The Little Things.

Coffee has been a long time lover of mine, apart from a recent three year estrangement. It all started at the tender age of eight, when my German father slowly upgraded my babyccino to a decaf cappuccino - to a weak cappuccino - to a latte - to a short black and finally to two double-shot short blacks before school by the time I was 14 (much love to a Euro upbringing). Naturally, I was addicted at an early age and my expectations for quality where exponentially high. I was a connoisseur, a ravisher of this golden liquid - that is, when it was grown, roasted and brewed properly. My affair hit a peak four years ago when I lived in Italy for a few months. Good... nay... exceptional coffee was everywhere! Even a petrol station in the middle of nowhere, which looked like it was a rodent infested shite hole, would have a coffee machine capable of oozing out a short black with the smoothest consistency and a healthy cream top. While in Italy, it got to the point where I would put a shot of coffee into my breakfast cereal. I would have at least six cups a day. The best one I have ever had was in the centre of Milano, which cost 6 euros. The outrageous price might of accentuated the flavour, none the less, it was like nectar of the Gods. Sadly, a few months later when I returned to Australia, my stomach could no longer handle coffee’s acidity. I had to break up with my lover. It was hard and my yearning was excruciating at first. I would lurk in the corner of a cafe just to smell it’s aroma and would still turn up my nose if I could smell  that the barrister had the water too hot, or if the grind was too coarse so that the coffee would burn, or the biggest offense - if the milk had been boiled. No matter how good the coffee is, if the milk is boiled, its going to be bad. In my three year hiatus I would smell and have an occasional sip of others’ coffee to reminisce and keep my despair at bay.

This year has partially involved me taking care of my health and sticking to a ‘diet’ to help heal and replenish my stomach to its former glory and lately it has been feeling great. So a few days ago, driving home, I thought “I haven’t had a full cup of coffee in over three years... I also haven’t eaten that much and I feel like cake... I haven’t read my book in a while...” CLICK! Spontaneously, I turned off down a road, parked and strolled into one of my favourite cafes. It was time. I ordered a latte and a flourless chocolate cake, sat down, whipped open my book and began reading. Then the aroma of my coffee being prepared wafted over and tickled my nostrils, serotonin was immediately let loose in my bloodstream. Anticipation heated my body, I was burning, to the point of salivation. Curiosity also exuded my thoughts - “I wonder how this will go down? Will my stomach be up for the challenge?” Not too long after, my coffee slid into place above my book, along with my cake. The thought of this being my coffee, a whole cup, just for me, felt so foreign... almost naughty. I was giddy. I slowly reached out, delicately and lovingly held the cup, lifted it to the proximity of my nose and inhaled. My giddiness intensified. This was it... When the first sip hit my tastebuds and washed down my throat re-stimulating the olfactory of my nasal cavity, I almost whimpered. It was so exquisitely delectable. I savoured/relished every sip after, along with every mouth full of cake and every word read. It all went down so well! My first full cup of coffee in over three years! That alone made me grin from ear to ear. At last, coffee and I were together again and I was feeling all warm inside, glowing. 

It really is the little things that grant everlasting contentment. They are so simple, readily available, ever present, reliable and easy. They aren’t so large as to create a shadow of doubt or to create any anxiety of its end because there will be another one around the corner. They are usually the things that make the big things even more rememberable, the things most savoured, the most special and usually the most appreciated.  They are in great abundance when I have the freedom to be spontaneous and they are there to give a helping hand in the stressful times - if I don’t become too preoccupied. I find if I remain open, present and aware there will always be little things to keep me grateful and ultimately happy.

It is a beautiful thing.

A Cigarette's Worth.

Sitting down, mind in a daze, dulled and lethargic.

Fingers separating the tobacco from its tight entanglement,

Spreading it evenly along the paper,

Easing in the filter,

Creasing the paper and rolling it all into a perfect cylinder,

Licking it, sealing it.

A well practiced, ceremonial event.

Softly placing it to the lips,

Cupping the end with one hand while the other sparks a flame.

First inhale embraces the obscured thoughts,

While the exhale brings questions and theories.

Smoke twists, wafts and rises,

Symbolic of the alleviation of this obscurity.

Inhaling, exhaling, observing the smoke and its shape-shifting,

Altered by different movements of the mouth.

Easy access to meditation.

Nicotine infiltrates the blood stream,

Clarification emerging with every exhale.

Perspective starts being sketched into illumination, 

Relief, stimulation, mental clarity and satisfaction.

Snubbing the tool of conclusion into an ashtray,

Feeling much better,

For now.

Haiku No.1

You hear what I hear,

But do you see what I see?

Would we feel the same?

May I?

I want to investigate your mind. 

Dig, sieve, poke, prod, shuffle, and file through.

What are your motivations? 

Why do you act the way you do? 

I want to ask it questions, test its humour and determine its morals.

What do you like?

What pushes your buttons?

How do you really feel about things?

What are your true, unedited thoughts?

So may I please borrow it in this time of absence?

Unexpected.

I didn't know you were coming,
But you did.


I hadn't experienced anyone like you,
Until now.


I didn't think anything of it,
Until it ended.


And now you're gone.

I ended one war, only to start another.

Not too long ago, a war was declared between the two hemispheres of my brain. I was in the middle of my first semester in my fourth year of university. I had passion for my degree (and still do)and as a consequence, my creative passions had been suppressed. It was at this time that my creative self decided to arm an attack, to advance in full force from the back line of my younger years, declaring its feverish presence. The battle began. Study, create, study, CREATE etc. This carried on and got to the point where study became an inconvenience and a hinderance. As soon as I began to tackle academia my energy levels depleted rapidly, I felt burdened. When I managed to finish one task, relief was only briefly experienced before I had to tackle yet another. It was grueling to say the least.It just wasn't enjoyable anymore. My heart for this venture had abandoned ship. However, when it came to something creative, I had boundless energy, in fact, it was a source of energy. When I completed a project, I felt satisfied, ecstatic, stimulated, wanting more. It was clear who the winner was. Once the decision was made, I felt light, giddy, giggling like a child. My spark was coming back.

So, I deferred my studies. Somehow I managed to claw my way through my final studies and now I have been 'free' for four whole days. In this short space of time, another war has begun. The weapon selected: the double-edged sword of uncertainty. There is no doubt in my mind, body or spirit that I have made the right decision. Yet the programming of study is threatening to sabotage my sense of freedom. I told myself to set no goals, to avoid unnecessary application of pressure upon myself to be of a certain standard at a certain time. This leaves me with no ground, no baseline to show my progression. I now find myself feeling impatient, already! I want to be somewhere, have some form of establishment, right now! However, I also know that this is going to take time. I want to get started, to charge ahead but there is no where to charge to. I am constantly confused but filled with so much anticipation for what will eventuate. I could do anything, I just have to allow myself the time to flow along, take as many opportunities as I can before my path can be highlighted. I have to keep reminding myself to relax, ordering my mind to slow down so my body and spirit can breathe, refresh and catch up.

So here it begins.
I know what I'm doing but don't know either.
I love it, I hate it.
I'm excited and I'm daunted.
I know I can do it but I'm filled with doubt.
My mentality is sorted, yet scrambled.
I'm filled with innumerable internal conflicts and when I balance one (or a few if I'm lucky) a collective go askew or even catapult into obscurity.

I have ended one war only to start another of epic proportions.

Fuck.
Yay!

Tantrum.

He found himself back at her doorstep,
Tenderising his knuckles on her threshold,
While his feet felt like they were sinking through the concrete.
Silence.
The little child within was pulling down on his stomach and ribcage,
Down, down, down.
Stomping its grubby, impish feet with impatience and he felt himself sink lower.

"Why?! Why do all my questions start with why?"
"Why are you never there when I need you?"
Silence.
His lips drooped, feeling as if they were about to slide off his face.
His eyelids descended on what felt like dirty puddles,
He clasped and shook the doorknob half-heartedly.
She never responded to shallow demands.
He knew that.
But it only intensified his need.
It happens every time.

Words.

When I was strolling through my campus I caught a small exchange of conversation between two international students.
"I'm sorry"
"Don't contempt yourself"
"Okay"
They were both speaking at the same level of intensity - casual. The use of words far out weighed the lightness of intention.

When I continued strolling and the two students were left behind in their banter I began to ponder the meaning of words and their place. To me, they are just tools, and on their own they aren't very useful, they need our intention to put them to use.

Vocalising your intention through tones, with words being the vehicle, is easy to understand. However, when these same words are left silent on a page, the intention is lost from the writer (usually) and it is up to the reader's discretion to decide their value and how it will affect them. It can create misinterpretation for better or worse.

A Question Leading to a Theory - Pt 1

He said. She said. He did. She did. He should. She should. He’s so… She’s so… He is. She is. How could he? How could she? Why would he? Why would she?

This is how gossiping, bitching, or whatever you may wish to call it, starts. Why would we even bother discussing it if we didn’t care about that he or she or how we might be seen to that he or she?

Or is it because we envy some quality that they possess, and by throwing an arsenal of aggravating words they might finally surrender and reveal their secret so that we too can acquire this quality?

Or is it because we want to see that person reach their full potential, just that we go about it in the most ungraceful manner?

Do we subconsciously hope that what we have said will reach that person or persons in the hope for change so that we can be closer? Or so that we can bring about confrontation in order to reach a resolution?

Or is it because we see those flaws within ourselves? Are we just trying to grasp and control our own insecurities and worries? After all, it is much easier to see these in others than within ourselves as denial tends to act as our own big, stalwart bodyguard with bitch tits.

Or is it because we just need to vent the steam built from the pressures of frustration, and once we have, realise that that is not how we feel at all? Is venting to someone else rather than the person themself acceptable in order to avoid ruffling feathers over something so trivial? Will they understand that it is just venting, rather than something more substantial? It all depends.

That’s what it all really comes down to. It all depends. It is all so circumstantial. I believe that love is unconditional; it is forgiving, helping us defend against the onslaught of ‘condemning’ words so that we can learn more about each other and our weaknesses, giving support and diminishing the space of isolation.

In my mind, we are all each other’s mirrors. I would not know who I am if I did not interact and connect with others. If someone says or does something I like or don’t like, I have learnt something. Every person, whether it is a parent I have known a lifetime or an absolute stranger who I have shared a fleeting moment with, they have all held up a mirror helping me to see myself in a different light or to reaffirm something about myself. Even if it is something unflattering, it is always good to know and to be aware of. I also believe there are no bad ‘things’, once you start removing the scum from its surface and scooping out its vile contents, you are always left with a beautiful pearl worth a wealth of knowledge, affirmation and understanding. You just have to be prepared to get your hands dirty instead of trying to make it go away.

There are so many tangents to this subject, which itself is one of many aspects of the human condition, a condition that can be understandable to an extent but always keeps us guessing and theorising, leading us down rabbit holes and winding pathways that equates to our life journey in learning about others and ultimately ourselves.

The Loner Puzzle Piece

A newly formed, obscure puzzle piece tries to find its place in the perfectly rigid puzzle.

At first it floats around the board trying to find the space that matches it's shape and that will snugly hold it in place.

Confused and unable to find this personal space promising belonging, it methodically works it way around again to no avail.

Panic drives it slam itself in the gaps, trying to force itself in.

The unique puzzle piece becomes frayed.

No success. It cannot manipulate or alter its shape to fit in.

The puzzle piece must now wait for its space to be made or for the board to lose its rigidity from more assaults from these desperately unique puzzle pieces so that every piece can be where it wants to be.