raw-creation-writings

She knelt, beside her life's joy. Her partner. Stroked a finger through the rivulets that ran red and warm.

Paint stained her neck, Streaked down her chest, Bloomed between her legs.

"My heart", you think, Of the creature next to you.

My soul, you whisper, And drain its life in revenge

And water shook the air.

(alternate ending)/(something else entirely)

She knew with the fear of not knowing. Afraid to sleep, unwilling to wake up, there is, Too much changing, can't let go or you'll fall down and can't get up,

But what are you scared of down there?

where do they go

Sounds, slither.

trickle away.

Left with the echoes, the shadows

of yesterday

The sky rots in a blistering haze of

Reaching limbs, shackled to their roots

I pray,

to be released from this dungeon, of bright colours and a tortured love

Of

This red lens

Part of the scent that covers my knees and collarbones.

Such a Greater Something.

Can you taste it. 

That deep sky, the hazel nights, the lonely fights,

The never of ever and the endless pursuit of self.

I’d leave you in the dust if I knew it would mean your end,

But you persist, you persist, in breathing,

Stop, stop, please, just stop,

Leave the rotten where they lie,

where the clouds sink their pores into the holes of night

And leave the leaves where they lay

No one asked you to create an end

To decay, where you may,

There are rules, you know.

Red light to signal a lense of alternate sight

That distorts the lighter beings as they

Flit to the dusk.

Enjoy this while it lasts.

A smoke in the moonlight Alone, for the first time today. Truly myself I tell say Where inside are the people I live with An entire family I coexist with I want to fly the nest I already have, inside I consider them housemates, Though I don’t do enough to help around the house. I’m not so nice.

But because they’re family and in general it’s a mothers job to hold more responsibility over the family home, and I can just pretend like I’m too busy to

With being on my own, doing, things in my room. You never know what I’ll emerge with If you’ll be roped into an art sitting Or pulled into a photo shoot

Delicious art, quivers and burrs As it leaks out of my pores, tar, with the most beautiful scent Smell Perfume.

And I sit in my own world, and no one knows what I’m doing, I haven’t met any man who I felt wanted to know me more than I wanted to know them. No one has been looking Or they just hadn’t seen it in me

I don’t get it. I just haven’t met it. Met, him.

Yeah, it’s a him. I don’t know why, but I definitely want a guy to give that kind of love to me. I love my female friends, but I just need that other energy to balance out the female in mine.

Too much and you can tip.

O and I thought it could have been you. But you didn’t love me. Not in that way. You needed wanted a man in the end. There was an active sexual desire in you.

Oh you were special. And we had the deepest love, But I didn’t Couldn’t Wouldn’t Be it, For you.

Oh it breaks me How deeply it breaks me How it burns and threatens the depths of my pillars of self.

I’m not good enough, I’m not good enough, Not for you, not for anyone and I can’t ever let anyone inside that deep again.

And oh, for gods sake, I’m not talking about that one, he, you, a horrible fool. You are a She

You were warmth and love itself. you were the tender kisses of the one who means it the most. the curve of a promised tomorrow by your side.

I loved you so goddamn much.

I feel a fool for writing, I don’t know what this poem makes me, I don’t know if I can even call it a poem, It could just be the pitifully sad cries of an unhealthy mind, or the expression of art,

that which I consider to be art, that I am always refining and defining and broadening and narrowing it down to the highest art form that could be.

I

Hello old friend

Only friend

Green tea and smoky breath

I came back to speak to you because it had been a while, but I think that that's what I wanted this relationship to be like, but I forgot. 

Forgot to tell you that I don't have any good sense of self and that I'm here but not, a part of the sadness that fills your being. 

It's been bad lately. Bored nights, empty days. 

Heart pounding of a danger to stepping through the needs of life. 

Depression, anxiety, they give it names. 

But where does it come from?

And why does it burn

Churn, like the black hole it is. 

I don't have anyone to give me answers, 

I'm all alone 

Of a complete understanding. 

That I crave so, a deepest need 

Of a nothing infinity. 

And this why, and this cold chair,

It's all part of the greater thing 

The one I cannot hear 

Yet look for in every thing of every day 

I'm searching for a mind that knows as I know

Another part of the complete you, even if you don't even know it. 

And so am I, I guess 

Lost of my greater self, which in the end is you. Is me. I'm finding me. 

I'm finding you I'm finding me Me. 

Me. 

We. 

I. 

Who are you, spirit of this night. 

Do I believe in you? 

What am I tapping into? 

The shamans, the yogis, what do they tap into?

Are you a fool for believing in them?

He can feel it, apparently. 

Or is he just crazy. 

I think he's not crazy. 

But he's also not the greatest of people. 

I don't know. 

He's good at honesty though. 

More intellectual in the way of minds, yet not. 

I don't know. 

Different planes of spiritual energy?

What do the rabbis say about that. 

That theirs exists as a facet of something greater? 

Who are we to claim such things. 

Something deep inside me tells me it's the truth. 

But I also feel like we are not living as we are meant to. All of us. The most "orthodox" and all across to the other ends of "reform". 

I hate this Melbourne way. 

Take me back to the land of Israel, where the coloured scarves swept across the desert sand, and the godliness was raw and fierce,

in the beat of the goat skin drum that echoed across the land, 

Tribal. 

ancient desert jews 

The ancient Jews of the desert. 

Wanderers, nomads. 

Not carnival goers in bright pastel colours and polygon-esque fluorescent clothing.

Imagine what rich fabrics they had to hold their tents with. To drape over themselves as they rode. 

Oh how I hate and love you, even as I write you,

am forced to

spit your words out, you compelled me to speak with your voice

and I am as deeply sickened as honoured by it, I forever run

after your taste, your tongue, your touch

as it burns and trickles, the agony of unquenchable thirst.

Call me cre-a-tive and artist, hah!

Tis a fraud name for a

fraud fickle friend, a mind

that learnt to pretend,

There is not anything behind the words of my name

the life force of the letters, the created life of an insane genius voided as it gave itself to give birth to me.

He took my other eyes, so I could not see,

covered and wrapped and rolled away

and he thought, “maybe she’ll find me!”

One pair of eyes, and so many layers to see.

It’s hard enough trying to comprehend this re-a-li-ty

You kno w it.

You made me a poet.

You made me see symmetry where there wasn’t any before.

And how to create my own,

Now that’s a true parallel gift of you

My only, silent, invisible friend.

pointless resentments

and I pluck the petals in dismay

worn out, torn out,

tongue left in knots from the foreign words that spill into my hands in a desperate frenzy of need

please leave

let me be alone

Maybe I’ll be wiser some day,

I don’t know.

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,

but why couldn’t you see?

when I wasn’t responding, my face a conflicted mask of not-there

eyes, crying out,

And you smelt a hint of something wrong and your face changed

So I had to laugh, to wipe the serious off your face and maybe you’ll just think I was joking and- Oh look, he’s here! 

he’s yours.

And a familiar loneliness pounds

throbs, aches,

echos

In the gathering chasm

That blew in like a summer storm.

(Hello darkness my old friend)

I don't want to go anywhere. 

I used to just exist

And now I can't think of doing anything besides an act of creation, or else it seems like my own being 

Stops

And I'm not worth the breath I take

It's not over yet,

I only found a way to cover it, still haven't dealt with it

Did I really think I could be okay off meds?

 I don't know what changed. 

I don't know what to do.

 I was given life again 

In the last days of Jerusalem, I finally went to the kotel. 

The strange, cold, holy, wall

And I pushed in a note my grandfather gave me.

The one I couldn't help but read

Because someone else's pain is a curiosity of mine

Its beauty,

Its tragedy.

And I extended a little thought prayer of my own

Remembering the first time I stood here, 

When I cried for the weight of life that pressed heavier every day

Which had eased and worsened, and I had teetered at the edge, 

When I gazed into the ends horizon

Lost in a labyrinth of thoughts. 

So I ran. 

And for a time, the skies were covered by the lands of another place,

The oceans between us. 

But then it found me and the mountains collapsed and the fields were cracked and the seas rose from beneath. 

I spent much of six months in a battle with the deep. 

Alone, I knew, truly unable to be helped by those who claimed they could

Or wanted to

Or thought they cared. 

Burn in the flames and a candlelight could not touch the scarred layers 

Desperately built, in all its blood soaked glory.

I’ was gone, had a massive attack.

And now I’m back, and I’m here

For now there’s nothing thats gonna make me disappear

Like a dream in a smoke, like a fog on a rope,

This is all that’s left of me, this is all we can see,

The rest buried in a place left deep, where fear never stops and wounds never sleep

I’m am a fiya burnen draggen

and I don’t know where to bury the sword, every inch of sky-skin-walls, 

covered  in scales 

of stone.

Two actors on a stage, 

-

And my brother actually feels like a person to me.

His mind became alive, active in my perception of  him.

And now we’re friends. 

He respects me a bit more.

War paint. I am at war. A different kind of roar.

And I say I want to connect. But I don’t do it alongside the ones I already have.

Koala thumbs. 

Bands of paint.

Hold. Strengthen. Taut.

Firm and steady, to balance a new vine of rope with, a dance in the air, shapes to be held,

I don’t belong in this dance of metal, this foreign land,

Where are my desert skies and the drum of my tribe.

This alien land where the earth does not naturally reach, in thinnder holds and lost against the bleached skin of the ones that walk it.

Bones, bones, drum deep.

Red red heart

Dust and cold sand.

It’s them. 

From the years when I was too young to know.

Their shape, their cold, their grey.

Constructed walls. Arranged hearts. So lost, and all from themselves, their great white and can’t you see it.

The earth and the desert sun and the beat and feeling it to the depths of ones own self.

A life that limps on its own deadened limb,

That’s bleached itself of knowing.

I did not find G-d 

in those places they called holy.

The gravestones and cobblestones

steeped in history.

I heard him in the voices of many

In rhythm and harmony,

In soaring notes and trembling depths.

I found G-d

And He is my song.

I am dizzy

Tired of swinging around this merry-go-round they call life.

I want to get off 

But a circle has no end.

I gave up.

And in the echoes of my ruin

I heard a cry of rage and

Helpless fury.

A masked presence I could not see

reached desperately to me

And pushed the numb darkness away from my senses.

And I breathed in light and forgotten air

And wondered why I’d pulled that blanket over me in the first place.