Cheers.

Tonight I sat down and had drinks with my emotions.
Denial and protective walls lowered as fast as the liquor in the bottle.
I acknowledged their existence and honestly owned the ones I felt.
I reflected in their mirror,
Seeing more than myself.
It just is, we just are, in this very moment, for now. 
So I held up my white flag of acceptance and my emotions granted me peace.
Cheers.

Z.

Sleep is a temptress,
Tiredness being it's seduction,
Yawning and drowsy eyes being it's foreplay.
Lulled into a state oblivion.
Submission.
Darkness and release.
Peace.

Two's and me.

It's a night of two's.
I sit alone.
Observing.

All engrossed in personal conversation.
I drag on my cigarette.
Listening.

All oblivious to the others.
I'm aware.
Thinking.

Desire and Fear - Hand in Hand.

My desires, I have come to realise, are also my fears. What a bitch. 

It seems to me, in order to get what you want you have to be confronted by, surrender and let go of all fears. This problem is maximised by the additional confrontation, surrendering and letting go of ideals necessary to overcome these fears, in order to experience your desires unhindered. This a battle of self. One declared at any stage of potential progression. 


When confronted I tend to shut my eyes, block my ears and sing 'la la la la la'. I fight. I fight really damn hard. My unhealthy friendship with denial grants me blissful ignorance, a pseudo strength. I just seem to keep resisting until the confrontation is so great that I am literally forced to my knees and made to surrender to the inevitable. Or, if I have enough reason or feeling to run on impulse, I might be fortunate to bypass this kind of pressure all together.  I'm a girl who needs a bone, something to work with so my intuition can kick in  rather than leaving my mind weaving some elaborate plan, which is ultimately doomed to fail as it's not designed for the moment I might find myself in. Back in the day alcohol and drugs would be the answer to taking down the inhibitions because everything felt greeeaat! However, most of the time these views were too exaggerated or simply not taken seriously. This then could be used as an excuse to back track but the foot prints of this venture would remain. Today, I'm sober. In the absence of courage I must rely on adrenaline-fueled impulse, strong support and being in the moment to overcome these fears. A period of silence is also required so that I have time to be honest with myself, to dismiss my denial and to simply grow a pair to speak my truths.

The fear is terrifying. It summons doubt and slows me down. As ugly an emotion it is, it really is an ingenious indicator to the strength of your desire. So here is my gage: When petrified and I'm still stepping closer to the desire, its going to be well worth it. If I'm standing still terrified, then there is a question mark. This means a time of silence or heightened awareness is needed. If I'm running away and hiding, then I am simply not ready.

Phantom Touch.

Your hands have lifted,

Days on I still feel their heat,

Their amorous grip.

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.