Through the Looking Glass

You drink your coffee and I sip my tea

petrujviljoen

My copy finally arrived.

I said once, should the pain of women (particularly) be pooled into one place, the impact may shift the earth out of orbit.

The sun came up in the right place this morning and I’m grateful.

What one hopes for is a paradigm shift. A better understanding. Writing the pain, as it is, as 158 contributors did in this anthology, raise our voices an octave or two. It’s done. It is good.

Thanks to the editors of Indie Blu(e) Publishing for the consistent effort they put into this vital work.

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Faith in the Big Yellow School Bus

for a master class in writing…. so much covered with a seemingly effortless ease and assurance that your bus will arrive on time too

WTF? (Where's the faith?)

Photo by Laker on Pexels.com

When my children were young, the big yellow school buses crisscrossing the neighborhood streets were my official timekeepers. Weekdays revolved around the sound of their diesel engines. The first bus of the morning carried middle school- and high school-aged students. I remember the days when I never could imagine that my grammar school children in front of my eyes, wearing Pokémonsocks and innocent smiles, wouldever pull off the trick of growing big enough to travel on the early morning bus. The future felt as far away as the high school, which is at least a good half-hour ride to the adjacent town.

About forty-five minutes after the first bus, the next bus, carrying grammar school students, roared down the road parallel to us. That meant that breakfast dishes were tossed into the sink, backpacks flung over shoulders and the three of us dodged out the…

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Fall.

echoes along a too thin scarf

Yolanda and her creative scream

Skåror i rastlösa, nedtrampade löv
celsius åker nerför ledsna träd
orange regndroppar ekar längs
en för tunn halsduk, mot
distraherade termosmuggar

mörka moln refekteras
i gulnande vattenpölar
en gnutta frost mot
metalliskt avfall
under ytan, ropar

Röda, viskande löv
som gjort avvaktar
i lekparker fyllda av känslor
starka, som speglas
i berörd koda, stilla väntande

Tända ljus glittrar runt hörnet
Gatulyktor utstrålar falsk säkerhet
Våra telefoner skriker ensamhet
just när emotionerna speglar
morgonens dagg.

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Ett notställ bakom spetsgardinerna.

at home yet homeless all the same… what is this, which echoes in the memory… if not a calling hone

Yolanda and her creative scream

Färgstarka noter, med spår av kol
tysta lampors frustration
fönstret på glänt, mot en sned vy
spetsiga attityder hörs från gatans vila
precis som en instrumental klang
slår om till en hårdare ton, stilrent
där röster skär genom vibrationer
där nyanser är mer än valörer
fast hoppet finns där

Där gnistrande proportioner
mot perspektiv, som ekar i minnet

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Mot kulöra viskningar.

When the anxiety subsided…… How talented is Yolanda…. it beggars belief, No?

Yolanda and her creative scream

Tunna skrik mellan asfaltens partiklar
gråtande persienner mot nedtyngd metall
gatlyktornas aura vittnar om en färglös hinna
vandrande siluetter, frustrerade, låga
som om senapsgula mopeder slutade fly.

Vägar utan innehåll, vita sträck utan tillgång
Utan slut och perspektiv
inteheller något driv.

Om flykten var geometri
är cirkeln fri

Droppar längs skyn
där tegel går mot gult
dagg mot frusen bomull

När oron lagt sig.

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The Shift

What is the Ju…

Snow Cone Diaries

Many of you can feel the shift right now… the shift in consciousness. Starts as a kind of leveling of awareness – the stark picture that is drawn of society when the pandemic hits, the sudden fear based mode of living that kicks in as a reaction to an external threat such as the virus presents, and then a sort of collective inward turning that emerges from this – a kind of kickback of the pandemic you might say that has allowed space for some reflection and the reinforcing of man’s relationship with oneself. One Self. One-self…..

One

Self

It’s a spiritual shift yes, the prana or life force – the chi – that flows within us, surrounds, us, powers us – but this energy field is a field of consciousness, and we are the miracle of (a) singularity of this consciousness, that appears to be intelligently designed (read Homo…

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Garntrådarnas mummel.

imagine if you really and honestly can being able to write this…. it’s a whole new Cosmology

Yolanda and her creative scream

Violetta viskningar, genomskinliga
Tomma fotspår genom en gnistrande stad
Oroliga moln stirrar mot metalliska
Resonansen från bortglömda barer

Gråskalan ger höghusen perspektiv
asfalten formar vår vardag
Molekylerna står, blankt – ser på
spillror av kritor, stelnar
leran skriker mot rött

När känslornas kvalité fryser till is.

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Tankar kring Suicidpreventiva dagen

There is always death in life. It is how it goes. But to take your own life… because death is better… who activated that, I bet it wasn’t you

Yolanda and her creative scream

Nu är det fredag. Jag har precis kommit hem, efter en dag som innehållit lite av mycket – som en hemgjord röra, improviserad. Kanske med bönor, citron, aubergine, tomat. Eventuellt. Det är tråkigt med recept. Hur som helst – jag känner mig helt slut.

För första gången på ett par veckor – sov jag, faktiskt. Då menar jag när jag ska upp tidigare. Jag vaknade till mitt i natten, gick på toaletten och sedan somnade jag snabbt om. Nu lyssnar jag på VNV Nation och tänkte snart återgå till att kolla på Modern Family.

Tidigare i dag rebloggade jag Carolinas inlägg om Suicidpreventiva dagen, som är just i dag. Vi har också uppmärksammat dagen via Dynamo förlag’s facebook– och instagram. För mig, personligen, får den mig att tänka på min otroligt fina vän Elisabeth, som tog livet av sig för ett par år sedan. Jag saknar henne…

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If you have had enough make sure it’s about the right thing.

Being told it’s your fault for too long has the resultant impact of sinking in. Your body starts to believe it. And the brain and heart become confused.

This is compounded by nearly 50 years of increasingly right wing Governments running the world. The saturation of political ineptitude and corrosive public and social policy has left many actually believing there is something wrong with them.

Language extinctions are and have been unbounded, indeed sold as desirable. Yet, for example, English a world language is only spoken by 6% of the world’s population. Get the picture,right.? So please give yourself a break too. Some of the stuff is created outside of you. It is not your fault. Getting your body and brain back does though start with you. Start with finding your voice. Find your own sovereignty before you accept the substitute on offer.

I was fortunate to grow up with Punk and just after it music and here’s a bit from 40yrs ago.

https://2xsrVO4ZL0Y

I’ve checked the link 4 times with a can’t be reached msg

So, it’s Siouxsie and The Banshees, The Singles 1981