face value

Clement resolution has been reached, after a hurried decrescendo from the screeching fortissimo so loudly blatant it still seems incredible that a cadence has been arrived at.

Nevertheless, clemency is clemency, and I generally take people and things at face value – which is different from trusting anyone, because trust is reserved for only those who have earned it, while face value is to allow myself and others to continue along on our journeys together or separately.

In case you’re wondering, I am waffling about the bizarre drama mentioned in my previous post – perfidy – in which I ranted on about a shockingly impudent contract that an arts company had asked me to sign in exchange for a piddly sum of money.

Well, the folks behind this theatrical farce have backed down, signed the contract I drafted and my first cheque has been cashed. I must give credit where credit is due. It takes a level of sincerity – that is, earnestly desiring to achieve whatever it was they set out to achieve and not allow any hiccups to hinder the attainment of original intent – to openly do an about turn, a very sharp and quick one too, I might add. And just like that, we have mended the contractual fence and are going ahead with the project. We both agree on one objective, and this is the important factor: the work we are doing together has value and adds to our separate and common vision. That is enough for me.

I appreciate promptness, efficiency, straight forward communication, no mincing around, no faffing and no cheesy platitudes. They offered none – although they did feebly try to say they had no idea, and those shockingly exploitative terms were a hand-me-down from previous administration – but they didn’t persist with this because I do suspect they know how ridiculous it sounds, no matter which way one looks at it.

Anyway… Usual social niceties do not impress me. Decisive action does. Either I am in, or I am out. I’m not here to make new friends. (I have enough friends, more than I can decently attend to, and I already feel quite terrible to be neglecting them because I just have not enough spoons left for being sociable.) I’m here to do work, and I want it to be good work, as good as I possibly can produce, and I expect the same from the people I am working alongside.

So… let’s do this thing now, then! Tally ho!

here, me

IMG_6808-lucy-zz

what child is this?…

This weekend, I revisited an early musical work of mine, from 2008, about the agony of communication across neurocultural differences. I spent a bit of time contemplating the work, the obvious (that which is performed and disseminated), as well as the intimate and private (that which remains in the heart and mind of the composer alone). I also put in some closed captions, and, in so doing, realised that I was in fact creating another separate work, an extension perhaps but still separate from its original.

 

Almost ten years afterwards, my journey has taken me through amazing wonderment, experiences I couldn’t have imagined ahead of time, and some even surreal or bizarre, yet no less valuable intrinsically. Continue reading

forbearance

Lucy teaches me forbearance. Underneath soft, gentle, wordless eloquence, there is a strength of tolerant composure, like a determined, relentless spring, flowing inexorable. How much or little cognisant she may be about the goings on of my humanity? Her demeanour remains steadfast in graceful and gracious equanimity. Upon what is based such sangfroid? I have little intellectual grasp, despite musing endlessly upon this pulchritude.

No matter where I go with her. She remains Lucy Like-a-Charm.

Rushing to an appointment at the UNSW Galleries. In our Uber ride, she lies beside me all the way. At the cafe, a hurried lunch. Lucy waits on her rug, her eyes focused on me, despite the busy feet walking back and forth around her. The cafe owner, wonderful kind Massimo, offers us a quieter space, but I am in a hurry, so I decline. I’ll just gobble down my food pronto! When I have finished, her eyes tell me she is ready and waiting. How is this so? Continue reading

betrayal of clemency

Betrayal

Standing on a hole

Falling

Not dying

 

Screaming void

Copious nothingness

Deafening silence

Disturbed stillness

 

Yearning

Longing

Reaching

Never touching

 

In search of clement space

Running in concentric circles

 

Tortured dichotomy

Mute agony

 

Curl

Curl

Curl

Lay down beside

Canine Angel

Warm Beast

Sleep

That I may awake

Rest

For thrashing weariness

 

Pleading for grace

Expanse to Be

A moment

A ceasefire

A gesture

Peace

Tranquil Beingness

unspeak

A confluence of chaotic sensorially triggering and overwhelming situations.

Stress. Anxiety. Internal fear.

Stress. Anxiety. External, jabbing, aggressive intrusions.

Sensory assault from nature and being too finely attuned to natural elements.

Mental-emotional weariness from human-centric interactions.

An accidental nudge. A spilled glass. Honey and lemon puddle.

Two Minute Meltdown.

Gazing at an Angel. Clemency seeping back.

Unspeaking. Unable to speak. Yet vociferous. Hurtling words. Physical scribbles helter skelter inside headscpace.

Tiredness.

Exhaustion.

Keeping on keeping on.

Bunny, Bunny, the show… on with the show!

Tally Ho!

sustenance

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A garbled ramble on the theme of sustenance. Staying alive.

I love cooking. I love food. But lately, conjuring sustenance has been a wearying and fraught activity. The washing up itself triggers uncontrollable waves of despair. How does one explain executive dysfunction and sensory breakdown? How can the excruciating agony of separation anxiety from one’s intense passion be unfolded in mere words? The terrible flogging of that silent howling… every minute spent labouring over the laundry, vacuuming, chasing never ending armies of dust bunnies, attacking greasy dishes, wiping kitchen surfaces and then doing it all over again, and again, and again… precious physical energy sucked out from an already precariously limited reservoir… Too little left for the important tasks, the crucial agenda of passion: my work. Continue reading

pleasant thoughts

 

I am tired out, run down and just exhausted – too much human interaction, and the intensity of emotion is overpowering. The sheer weight of the facts and figures, logical deduction and analyses, vs. the bog of perplexing inane arguments in response to critical truth, and yes, that Aspie thing, you know, questions still unaddressed, that really gets me down. A non-cadential stretto in raging crescendo. I need to leave the concert hall. Wagner would be proud of the drama, for sure.

In the midst of the noisome pestilence, the tumultuous churning of debris, there were some truly beautiful moments in my day. These little things actually do matter more on a personal level. They give me strength and offer tranquility. Safe havens for my thoughts and emotions, and clement grace for my fraught senses.

Lucy – there is no imperfection in her.

Food – I am thankful to have food, and to enjoy the challenge of making simple fare look and taste good.

Fruit! – my tomatoes have grown! I planted these from seeds taken from fresh tomatoes, and they are growing at last. Thank you, Rick, for keeping my plants alive (well most of them are alive, the important ones, so it’s all good!).

And now, I shall retire into bed with my beautiful warm vanilla hound. She is there waiting for me. Good night, everyone.

We wish for all Greyhounds to have this blessedness!