This Is The End, Beautiful Friend...

So, the end of the year is upon us. This year we died (well, the 21st December came and went and other than the wear and tear of the days we survived once again), we fought, we loved and lost and we found great things, made wonderful discoveries. We kept our eyes peeled and as a consequence they were filled with visions of warmth and true beauty. All endings lead to new beginnings. a time to reflect and analyse where we went wrong, and then... correction, improvement, evolution. Every day is a blessing, whether it feels it always so or not. For the circle of love around I am grateful. For the madness beyond it and how it inspires then I also give thanks. I hope to remember one thing as we embark on the only year of our lives which will end with '13'- to absorb everything around me, in the hope it creates a greater love that I can spread in the world. New leaf not so much, just self expansion in a positive way. This is the end, embrace it, once again, and never stop moving.

A Letter to Santa About Love and Stuff

Don't bring me toys and riches and tangible tricks that are dangled to entice me into false happiness. Give me love. Wrap me up, let me bestow it upon my family and feel it from all directions. The miracle. The baby. The force-field we draw around our festive joy. It lasts forever if we let it, all it has to do is climb right in. The glow from this house, from this room, as seen by outside must be stunning, swamping the early evening sky. The daylight is leaving us, we are settling in to a special night together. Yes, there were many presents, but I know if you took them away the shared happiness would mean it was the best Christmas of them all. This is what it is all about.

So, dear Santa, whatever people believe, whatever you are meant to symbolise, which essentially should just be the spreading of joy and love, all I ask is for people to appreciate each other. For love to take over, as the abiding supreme force on earth. We truly could light the darkest of paths with a little tenderness and thought and commitment to a worthwhile cause. Love over war, as ever it should be. The babies, the kids, all the way up to the oldies, all with hearts pumping inside chests. God bless everyone, on this beautiful day, and beyond.

It Shall Follow Shortly...

You cannot force the best things, they need time to incubate, to truly take shape and form, and arrive when ready. Beautiful nature, you have your way. You follow nobody, nothing at all. You steal the show, every time, and yet still mankind fails to appreciate your glow, your astonishing majesty. Every time i would kneel before your utter grace. Man and money. He has no idea what befalls him time and again. If he would only look out the window, the answers await. Man must see what he tries to hide from, or what he fails to acknowledge at the end of his eyes. To own the key, and have no idea. Tragedy beckons, suffocates our breaths.

Everything will take place, in the stages of its own desire. The background chasing at the foreground, never letting it forget that it's there. Snapping at the heels of. Nature, take it away, you beautiful angel.

Great Souls

Sometimes the souls come together, from out of nowhere. The magic cannot be held or contained, and there are no real boundaries that could be enforced on something so natural, unexpected or not. The soul. So much greater than any other thing, for it is invisible, almost dependent upon the mind and just how free you can be, and how grand the scale you can cope with branching out to mentally. It is a thing of ever blossoming beauty to behold. To float forever as part of everything, etched into the history of this earth. The very way that the wind moves and the stars light up the night sky. I can feel the souls wrapped up in all of that. The way everything has its own voice, the way the days leave us and always come back to find us, and even in the end something new will be formed, with souls drifting forever around and through it all.

The great souls are the ones that keep, the ones that hold all the candles, on a sea of candles, lighting the way for the lost ships, leading us out of the darkness. Just to feel them so near, it all becomes clear.

Baisho Matsumoto

I saw this man for the first time last month. This was some man, middle aged, Japanese, wearing all that he was on his beautiful gown's sleeve. He exuded charm and warmth and brightness, from every pore. He was funny and alive. Just some man, some amazing man. You could open him up and feel the love and passion for what he was doing, for life itself just spill out and wash over everyone there in the audience, and beyond. He was a spectacle. A spectacular thing. An inspiration. A garden of so many plants and flowers and trees. A garden filled with them. His wife was in tow, with her beautiful, strange voice floating over his instrumentation. He played several instruments, the names of which I sadly do not know. I must research this before it slips from my memory. He sings briefly in some otherworldly tone, he plays his instruments with his heart and soul and fingers and mind, all moving in unison. All inside the music, at the centre of the very songs, beating them forth. It is colossal and awe-inspiring. I speak a few languages, nothing special, nothing to brag about, but he communicates with the audience in his native Japanese, and as we are in Poland a lady translates into Polish. Having been here less than one month and knowing no Japanese I find myself in the unusual predicament of understanding neither of the two tongues being licked all over my ears, quite simply I am audibly lost. However, this cartoon character of a man is so literally animated with gestures and facial expressions it is hard not to understand some of his beautiful messages and feelings. It certainly feels like being transported to some part of Japan and sharing a wonderful little celebration of that country's culture and identity. To you, Mr. Baisho Matsumoto, and your wife for her accompaniment, thank you kindly. I hope to encounter your warmth on your travels, or my own, again some time.

The Mouth Says Nothing, But The Eyes Say Something

You can tell it's true. If you just care enough to pay attention to detail, which many clearly do not, it can all be seen in beautiful technicolour. Who cares what the mouth says. The mouths says things that only true love and its actions can back up or defend, but words can come off any tongue, at any speed, for any of infinite purposes. Look into eyes. Feel the force behind them, or the light inside the tunnels they are. You can contradict the tongue, go against your desire to reveal, show everything you long to hold back, in a flash, in a second, and render yourself defenceless. It's kinda funny. Poker faces. Armour. It all falls away sometimes. Some can hide from themselves, but most will reveal secrets without even knowing it. The tongue wagging, the eyes shining, the dog barking, the earth spinning, even as I write, now, out there, beyond your very room.

The Cold

The cold. I feel like it's holding me down and punching me. My ears are the first to bruise. To show it. Then the nose. I almost want to leave gaps in the clothes, at the neck, at the hands, just to see what damage it could do, and how quickly. It is clearly devastating and ferocious as it simply attacks me. Any skin showing will regret its appearance. I can appreciate the total beauty of something so clinical and precise, something so brutal and haunting. The cold, in all its warmth, squeezing the life out of me, leaving me battered. It is stunning to behold such a state, the streets still holding the snow from days gone by, the world looking frozen, or Wonderland, at least. The people from head to toe almost covered in clothes. Winter. It hits hard here, it sounds like a gospel choir, uplifting, soulful, glorious. Welcome to the world of Wonderland, even winter is majestic here. Even the frozen soul sings loudly.

Poleaxe

She came down on me, from a great height. Just the way Thom Yorke sang it. God, it was beautiful. Really it was. I think the word 'sublime' could pretty much cover it. She moved in this way, and it all happened here. You try to fathom it all, work out the answers, but just let it take you as it intends to. It just wants to have it's way. The fighter, the love, the warrior of every breath. and to leave them in pieces, having truly felt some magic. Take a hammer to the senses, a poleaxe for the heart, make us feel alive in any singular way. When it's over it lives on. Rain down, with all the love you can take. Rain down.

(NOTE- Words, punctuation, grammar. Beyond the rules of language we can step and challenge people as readers, as writers, and as linguists. Never stop evolving. Never stop wielding the weapon and bringing it crashing down on normality. Everything with love, my little ones, everything with love.)

Kto Wie

Who knows. So much on the mind lately, where to even begin. Inspiration coming out of the ears. Wonderland is working by the second, sending out signals and messages, crushing us with freedom. Who wanted to be a statue, last forever, but go nowhere, who wanted to be stationary? Being stationary was all too common. I didn't want to move aimlessly, with no purpose or point to any movement, but just pondering never moving, a bird in a cage, was all too much. Rubik in his tank, could he ever be happy? I truly hope it could be so. The addiction to madness, and the faces and masks we all wear. When will I find a face without one? The Baddies and The Heart-breakers and the nightlife flying all around me. This jacket of armour for love will not be necessary. And you, and love, and you, and everything. It comes to me at the most unexpected of moments. It comes from almost anywhere. I want some of that pie, can we truly take a bite? Kto wie.

Yes, My Dear, Even In Wonderland There Are Hookers (Two)

She was a beautiful catastrophe, lost in the night. She was a step from the gutter. Everything is here, some cooking pot, some paella, some complete madness. She was almost showing the world her seashell. If you held it to your ear what would you hear? This place is alive, with all our tragic corners. Sometimes they close in on us and we can scarcely breathe. Someone wanted to betray their stronger self and take her for some disgusting pleasure, licking her wounds. The night was turning us over on ourselves, showing hidden sides. She could be a mother, she was definitely the child of someone, be they dead or alive, and she was ticking, like all of us, like clocks. Until the batteries ran down, and out. She was at an end of sorts, all the time. She was feeding off nothingness and managing to survive. There she was, just waiting on something, anything to happen. There she was, about to fall off the edge forever.