becomes apparent that I am dead. A bullet of fear runs through me. And then something seizes me. I begin to spin and spin and spin. Gracefully, I turn at such speed that I begin to float toward the sky. My mouth opens and the most melodic sound pours out from me, helping me transcend to wherever I am going next. I feel pure peace, contentment, euphoria. Then I wake up.
i am on a beach, it is crowded and very big, all of a sudden there is a disturbance at one end, you can see someone being tackled into the ground, the beach becomes nearly deserted as the crowds flock to the action. There are just a few of us still seated. I can feel someones drape over my shoulder and someone breathing on my neck. I know its a girl but i can't quite see her when i turn my head I walk outside my house to the driveway, a massive duck is hovering just above me. This is no ordinary duck, it is more the shape of an eagle but has an unmistakeably duck face but there is something wrong with its eyes, they are too piercing, human almost. I make eye contact with it and it hold its stare and until it all of a sudden starts dropping down towards me. i duck (pardon the pun) into the grass and it misses me Now it is me who is flying, above a dark landscape. Hovering over what looks like a murky swamp. the air feels amazingly clean and clear and is very black, like liquid. I feel weightless and free in the empty sky. I also feel lonely and sad as the dark shapes drift by below me.
The most beautiful dream I have ever had was one I had recently. I am floating in a big blue sea, on my back, feeling the rise and fall of unbroken waves, feeling the sun on my face, salt on my skin. I dive underwater and see all these red apples floating slowly up to the surface. I tread water and look around at all the bobbing red apples. I swim in and out of this dream for what feels like all night.
Pure magic.
thank you
x
You know those annoying people that ask too many questions?
I am one of those people.
Really.
I recently devised a mini questionnaire.
Armed with 5 questions, I took to the streets of Melbourne asking perfect strangers to share intimate snippets of their lives with me.
Why?
To put it simply…I live for this.
As one modern day poet put it…
“I want life in every word, to the extent that it’s absurd”
A big THANK YOU to those nameless people who took time out of their day to transform the mundane into something magical.
These were the questions:
1. What is your all time favourite memory?
2. What is it about Melbourne or the place that you live that you love so much?
3. If love was a colour, what would it be?
4. If you couldn’t live without one thing, what would it be?
5. What is it that makes you want to get up each morning?
These are the answers.
Embrace & Enjoy
Male, Age 23
1. The memory is of my sister and me when we were 2 and 3, playing with Lego men in the dirt outside.
2. I love the fact that in Melbourne you can be the person you have always wanted to be.
3. Love would be blue.
4. I couldn’t live without music.
5. The chance that my life will change in a different direction.
Male, Age33
1. Cartoons, evil sensei!
2. I love everything about St Kilda.
3. The colour of my princess’ eyes.
4. I’d like to live without tickets!
5. Nothing in particular gets me up in the morning.
Male, Age 26
1. So many memories, but if I had to choose one, then it would be winning football player of the year award when I was 11.
2. Well I definitely don’t like the weather here in Melbourne! I guess it’s the vibe and the constitution, lots of cool people.
3. Love would be orange.
4. I couldn’t live without music.
5. Again, it’s music.
Male, Age 22
1. My brother’s wedding, it’s a new memory, they had been going out so long, and it was the first wedding of the family and I was the best man. I got to do a cool speech.
2. Freedom.
3. Love would be rainbow for all the different emotions, could be any colour.
4. Critical thought.
5. There’s not one feeling, depends on what I’m doing that morning.
Male, Age 28
1. Remembering a feeling- those moments of clarity where I can pinpoint them- remembering that feeling of ‘oh my god, I’m on the right path’. I just really like those moments, that euphoric feeling, end of one chapter and the start of another….that blank page.
2. It’s the diversity in each facet of life, a mix and influence from different cultures, a tourist hub, the tourist capital of Australia, ever changing, and so are the people. It’s refreshing, this simple way of life if you can tap into it.
3. Love would be pink!
4. I couldn’t live without love and passion.
5. A new day to paint a new picture, and whatever picture you want.
Female, Age 24
1. Being about three years old and standing naked outside the backdoor of our house while Mum picked cactus prickles out of my skin from when I fell into a cactus. I remember the afternoon sun and seeing the prickles look like glitter in my skin. I also remember feeling kind of bad for making Mum do this.
2. I love the space of Melbourne. It’s big and open and I can be anyone, someone or no one. So much live music to choose from too.
3. Blood red.
4. Love and lyrics.
5. A beat and that feeling of infinite potential.
Female, Age 34
1. My wedding day.
2. The pace of the city, not too fast, not too slow.
3. Bright red.
4. Sunday.
5. My work, my passion.
Female, Age 19
1. My first kiss in high school.
2. My friends and the nightlife.
3. Gold
4. My iPod mainly.
5. My alarm clock.
Female, Age 25
1. Playing with my sister on our front lawn in summer when we were about 7 and 10.
2. I love the mix of people here in Melbourne, and how it isn’t stuck up.
3. Sequin red
4. A good book and clean sheets.
5. Usually my hungry cat.
Male, Age 67
1. Playing with my brothers after school on the walk home.
2. Melbourne has retained its character and charm.
3. The colour of my darling’s eyes.
4. An afternoon sleep!
5. The smell of fresh air and coffee.
Thank You
x
Falling asleep
touching strangers’ feet
the rise and fall
of another’s chest
both blankets and mind are a mess
Falling asleep
in a defeated heap
a volcano sits dormant in my chest
heat rises and falls
legs and arms in a tangled mess
Falling asleep
I can still hear the beat
reverberating through my chest
festival eyes
see a compromise
self preservation at its best
Falling asleep
with nothing concrete
propositions on tram lines
detonate like landmines
The space between two minds
The faith that I’m only mine
The words that pass the time
The fear that I’m only mine
The sleep that takes its time
A stillness of the mind
The truth that I’m only mine.
you are not your tattoos
you are not your fancy shoes
you are not your edgy hair
you are not the clothes you wear
you are not the money you make
you are not the hearts you break
you are the stillness in between
all these seen things
you are the choices you make
when your world quakes
you are
you are
you are
YOU
Monotony pulls curtains over my eyes
Chains that clink and join the days
Games that no one really wants to play
Mediocrity for eight hours a day
Glazed and picture perfect
Busy hands
Joints that ache as i pass the time
Hours that are not mine
Dollars vs time
Theirs vs mine
Waging demands in my mind
Escapism in my sleep
Dancing to my own beat
A picture book full of dreams
Lighthouses on top of seas
Waves roll through me
Starlight soaks into me
In to me
Intimacy
Fingerprints left on my skin
Dreams that stick to my lids
Poems that are painted on my lips
I knew there was more to this
I look around every corner for a clue
But it is my dreams that bring me back to you
This is a story of a girl in a new city.
This is not a love story.
Nor is it a story of achieving any sort of inner clarity.
It is simply a tale of the events that may or may not have occurred one hot Melbourne night.
I awoke this morning in a drunken sweaty haze. My palms are clammy and there are aches and pains where there shouldn’t be. I run my fingers through my hair and slowly begin to open my eyes. The heat wraps itself around me like a sticky second skin. The forecast is for 43 degrees. I look over to my fan as it pushes hot hair around my room. I kick away the pillows on my bed and sit up to face the day. My head throbs from dehydration and my tongue is coated with the bitter after taste of a night where I drank to disconnect. Clothes lay scattered on my bedroom floor. I pick them up one by one and try to piece together how I got home. I find a pair of undies that are covered in sand.
Here is where the flashbacks begin.
Images from the night before appear unwittingly in my minds eye. Images that are as fuzzy and as nostalgic as old Polaroid pictures. Images like puzzle pieces, slotting together to form a blurry timeline from the moment I left the house yesterday afternoon until now. I try to switch it off. I am unsure if I can cope with these still frames of truth on an empty stomach. Relentlessly they come flooding into my mind, whether I want to see them or not.
I stand defeated under a cold shower. I hunch my shoulders and examine my body. On top of the aches and pains are fresh bruises and broken skin. My hands are red raw from gravel rash. The flesh on my knees is cut open and underneath these wounds is fresh red blood. I breathe in the sting as water washes over my punctured skin.
How the fuck did this happen?
I wrap the towel around me and get a shock of a lifetime as I see my reflection. My face….my fucking face! There is a graze from my chin, past my lips, and up to my cheek. It is coloured in an angry red. I am unsure as to whether or not I should laugh or cry. It looks absurd! I look absurd! I examine the damage closer. It’s looks as if I had gotten into a fight with a piece of sandpaper. Correction…several pieces of sand paper, and of the extra coarse variety. I ponder whether or not I will be able to cover it up with makeup. I wonder what my bosses will think. Tears swell up in my eyes but I bite down hard on the need to cry at such absurdity. It’s just some facial gravel rash, you’ll get over it.
I lay back down in front of the fan on my bed. I feel the minute pulses of pain throughout my body as it tries to heal itself. My mind is a mangled mess of a timeline from the night before.
Grassy hills. A cityscape in the distance. A beach littered with a thousand new faces. Smirnoff Blacks. The sound of a new voice. A new laugh. Planes mistaken for stars. A shooting star. Another wish. Another prayer whispered off into the summer air. Midnight swims. Sand in my undies. Swimming in a sea of black. Naked except for my sandy bottoms. Free from inhibition. Recklessness. Actions without consequence. Red bitten lips. Two strangers that kiss. Salty hair. An atmosphere free from responsibility laced the humid air.
Most of this is hit and miss.
Although I know for a fact that there was a kiss.
I listen to the fan as it oscillates. I feel emptied out. It pains me that I can’t remember the finer details of such a night. Was I even myself last night? That part of my personality that rises up every now and then really disturbs me. It is that ruthlessness in my actions that is completely uncharacteristic of my nature. Rarely do I let go and live in the two dimensions. There is always some conscious part of me that is endlessly weighing up situations and anchoring me to something more. I don’t dislike this facet of my personality, but when I wake up bruised and battered with no answers as to why I feel so defeated, I have to question it.
Finding the answers is never easy. They remain tucked away in the moment that was yesterday. Answers to questions I didn’t even think to ask play out in my patchwork memory. Consequence waits patiently to unfold at the right moment. Actions without thought will have their course. I sit still and wait for the answers to fall. I fill my stomach with food but remain entirely unsatisfied. I sit cross legged on a tidy bed, letting the fan cool my sweaty skin. I wonder why I feel so violated when I let someone in. I like my bed empty. I like falling asleep alone. I like it when I never have to use my phone. I like being still as answers rise up during the silent time, when there are no distractions chewing up my time.
I like knowing that I am only mine.
As I said before, this is no love story.
It is simply a story of a girl who woke up with stinging skin.
Beauty lies in mysterious things
Dimples
Freckles
Fingertips
These will not tarnish like diamond rings
A treasure buried beneath our skin
Peel it back and feel the sting
Truth waits patiently in the dark
The conviction of the human heart
To have clarity from the very start
Not always a walk in the park
Indecision
Convolution
Life in halves is soul pollution
Hesitant to make mistakes
A mistake to hesitate
Handle with caution while the other one breaks
One deafening silence
Another one aches
Mouthfuls of explanation
A tightrope of trepidation
Cracks that form under expectation
Mirrors that are turning in
Look inside and feel the sting
The beep of my mobile phone tells me that he is back. His feet could have hit the ground at any stage during the day, but I knew I would not see him until later on in the afternoon. He always leaves me guessing. I spent the day with my best friend in a new city. We walked as we talked about all the paths we want to play out. We held paper cups full of bitter coffee in our hands. I checked my phone more than I would have liked that day. I have never been so impatient or anxious. I have never been so sure.
Light blue to orange colored the sky. Late afternoon was approaching and a sinking feeling like quicksand sat in the pit of my stomach. I opened my arms to each and every beautiful distraction. Brown eyed boys and lips stained red from squashed grapes. Empty green bottles line the kitchen windows. I straighten out the creases in my white sheets. I lay my body down and stare out at the trees that somehow remain green despite the lack of rain. I still do not feel guilty about the absurd length of my bi-daily showers. I will stand beneath that shower head until every single worry is washed away. And that is what I did. I wash my hair and I hang my head. I do every little thing I can to make myself feel like the person I am. And then I let my wet hair soak into the sheets of my bed.
Words are written in order to settle my mind. I need so badly to get back to that place where I won’t drop to my knees as soon as my eyes see his face. He is just a boy, like any other. I turn up the volume to keep my mind on track. A melodic distraction in the face of perfection. As I pin my hair back I isolate the predominant thoughts in my mind: I am growing increasingly impatient…but I know this is not the right time. The tug-of-war between these two opposing thoughts is a battle I am prepared to raise the white flag for. Self confliction is exhausting. I want to give all my energy to each avenue of thought, but I fall short when it comes to this newly found impatience. Swimming against the current will do that to a girl. And so, with a newly acquired mindset, I decide to be completely present during the experience. I decide not to let my mind wonder off in quiet contemplation.
I see him even before he makes contact with my front door. The sun has painted his skin a darker shade and his hair tells a story of a boy who sat alone in the wilderness for over seven days. I can see his shadow in the corridor as he knocks without end on a good friend’s door.
“Hey hey!” I exclaim as we meet halfway in an embrace.
“So! Tell me everything!” I say as we make our way into the kitchen.
It is his smile that gives him away. I can tell that he has come out of the woods and into the light. We all knew he would. But what we didn’t know is how profoundly he would do so. Just being around him is electric. He is calm but wired; he is relaxed but skittish; he is renewed but exhausted. He raises his arms to the sky as he tries his best translate the awe felt as he surrendered himself to Mother Nature. He shakes his head from side to side as he relays the turbulent times to me. I am doing my best to visualise a landscape as foreign to me as outer space. Stories are swapped over a table full of food and night falls around us and the cityscape. Questions rise and fall. The answers always lead off somewhere else. The point is always forgotten. But we laugh nonetheless as our tummies swell from being overfed.
I have heard many times before that you should consider yourself lucky to count your good friends on one hand. These are the ones that lift you higher, the ones that challenge you to be better and seek out something that is unique and meaningful for you. They love you, eat with you, dance with you, cry with you, laugh with you, dream with you….they are the ones that make you question the things that matter. They are the ones that give meaning to the mundane and connect you to something inconceivably bigger.
As we fell asleep that night, I felt absolute contentment that people like this actually exist. The sound of his breathing made its way up to where I lay and just before I the night stole me away I whispered a prayer to whoever was listening…thank you.
one day i dreamt that
you came running back to me
with skin like the sea
this is a haiku
randomly put together
words that make no sense
to write
to right
tonight
two nights
+ two nights
he is in my sights
and into my arms he sails
Relentless wind and dry heat
trams roll by my aching feet
heavy limbs
an ocean within
A day full of city sounds
nothing like a small town
strangers smile
a friendship begins
caffeine conversations
let the summer in
The last orange beams stretch across the sky
bursting at the horizons seams
a Melbourne summer is all I need
Sundown in the park
swapping stories in the dark
skin that stings
from all the good things
I’m a little girl once again
catching beetles in my hand.
It is in our nature as human beings to forge and seek out connections with others. Whether it is long lasting or fleeting, the desire to form bonds with others is an essential component of our make up. To connect with someone, on any level, allows us to feel real and gives meaning to the hours we keep. Everyone has something to offer. Even if you have to dig a little deeper to discover what that is. To connect with someone enables you to see life through their eyes. You open new windows of perception and for the briefest of moments, you may even get a glimpse of your place within the whole.
I have just recently made a new connection in this city. What could have remained a strictly two-dimensional exchange has now eloped into something of worth. Strangers weave in and out of my day in countless numbers. The guy that operates the tram on my way to work; the lady that makes me a juice in the morning; the couple that live across the hall from me; the young boy who works in the salon across the road from me; the old man that asks for change on Acland Street; the guy that makes me a coffee before each shift... I interact with these people through a mutual exchange of needs and wants, and yet I know nothing about them. I see them more often then I see my family and close friends, but due to some bizarre social construct, remaining anonymous is held in higher regard than making the effort to connect. These people are not cardboard cutouts. They all have a role to play. Behind the perceived two-dimensions is a person with a story to tell. Inside the private life of every stranger are passions, doubts, love, love lost, lust, longing, indecision, discontentment, plans, goals, hopes, ambitions, scars, broken hearts and rusty parts.
The need to connect has never been greater in today’s cyberspace race. Sites such as Facebook and Myspace have opened the floodgates to forming new connections. However, in an online environment such as these two sites, the quality of connection is questionable. Since when does social networking overshadow real friendship? Why do people add me as a ‘friend’ but never choose to connect with me in the real world? These sites nurture quantity over quality. Seeking out new ‘friends’ via this medium is nothing more than a numbers game. You don’t even really know who is dealing the cards.
So here’s a new philosophy….When you intersect: connect. Take time to consider that the person you are interacting with is exactly that, a person. Just like you and just like me. Blur the lines of social normality and walk away from that exchange with something real. Add that third or even fourth dimension to a perfect stranger. See the fire in their eyes when they speak of the things they love. Watch for the moment when they realise they have just shared something so intimate with you, a complete stranger. This moment is golden. This is the moment where you see with perfect vision, the thread that connects us all.
Nothing else matters, except for the moments we keep.
One day I will wake with an older face
And my bones will creak like worn floorboards
My hands will one day be creased and dry
With crows feet etched besides my eyes
My hair will change to different shades of grey
And lose the shine it once had
My feet will ache with the weight of the day
And my eyelids will grow heavy at sunset
One day I will wake with an older face
And the fire within may subside
This is when I will place my faith
In the regeneration of new life
I will watch my grandchildren play
And light up with the magic of youth
This is when I will turn to you and say
‘My life has been full’
Knowing all the while it begun with you
One day I will wake with an older face
And pray for the great beyond
Where all the aches and pains of old age
Sink deep like a pebble in a pond
It flows through my veins
Red and thick and full of pain
My heart beats his name
A search for meaning
A fire that burns inside
Taking me higher
Reluctant he stands
Behind a coffee machine
His heart is elsewhere
Like a volcano
His love waits dormant within
Waiting to explode
