Kiwi On The Loose

There is nothing like the voice of a friend. Obviously I am some kind of communication junkie. Lately I have found myself having with drawl symptoms from a lack of intravenous supplies, and consequently been doing some serious thinking, along the lines of why I am me and what’s the matter with me. In the thick of it, I so don’t know if other people experience these crippling episodes, you feel alone as alone in this world and nothing is ever going to change, in fact in this state when you look back down your life path it just seems like its always been the same.
I wish my thinking wasn’t always serious. (which I know it isn’t, but it so seems so)
I found myself talking with someone not 30 minutes ago about things I had been thinking and feeling of late. Some might call it a venting, some a letting off steam kinda thing. Whichever it was I so needed it, there was no raised voice, just self doubt and wondering about the interface of me and the world, my history and future, what was true, would it ever change and all that kinda emotive stuff. Emo is the term used by youth apparently for this kind of talk. It was not a careless dump of negativity
In my listener I sensed no judgement, no answers and a lot of listening and compassion.
That was a gift I so needed to work out my thoughts and feelings in a context of acceptance and love.
It was a wonderful gift from a wonderful friend. I hope I can have that kind of voice when others need it.

And now I am back on track. Everything can seem so hard at times, a real uphill slog, and in that dazed state the road looks all uphill. The voice of a friend can change all that. Being there for someone be the need large of small, is a precious gift, a priceless gift.
I am over the peak.

Well the answer is……………very!
I love it how in life you can have moments of incredible lucidity, where you see very very clearly how things are, and what people are saying or writing. THEN on the flip-side are those moments where you TOTALLY miss what was being said, or right under your nose, or before your eyes. I had a situation like this just recently, and yes I feel stupid and embarrassed I could be so blind and thick, but in other ways I am grateful for the wake up call.
For me the wake up call comes in several ways.
1. It is a reminder that I don’t always get it right, that it’s wise to challenge your own thinking and perceptions regularly.
2. It has made me realise that when you recklessly settle into a certain modus operandi or way of being as a person that doesn’t see you challenging who you are and  how you see things, that is when you can do dumb things and totally miss the point or go off on a tangent that has nothing to do with reality or the situation.

My aka is BlindPoet, and I have come to see how appropriate that is for me. If I was an American Indian the name would suit me down to the ground.
This week in my teaching doing listening activities with the kids I came to the realisation that the brain generalises sounds. When you think how the brain remembers and stores every sensual intake we have, that’s a lot of information. When we hear something, I think the brain throws up all the possiblities given that stimulus sound. If the brain had to scan every sound for a match it would take ages. So it throws up a lot of sounds like options. What we have to do is question the options and sort details out in the stimulus sound to see if they match the brains options/memories. That’s when it becomes listening. Listening and hearing are two different actions. We actually need to challenge what the brain thinks the sound is.

And so it is with what i think I read, or am hearing from someone or maybe even feeling.
What I think someone is saying and what they are actually saying may be two different things. It needs me to challenge what I think they are saying. When we get to a space like we just leap to our first understanding of something, that’s when we are at risk of missing the point and getting it totally wrong.

It takes a wake call, embarrassing yourself to realise hey mate, step back, slow down. Jumping to conclusions happens because I think the brain gets lazy, or we get to set in our ways.

Growing always has a level of discomfort attached.
And me being embarrassed is a growing pain.

Clear as mud!
When I think I am seeing very clearly, or acting as if I always have insight, I am possibly the most blind.

This saying is more perhaps an Australian saying, but since such a close we love to hate you bond exists between the Australian and the Kiwi, kiwis affectionately use it too.
“She’ll be right mate” is a turn of phrase that means just what it says. It has a twang of its own, it’s own accent even. R2D2 in Starwars could never really carry this off, or John Wayne for that matter. It has to have the drawl of down under folks.
Just like ‘don’t worry be happy’ has a Jamaican voice inherent.
So what does it mean?
Simply that, don’t worry, it will all be okay.
It can mean ‘ I don’t need any help’ when used to reply to an offer of help.
In fact here’s a song written by Fred Dagg (another post in himself) that will give you the idea.

When you’re hunting in the mountains and your dog’s put up a chase,
And a porker’s coming at you and he doesn’t like your face.
And you’re running and he’s running and he’s pounding on the pace,
Well, don’t worry mate, she’ll be right.

She’ll be right, mate, she’ll be right.
Don’t worry mate, she’ll be right.
You can get your feed of pork when he slows down to a walk
So don’t worry mate she’ll be right.

When you’re logging in the ranges and you’re riding down the bluff,
With forty feet of timber riding right behind your chuff.
Your clutch has started slipping and your brakes are worse than rough.
Well, …She’ll be right, mate, she’ll be right.
Don’t worry mate, she’ll be right.
Just give her all you can give her, and she’ll just fly into the river.
So don’t worry mate she’ll be right.

When they’ve finished off your forwards, and your backs are wearing thin,
The second half’s near over and you’re forty points to win,
And a hulking wing three quarter’s got his teeth stuck in your shin
Well, …She’ll be right, mate, she’ll be right.
Don’t worry mate, she’ll be right.
You won’t worry who’s the loser when you meet them down the boozer.
So don’t worry mate she’ll be right.

When you’re boiling up the copper and you’re brewing up the hops
You’ve made a hundred dozen and you’ve hammered down the tops.
The missus comes and asks you where you’ve put your footy sox.
Well, …She’ll be right, mate, she’ll be right.
Don’t worry mate, she’ll be right.
Shove a shot of metho in, and you’ll swear you’re drinking gin.
So don’t worry mate she’ll be right.

So she’ll be right, can be added to a huge variety of situations and applications.

Mum & Dad

You were very here today
as I sat couched
writing @ Pablo’s
a snowy November outside
spilling my soul
the coffee cup translations
the meanderings of a son
prodical worker
paper scrawled rants
in a far off land.

I look
to the highest rock
like everlasting arms
stretching skyward
the blessing of the waiting father
a blimp on the horizon
waving in the air
sending words for the day
and mighty prayers
not lost across oceans
as far as east is from west
home is where you are loved

BlindPoet © Nov 2008

I began writing this last November 20th in Pablo’s in Denver.

Really, looking back it was a prolific day. Such a neat cafe. I had ensconced myself on the couch, surrounded by other Pablo dwellers and over 4 hours or more consumed 9 shots of expresso. So the best coffee, Danger Monkey, but very strong. I didn’t know what to order, so being one uncool and decafed as it were in the truest sense, I stood at the counter, the guy looking at me and I didn’t know what to call what I wanted. I ended up with triple shots, expresso in a small cup. You could get the refill free, and I think they gave me a free refill on the refill.  I think I talked Susan to death that week.

This is an affectionate reference to my Mum and Dad who knew they may not see there son again when I dismantled my life and set off for America, but gave him their blessing and support in following his heart to a strange land. And strange it was. I think, and the thought only just occurred to me, as they do,  that I thought America was going to be like the older shows I watched as kid on TV, like Lassie or the Beverly Hillbillies, or Disneyland’s tall tales and true. How wrong I was, and I struggled with how different and askew it was.

So here I sat this snowy day in the warmth of Pablo’s on the corner of 6th and Washington. This little kiwi guy, a sail on this huge adventure, missing home and the familiar, but very aware that he was loved. Not just by his family, but also his American girl, and that story is still unfolding and happening. It is a love story. The love story of my life.

I have really written a lot lately when I think of it, and I feel the wonder and the power of words and good coffee (only 3 a week) gathering a strength and confidence.Tonight I finished a poem that started one snowy cold day in Pablo’s in Denver last November. It was a day of 9 expresso shots and 6 poems. Fun and warmth.

Here is The Denver Old Time Dance Society
http://blindpoet259.wordpress.com/2009/08/18/the-old-time-dance-society/ which is published on my poetry blog.

Or you can read it here. It comes from a collection of thoughts and feelings while I walked the streets on Capitol Hill in Denver on my way to Ogden and 5th where I was helping a friend with some jobs on his home. I loved walking the 12 blocks from Colfax thru this old area of Denver. Heres a link to some photos from that time taken on my cell ph.
http://www.pbase.com/blindpoet/denverdays

Here’s the poem.
Leave a comment, I would love to know how it strikes you. Does it work, communicate………???

The Denver Old Time Dance Society

Stranger feet this dance floor has ne’r seen
elongated flagstones rutted
buffed dull crimson by a gazillion feet
Fall leaf woven carpets secret the drenching of beer
and the stale stench of chunder
with cheese like familiarity
This dance floor goes left and right,
on and on
16th, 17th, across Colfax,
across the abbey road, now you see me now you don’t
black minstrels in white pants
beneath a blue sky
where Lucy once flew with
diamonds and loved Peanuts.

A dance floor cavorted by trees
drunken
with tired limbo hangovers
like bouncers
sleeping off wet  dreams
Grease Lightening
memories of young lovers
bare flesh
parked classics
poop collection bags
the doggy lifestyles
of the rich and the not so
the monotony of middle classes
the daily drone
in CO2 madness
1 2 3, 1 2 3, turn
twist
stepping up
to

Mambo No.5
away from the light

Stranger feet this dance floor
has ne’r seen.

I apologise to my followers and myself for not writing more in what seems like a very long time. The truth is that I have been writing lots, just not to the blog.
That will change as now I have Scribefire on my new mac book pro here at school and I will blog away and get around the net blockade. Man that sounds exciting, what a word, b l o c k a d e. Love it, conjures up many stories in my imagination. Swashbuckling stuff with a beauty under my arm, which I already have. Note its not saying I have a beautiful armpit, BUT that I have a beauty under my arm.
I have been working on various projects but the exciting one is a book aptly called Blind Man,s Bluff. It is a collection of images from my times in America and New Zealand.
Check it out, here’s a link. It would make a unique and excellent present. http://www.blurb.com/bookstore/detail/772941
I am really excited about this book and the others I am working on. I have always wanted to write and so I am.
The preview is only 15/32 pages. Take a look and leave a comment there or here.
Shameless self promotion I know. But it seems to be the way of it. The squeaky wheel and all that………..