Off with the birdies....

Stencil, comic strip and animation artist, Solomon Yeone, is bringing nature back into the big smokey cities with his new guerrilla art campaign "Off with the birdies". Next time you are in Sydney city look into the corners of the streets and stations - you may find yourself standing next to a little feathered friend who is waiting for a train with you. And keep an eye out in Melbourne also, word on the street is that the flock may very soon, be flying south. Yay for street art! Become a "fan" on Facebook and follow the campaign making cities prettier places.

The Girl

5.30pm. The city heaving back to life again, the air filling with the symphonic sounds of heels clip clopping on the blue stoned pavement. The tires of cars meeting a rain soaked bitumen road, creating continuous images of fizzy drinks at the moment of their ring pull. The impatient bleats of horns, like lost goats, in search of the flock. It was dusk, the ageless time, neither day nor night. All that walk it's halls is layered with a film of deep blue, masking their timelines, they tread weary but with satisfied expressions of another day of punishment done with. At this timeless moment, we live in a world all equal, free from titles, creases, veins - all angelic and harmonious, as the sea of movement doesn't skip a beat.

I sit at the edge of my bed listening the distant sounds this world makes outside my window. My towel is draped around me lazily but consciously, I am still cautious of being seen naked by that gluttonous presence that sits patiently filling up the empty spaces of my room. My attempts to dry my hair properly have failed, yet again, as pear shaped droplets, unsuccessful in their attempts to cling to the tips of the strands, fall in succession and roll in a steady stream down my back, lightly tickling me. I close my eyes, desperate to remain focused, in this dark empty room there is nothing but a playground for an army of thoughts beating down the boundaries of my mind.

I part my legs ever so slightly, the fused skin of my thighs prickly complying. My fingers ever so softly take over the function of my sight, and trace a familiar path between my legs. Trodden enough for this to be easy and time efficient but not so new as to be a redundant exercise. A diamond flash of light appears from the movement of my arm, the outside light of the world for a moment met with my metal, I don't see it but the transparent curtain of my eyelids tell me it's there - my eyes are still firmly shut and will be until the end.

My next deep breath cements my body and like the cascade of lined rows of dominos, falling from a simple flick of a finger, I harden from my heart through to the very ends of my finger tip and toes, the weight I always know is burdening me has finally appeared in it's physical form. It is time. Silent. Steady. Slicing. In the same moment of time a violently penetrating burn meets an arctic freeze, both loyal friends and sworn enemies. With each tick of time, each increasing movement, my rigidity, my rigor mortis is eliminated, as each element of my body is detonates into gold burst of dust. every sound that exists unites, crystalizing into one perfect note - a moment of harmony.

I am a million particles, all seeing, from every angle, every time, outside and in, so real and so clear, so still, I see everything and I see nothing, all becomes meaningful and meaningless, I am shrouded in enlightenment and confusion. I am a whole perfect moment suspended, weightless and complete.

Dark, velvet tears weep from my flesh, it's always this that wakes me, my mortal being reforms again and I am disturbed. My thigh is crying, wetting me. I concentrate on the paths these tears choose to take. Each hair on my body has it's own emotional encounter with each traveling droplet, welcoming them, embracing the harmony of matter meeting matter, like a chorus starting to sing one voice at a time, all the way down to my toes if I allow the chance. The locks on eyes are released and once again I perceive this created reality. The weight settles back into my skin, like an old friend.

I pick up a towel I had set in preparation for this moment and press it against the inside flesh of my thigh, the outline of the cut has become a million needles and all the feeling I possess, has moved into this area of my body as if nothing else matters. An enemy infiltration and the troops have been called in for support - what they don't understand is that the enemy is one of them. The gold dust of my alluring perfection begins to fade, I always try and hold on with desperation, to it for as long as I can manage but inevitably it disintegrates through my fingers, an impossibility, like trying to hold onto water. The fat, grotesque form of guilt comes and sits heavily into my lap. I feel sticky and sick, why did I do this again? Why do I need this so much, why does my body, my every bit of being yearn for harm?

I head to the bathroom to wash the sin away, the coolness of the water soothes the burning fires, subdues the in-fernery of foolishness. My hands cupped like a human bowel, I watch as the water finds its way through my imaginary ceramic fingers. An impossibility. I am chasing nothing, I am running from nothing, I am afraid, of nothing. Nothing but a dream, a fantasy, a monster created by the electricity running through my head, fabricated through perpetual thoughts, a monster of thoughts, thoughts that are me. I am my own monster, I am afraid of me.

I look into the mirror and see myself looking back at me, knowingly, and I wish that I wasn't.

(This story is entirely fictional and the topic is serious. If you think you need help or assistance with self harm go to reach out, life line, Kids helpline or beyond blue for more information or to find support)

What the Bleep

Following my last post about firing neurons, I watched the DVD What the bleep do we know, the other night. It was fascinating. It was based on the concept of quantum physics - and encouraging us to re-look at the world that we take for granted, to question our being in the world. It reminds us that we live in a uncertain world, that is plastic, that is able to be changed and manipulated purely by thought. Big concepts huh? But to a certain extent it is very true.

I mean you need to take things carefully, and not blindly believe everything it says - but the film states this themselves. They are presenting some opinions to get you thinking - they don't say that what they say is true, they encourage you to make up your own mind. But for instance they present a finding that a Japanese man, Masaru Emoto happened upon. He claimed that water changed it's physiological properties when thoughts (words of intent) were directed towards the water. He showed this by sending words of intent towards bodies of water then freezing it and take a microscopic photo of a single water droplet. The positive words/thoughts showed beautiful crystalised forms and the negative thoughts/words showed grotesque and ugly forms. Some of the forms are indeed beautiful and spectacular, I have shown one below which takes the form of "thank you"

Anyway Mr Emoto does go on to say that transformed water, if it is positive, will then have healing properties and he goes on to try and sell the secret to releasing the thoughts of water and I highly doubt this is true, I mean it could be but from further research (googling) it seems he hasn't tested it enough in a scientific setting. He also hasn't passed James Randi's 1 Million dollar test (this is to the healing claims). But I do believe that they are quite confident that water does change shape and this is what is quite amazing in itself because it means we actively affect our world, which has been supported in scientific settings time and time again and this is the remarkable point that to me is far more weight to it.

We actively affect our world.

So often we think we are passive players, take for instance the healing sell from the concept of positive thought water, people buy into these types of offers because we are all trying to look for the external answer that will help, change, decide the path for their lives. In fact, people are so passive and become so complacent and believe they have no control and inevitably it becomes a truth, the brain and body physiologically change in accordance to this belief, and ironically the 'observer' has just controlled his/her life into being controlled. How amazing is that concept! If you don't look at the world differently after that then you are blind and cannot read.

Actually let's take the concept of vision and perception to further explore the unbelievable beings that we are. Basically, we operate like a machine - we are data collectors and users, we do not see with the eyes but with the mind (Shakespeare knew this when he wrote A Midsummer Nights Dream! Sorry I'm digressing, back to it). Scientists have shown by mapping our brain, that when we see something and when we imagine something, our brain is doing the exact same things in terms of information processing - so there is no difference between what is real and what is unreal, we understand something to be there because we have a built a collection of infinite information in our minds, assisting us to understand what something is and to consciously acknowledge that it's there - we have created neural networks for quick referencing. And those neural networks can be different for everyone based on experience, why are they different? Because we create understanding, we are not born with it only the capacity to create it. So you see the brain is plastic and it can change. I won't go into now but if you care to know more about neurons firing together and wiring together then Norman Doige's book The brain that changes itself is a bloody good place to start.


But back to seeing, are things visible if we don't have a reference point for them or the ability to access the information for them? There is some experiments that have shown this may be correct. This all shows us that our realities are indeed ours and different from others. So we have created our reality which means we can change it, we just need to be conscious of it to change it and thats where I think we are lacking but when you are conscious of it - life become amazing because the simplest and smallest intricacies of life will seem different and complex, constructed and changeable - we start to live in a really dynamic world full of infinite possibilities.

The very next morning I went to have breakfast with my friend who is a casting manager and she told me a story from her work. She was running out of time to cast her final actors and the director kept asking her to get more people because he didn't feel comfortable with the people she had already put forward, however she did not have time to find more people, get their profile pictures and put them forward for submission. So she became conscious of her choices, and how information may look to her director. There was one actor that she thought would be great but he had not passed the photo test with the director - she resubmitted all the same people but different photos of them, and she had all the photos looking away and the actor she wanted she used a photo looking directly at the camera. Not only did the director (after scrutinizing mind you over these photos) not only not know that the submissions were all the same but he chose the person she wanted out of the 20 faces. Was it magic? no, it was psychology in action, it was understanding our brain and using it's skills or rather lack of skill to save time. Magic, no. Incredible, yes.

Next time you make a choice - become conscious as to why you are making that choice. does it remind you of something? Have you chosen it before? Does it relate to something in your life? Is it attached to a positive memory? Are you repeating the choice because you make to any of your choices unconsciously?

Only when we become conscious, do we really understand the infinite possibilities of ourselves and our lives. We hold the most powerful tool ever known, and it's sitting right behind your eyes.

xx

We are all just bunch of firing neurons

I went to see Andrew O'Neill last night - the occult comedian who was just delightful and possibly should be the poster child for being the most tolerant guy in the world. I think he has the right attitude - he said that he was nothing but a subjective concept to us - a bunch of firing neurons in each of our minds, creating a picture, and understanding in our minds that would then lead to our perception. I mean what a fucking awesome statement, because if you are making judgements it's your own mind thats creating them isn't it? It's your firing neurons that are fucked.

he considers himself to be a transvestite in fact he says that he has joined the union and that part of that commitment is to cross dress at least 3 days of the 7. I'm not sure if this detail was fabricated - I can't help thinking that this union is actually a bit of a boys club because I would imagine it's much easier to join as a man cross dressing than a woman, given that we have naturally blurred the boundaries and I am actually not sure what would constitute enough masculine effort to be considered a female "cross dresser" I have tried to google it with not much success on this detail. In any case Andrew is so handsome and looks so lovely in his outfits - they suit him perfectly - I wish more men were comfortable in wearing dresses or skirts and it were as normal as women wearing pants (trousers for any UK readers - I wish), then if it were more socially accepted we would have to define it with some special term it would just be the norm. Actually it did make me think how lucky I was to be a woman - we definitely seem to be the more freer sex and have far less limitations when it comes to how we wish to socially construct ourselves as individuals, but I guess it comes at a price with other social stereotypes and limitations but I think we have opportunities to break these more than men do.

What I love most having attended the show, was had i not gone i would never have been sat down next to a man who was I would say in his forties, with the most beautiful healthy looking long hair i have even seen, I was totally jealous, but I'm digressing, sorry. He was a corrosion scientist and is from the UK doing a stint at the CSIRO in Australia. His demeanor was soft and shy but ever so warm, open and friendly to anyone who was willing to accept him. He proudly showed me his newly acquired vampire teeth, that he has recently had made to fit. They were lovely. He said he has an affinity with the vampire concept and thus dresses accordingly to the description of one to fulfill this sense of connection. I asked him why he simply didn't get the teeth capped onto to his regular teeth for a more permanent commitment to the look, but he shyly responded that the corsets, capes and teeth come out for the appropriate nightclub he attends - I hoped that was his choice and not because he felt he was only limited to that space as a way of self preservation.

His one concern about being in Australia was that the overwhelming exposure to the sun was giving him an unwanted tan. "Who is going to believe me as a vampire, if I turn up looking so dark skinned" Bless him. A truly gorgeous spectating buddy to a very entertaining show.

Be who you feel you should be, don't fight the neurons creating your individuality or be limited by other neurons, that are, themselves limited in their perceptions.

xx

Misty Water Coloured

(I know it's slightly egocentric, but it's my blog and I'm doing it anyway)

My Top 10 Childhood Memories in chronological order - probably answering all your questions as to why I am the person I am today.

1) Feathered Encounters

Two years of age (That's right this is my first memory and my mother is quite impressed with the level of correct detail) I had been taken to the easter show, Im presuming where I had been taken was, in fact, the easter show. In any case I knew I had been somewhere exciting and fun and I was hoarding a collection of goodies to show for it. Except as I sifted through the items in which was probably the millionth audit of newly acquired possessions I realised something was indeed missing: My coloured foil windmill with the yellow handle. You know those windmills made of sparkly foil paper, that when you blow on them all the colours merge into a big blob keeping a toddler interested for hours. I went on a hunt to find it and peered out the window towards the car from where we had come - bingo - there it was lying innocently on the ground. I must have made a dash out of an open front door, down the steps of the stoop and onto the driveway where the car was parked. My windmill was within a hands reach, however as I reached out to pick it up I realised I wasn't alone. I looked up and there ahead of me was a feathered creature of gigantic proportions, its giant claws scratched threateningly on the ground and its beak snapped - this was the end I was to be eaten alive by this death winged creature. Screams and tears were cascading from me before I even knew it and frantic parents rushed out, only to stop in their tracks, stare and then burst into fits of laughter (I was not impressed by this reaction and now I think back and am impressed that at the age of 2 I already knew how to be unimpressed - clearly why it's been the default reaction of my life)

Oh PS this monster turned out to be a chicken and ironically it got eaten in the end by the neighbours and thankfully I remained in one piece.

2) Jealousy

3 years - first day at kindy - I met my childhood best friend Sarah, however the first time I met her I despised her as she walked aloofly onto the astro-turf and hopped onto some play equipment (the type of play equipment that is now banned because it's now actually deemed too dangerous for children to play on - no wonder children are so soft these days.**) Sarah was sporting the latest hair design of a full curved to the head fishbone braid and sporting pink and white reflector velcro sneakers - god dammit she was cool - I hated her and at the same time desperately wanted to be her friend, cool by association. I knew from that early moment I would never make the grade with the latest fashions and reach true uber coolness - I was served a cold wet dish of reality from the ripe old age of 3. Still Sarah turned out to be a nice girl and we became friends, plus a couple of weeks later her mum cut all her hair off to look like a boy because of nits so that cut her down a peg or two.

** We used to go to pottery classes in the school holidays and there was an old wooden circular bench (like a really simple carousel) that you would push around and it would spin and it had section like a pie, each section would hold a couple of kids and you would hold onto the metal bars so to not fall off. We would get as many kids on as possible and spin that thing so fast and the last kid still holding on won. We also used to have a treated pine pyramid that was at least 5 or 6 metres high - that many a kid owes there first broken arm to. Needless to say both these super fun playthings no longer exist.

3) Pink Undies

5 years of age - some of the participants of this memory still refuse that it happened but there is enough of us to know that it did. We were in kindergarten, the very first year of primary school and in fact we were only a couple of months into it. We had a teacher called Mrs Moosung (I think she still teachers at my old school - thats 24 years ago!) she had just nipped out of the kinder yellow classroom for a minute (probably to have a ciggie or something) Anyway we were told to sit still and wait, of course the minute she left, we all went mental. One of the girls called Sarah said I bet you can't guess what colour my undies are. Yellow a girl called Melissa yelled, White I chimed, purple Alanna shouted. All received shakes to the head so of course this turned into all of us trying to lift each others skirts up to see the colours and basically each others undies, then out of nowhere Emily jumped up and said these are my undies and pulled her pink knickers down to her ankles and did a jig - cue Mrs Moosung. We all got sent to the headmistresses office. Emily went first and came back in tears, I was horrified and petrified of my turn, I was so scared when I was actually in there that I burst into hysterical laughter, the headmistress was ok though and I was just told off and sent back to class.

Still the ordeal had made me so embarrassed and mortified that I didn't admit it to my mother until I was in year 6.

4) wet carpet

Year 1 and I was 6 years old. My teacher was Mrs Couch and she was frightening, she had a booming voice and smacked us when we were naughty (back in the days when this was ok) But she also made us massage her feet and play with her hair when she read us stories. One day she kept us back in class even after the lunch bell had gone and I had been desperate for the toilet, and wet my pants - unfortunately this also made a little wet patch on the carpet. When she told us to get up and line up to go outside, she noticed it and pointed her foot at the patch and boomed "who did this" I was so scared I never said anything. I also didn't say anything because I knew what happened to little girls who wet their pants at school - they were sent to Mrs Kernig, the nurse and were forced to wear a boys uniform for the rest of the day and then you got teased by the other kids

This is the first time I have ever told the story.

5) The School Yard (Various Memories)

We used to play He-man and Sheera in the playground at lunch. If a boy bought you a super dooper (which was a long thin fruit ice block) that means he likes you and if you took it that means you were girlfriend/boyfriend and that was considered gross. Once my friend Emily and I had a fight at lunch and she said that she wished I would die at an early age. Not dead yet. We are still friends. Alexia: One, Emily: zero. The school canteen. You would always approach them with the sentence "how much can I get with this much?" [array of coins dumped onto the counter]. They served us carob and ovaltinies instead of chocolate: we were extremely naive. Every band morning my mother would drop me earlier at school, for band practice (my mum wanted me to play the clarinet and I hated it) - I spent a lot of mornings in the mural weather shed, and at the concerts I pretended to play (I've never told my mother this).

6) Learning does stay

Year 3 and I was 11 years old - I had to do an assignment on Platypuses and Echidnas - they are both monotremes - this means they only have one hole..... for everything. Snap.

7)Raptors in the dark

One of my closest family friends Jess was a little younger than me in school but outside of school we did a lot together, everything in fact, a lot of memories live in the lap of my mate Jess. We used to go for walks at 7.30pm every night - I would watch Home and Away at 7pm and then re-tell Jess the episode while we were walking (I don't even know why? I think she may have enjoyed the way I told the story better than watching it herself) Anyway my fondest memory with Jess was with my sister and her brother Jordan. It must have been around the time of Jurrasic Park because this is how we knew about Raptors. Basically whilst the parents were chatting in the other room over dinner we would play the game raptors in the dark. Simple Premise. Someone was the raptor, the others were getting away from Raptor, we all had to crawl on the floor (around the couches etc) and it was all done in the dark. Basically it was just a way to scare the beejeezus out of ourselves, just the silent anticipation of a raptor behind you in the dark set you off into a frenzy of screams, which in turn led to more screaming from others and so on. the adrenalin rush was sensational.

8) And Action......

From very early on people were aware of my dramatic tendencies - I wore one glove around the place in honour of Michael Jackson, Wore my hair like Cyndi Lauper. I had a habit of encouraging (ok... forcing) the children that belonged to the guests that came over for dinner to do a play, dance, song, whatever was taking my fancy at the time and we would perform it for the parents at the end of the nights proceedings. I was a hideous, nazi-like director and everything had to be done perfectly and my way. I was known to fire children from the stage and cause them to cry. We actually have a tape that I recorded, which was me pretending to record a radio station program and I fire one of the children on the recording because she is not doing the voice properly and then she runs off to tell her mum - snitch. In this interview I also run a secret sound competition which was a nose blowing into a tissue and interview a person with the name Led Zepplin - I was an idiot.

9) First Crush

He arrived in year 5 and had the attitude of a kid with a dirty past. I heard he burnt down his last school. Wow. He was a rough, handsome, delinquent. And I spent many a night in my room fantasising about him holding my hand, kissing me, telling me that he loved me, wanting him to ask me to be his girlfriend. He was dreamy. I would go parties and desperately hope that his spin of the bottle would land on me. In the end he chose Anita Palmer as his girlfriend because she peaked early with puberty and had the biggest boobs for a 10 year old, you have ever seen (some say her mother sent her to the doctor for jabs to bring puberty on early....... tramp.)

His name was Robert Doyle.

Apparently now...... he is a total bogan.

10) For the Kingdom, Power and Glory

So I kind of need to mention this because it took up a lot of my childhood life and will explain why I am so anti it now. My mother allowed my friend parents to take me to church. Now I'm not really sure why she did this - It was possible that I had wanted to go, I'm not sure - that I can't remember. I guess my mother had the trust in me that I would eventually work it all out in my own head and make my own decisions about things. I was taken to a CLC church - this stood for Christian Life Centre which was eventually to be become part of the Hillsong family (yup). It was one of those churches that played rock music and the paster wore a Madonna mic and pranced up and down the stage theatrically to do a sermon. He got to the point where he asked people to come down to the front if you wanted to open your life up to jeebus. I was taken down, and a gazillion hands (people I knew as well as strangers) were thrust upon every part of my body and head. To the side of me I could see others in the same position who had started convulsing, their eyes were rolling in the back of their head and they fell to the ground and started yelling in tongues (this apparently is the holy spirit entering your body) I was freaking terrified and not only that I felt like a failure, because I didn't feel even remotely groggy or affected by these violating hands, let alone whacked out by some spirit and in the end the hands just pushed me to the floor. It was ridiculous and no one answered your questions sensibly, only with fairytales that were unsubstantiated and most of the time you were being told how much of a shit person you were amongst a larger group of shit people and the only thing we had left was god. It was theatrical to say the least - possibly why I was attracted in the first place.

Now I believe in science.

But I don't want to leave this with such a cold note so I will tell you that one time in Sunday school we were drawing on the blackboard and at the same time were also given kit kats to eat - so there I was in my element, Chalk in one hand, kit kat in the other - you can tell where this is going...... jeebus made me eat chalk.... I hate jeebus.

Guilty Pleasures

(Some of the plot may have been fabricated to assist the story - c'mon you can't tell me you have never done it and at least I've warned you)

The other day I needed to go to the airport to pick a visitor to Melbourne, so I organised the hire car, picked it up, drove out the 30 or so minutes from city to Tullermarine, parked in the short term and crossed the pedestrian bridge and into the chaotic scene of jet setting: business men, families, backpackers and then some, in all directions were adorned with their various luggage accessories and necessities - some looked like they carried with them, their entire lives from start to finish, others a mere laptop bag. As I darted through the myriad of wheelie madness, I headed towards the screen informing me if the plane had come in, then a glimpse of something familiar caught my eye.

It was one of my girlfriends, her elbows supporting her as she leaned across the barriers of the internationals gate, she had a coffee in one hand and a look of nostalgic satisfaction. As I sidled up to her in hope that we could be waiting companions while we waited for "our people" to go through the torturous traverse through customs, I realised from her look that abruptly burst through the meditative spell she seemed to be under. When I innocently questioned who she was waiting for, there was hesitation, as if she were searching through the bank of answers available for deposit, then she realised the account was fairly empty and fessed up that she was indeed waiting for nobody.

The fairly reasonable journey out there had been for her own guilty pleasures. She felt the completeness in her own soul when she witnessed people re-unite and she devoured the residual excitement that trailed off the backs of individuals embarking on an unknown adventure. And this wasn't the first time she had made the trip to witness these scrumptious delights - as her needs of pleasure required it, she would hop in her car and it seems to me that one may have soon required the other hand to calculate the amount of excursions.

This made me start to think of all the possible quirky little scenarios that have organically become apparent to satisfy our humanly needs of satisfaction, pleasure, pure contentment and harmony - happiness essentially. And who out there at that moment was also satisfying their needs and willingly succumbing to the world of wonderful.

Immediately I knew some of mine. One in particular I discovered when I was quite young - the brutish art of kicking over toadstools...... crazy huh? But I just adore doing it. When I was growing up we had a jungle of a back garden and there were numerous dark, moist and misty places that were just ideal for toadstools to thrive. I had been exploring out the back, avoiding at all cost, the creepy crawlies that also loved the dark spots and I saw a patch of them, defiantly claiming the patch of mound, all hideous, stocky, stubby and stunted. So I kicked them, they were so light they went flying. But the real pleasure I got out of it was the sound, the soft and low "thup" sound when shoe hits fleshy fungus - just imagining the sound is giving me delightful satisfaction. Try it sometime. I bet you would enjoy it too.

So what do you do to fulfill your guilty pleasures?

xx

PS. Just found a facebook group with 95 people in it who also express the love of kicking mushrooms - I am not alone

What will they think of next

*** [added 19/4/10] Interesting, further to my post below from a couple of days ago, looks like it's still good marketing but for the big guy, not the little guy***

I am so super impressed by this marketing I just had to post it. Basically this new restaurant in Melbourne has just opened. Yeah you say no big deal - places open all the time.....

BUT...

for the first 2 weeks they decided to give the food away for FREE on the proviso that you find the details of where this place is yourself - if you hunt and find..... then free pizza! - it's genius, and yellow pages owe this little place for the recent activity on their webpage.

http://hiddenpizza.com.au/ (It didn't surprise me at all to my friend Simon's face in the photo of staff - this is totally him)

http://www.yellowpages.com.au/sup/the-hidden-pizza-restaurant-13768965-listing.html

I think I'm going to order the Hot Salami - YUM