Falsified Fog

Giving into the whim of emotion
less and less
And becoming content with what life is
more and more

Once addicted,
used and confused
emotionally abused
Habituated in this life pre-created

Yearning for some thing
that does not exist
Learning to look beyond the drama
and realise what is better

No longer believing
the story that we’re all saturated in
The curse of our culture
is that the faithful die unsatisfied

If only we could get past the lie
through the thick of the falsified fog
And stop pretending that we are OK
with socially interacting this way

Disconnected Perspective

That time of year where people gather
and create a buzz of busyness,
quiet in the office and so loud in the shops, bars and streets.
A time for seasons greetings,
which means to spend money.
While others make it, depend on it,
to boost the economy.
And perpetuate the idea that business success
is our basic human right.
Based on merit, make more money,
the only legitimate way to survive through the long dark night,
some call it life.
Some call it Christmas, with a capital C,
a time of year for compulsory good cheer,
a celebration of a man, a time in history.
It makes no sense to me.

It is a time of year where I burrow deeper
away from the masses,
and away from friends and family.
The different shades of the blades of grass
growing on the dunes by the sea,
are where I want to spend my time
and are what inspire me.
A quality time I find with plants, bugs and animals,
more comforting and more stimulating
than the trite and contrived time I find
that I am forced to spend with people.
A time where I am reminded of the loathsome qualities
that our modern society cultivate,
in the impressionable human animal.

So disconnected,
I am deeply conflicted with despise and compassion
for the lost and so overcompensatingly loud children.
Who no one has taught tolerance, respect and spacial awareness.
We are all children,
waiting for our parents to tell us what is OK.
Waiting for our mum or dad to set our moral boundaries,
and then challenge them,
and then have a safe haven to return to again.
But there are no parents other than the establishment,
which only teaches us how to be good nation state citizens.
Do what everyone else is doing.
There are no parents to tell us that there are major problems
that need our care and attention to find a resolution.

I am conflicted criticising a culture and system
that I am so entrenched in.
Well aware that I am no better, no different,
certainly not above anyone else just trying to survive.
All I want to do is get everyone asking the questions:
Am I satisfied working nine to five?
Is it OK that my choices mean that someone else is deprived?
And are plastic decorations, barbecued meats and public holidays what it means to be alive?

Eternal Sunshine

Bleeding.
Running nose.
I can’t decide what to eat,
do I have another coffee?

I need protein not caffeine
but good food is hard to come by
when you don’t have much money or time.

Indecision.

It is cold but I am sweating,
and fretting about the day ahead.
It’s Tuesday again and I feel doomed
to do things I really don’t want to do.

Anticipating
a long, dark, damp winter,
eternally yearning to be warm and dry.

It amazes me
over and over again,
the power of music and my man.

Transforming my dark mood.

Music fills every void that I find,
and my man is the eternal sunshine
of a spotless mind.

Movement Underground

The earth moves
under the weight of my flesh and bones,
and I am no longer in control.

You can find shelter from the storm,
a hot bath and dry clothes;
or a fresh glass of pure water
and a cool bathing pool,
to find relief from the radiation of the sun.

But you can find nothing
to hold you
still and secure
when the earth moves.

Your beloved mother shakes and trembles,
and lollops and rumbles,
unpredictably declining into disorder.

Although, you must remember,
this is a natural phenomena,
in which what is out of our control
can destruct everything we know.

And yet from this
new layers of humanity
exist spontaneously.

Creation is more than the sum of its parts.

Creatures that we are,
we come together,
and create something more,
solidarity and security
where it could not exist before.

The Bridge

I sit in my living room, on this drizzly spring afternoon,
with the comfort of my warm woollen clothes,
and freshly squeezed lemon hot water.

When it rains here, it rains inside the house.

Literally,
I live in a 1920’s woodsman cottage on the south coast of the north island, where the southerlies are brutal.

Although I am in a somewhat privileged position in many ways,
I am also well aware of what poverty feels like.

It is for this that I create the bridge.

The bridge between poverty and prosperity,
weakness and strength,
community and individuality.

We live in a world where our democratically elected leaders are role models
for racism, misogyny and capitalism.

Where the natural world, our people, animals and plants
are suffering.

I acknowledge the pickings are slim.

We live in a world of extremes,
where information is manipulated, filtered and distorted.

So when it reaches the eyes and ears of the people, seems contradictory,
and creates confusion, righteousness and puritanism.

Either too afraid to speak up, or too stubborn to listen.

It is simply easier to understand the world we live in by categorising information,
into extremes,
right or wrong, good or bad, left or right.

The bridge looks to shine a light,
on the spectrum,
of information in between the extremes.

To start a conversation.

We already have a  sanctioned moral compass,
lets transcend that superficial layer of information,
and dig a little deeper.

What you find underground may look ugly at first appearance,
but spend a little longer in the dirt,
enough to get through the initially layer of cynicism,
and you will come to understand,
that everything you thought you knew,
was wrong.

Or at least incomplete.

The loudest voice has the weakest argument,
and won’t accept defeat.

But accept we must,
acknowledge that we do not know what we do not know.

And break free of our individual echo chambers,
by listening to the opinions of those we thought we opposed.

Build that bridge with one stone at a time,
and you may just find
that the people on the other side,
are actually just like the varying members
of your very own tribe.