tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71805786335160649352024-03-14T15:01:57.437+13:00notefacea space for archiving scribblings and musingsnataliemariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14267759507776920430noreply@blogger.comBlogger853125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7180578633516064935.post-39179239799568727732021-10-10T19:51:00.005+13:002021-10-10T19:51:45.354+13:00sundays again and never<p>forever in the dusk<br />I want to be<br />dappled in evening sighs<br />and amber shadows, thighs <br />tanned and bare and hair <br />slightly wet<br /><br />how much higher can we -- ?<br /><br />your hands \ my ankles<br />I melted seven years through time<br />you took off your socks<br /><br />that sweet relief <br /><br />she runs over my chest<br />and into my hearteries<br />over my abdomen <br />and behind my broken knees<br /><br />I wish you would see me like this<br />I wish I would let you<br />I wish we<br />I wish I</p>nataliemariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14267759507776920430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7180578633516064935.post-83718794405166129222021-10-09T22:18:00.002+13:002021-10-09T22:18:25.979+13:00october<p>I'm still wet with the tears of you<br />a year later,<br />little Ngaru</p><p>flooding forked rivers <br />across my cheeks<br />down the creases of my neck,<br />whenever the stream of possibility<br />runs between my legs<br /><br />I still ache with the sharpness<br />of the loss you of, <br />little Ngaru<br /><br />doubled over and dancing <br />my favourite dance on all fours,<br />four teeny misoprostol pills <br />clamped between my jaws</p><p>(perhaps that's why<br />my teeth are wearing down)<br /></p><p>horizontal with grief <br />and grievous pain<br /></p><p>a nook of love turned into a mile</p><p>you shook me up <br />good and proper<br /><br />like nothing <br />will never <br /><br />and now I know<br />what I always knew</p><p>never.<br />again.<br /><br />I must never<br />love another more than I love<br />my own womb<br /><br /><br /></p>nataliemariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14267759507776920430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7180578633516064935.post-83462814176586959052021-09-02T19:58:00.000+12:002021-10-07T19:59:55.714+13:00strange-r<p> 1.</p><p>and I wonder - <br />when it's time to fold into you,<br />will I open?<br />will the tears of my old wounds allow you in?<br />will we entangle ourselves in one another with ease?<br />will I still be able<br />to be gentle and gently led?<br />or will I demand you rough me around, <br />wilding out the nostalgia<br />of a hundred million lovers' hearts<br />and a sweet sigh of satisfactory silence?</p><p>on paper we're all a dream<br />but in the flesh, we're something<br />beyond this world entirely<br /><br />my heart aches with the sun that never shone<br />and the warmth at the centre of me<br />burns with the fire<br />of every woman who's ever<br />melted her ribs into this earth<br /><br />the sand is a thousand trillion tiny glittering pieces,<br />and so am I. <br /><br /><br />2.</p><p>I know<br />I'm impatient<br />to know you<br /><br />and I have no idea who you are<br /><br />I'm wondering about our capacity to melt into one another <br />when the sun comes up again<br />- will the forest breathe her spirit into our lungs<br />and teach us how to sing together ?<br />or will she sharply dig her branches into our sides<br />reprimanding our impatience<br /></p><p>it's the apocalypse, tomorrow<br />and I can't wait to drown in the ecstasy of it all<br />do you wanna come with me to the end of the earth?<br />it lives between my legs<br />I've seen it all die so many times<br /><br />and yet I'm still blinder than the bat<br />that fed the soup of this whole damn mess<br /><br />yes, we're on the ark<br />it's time to drown. </p><p><br />3.<br /><br />go in there at night<br />and flesh out the skeletons<br />sing the bones back on <br />and don't be afraid of the creature your skin conjures.</p><p><br /></p>nataliemariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14267759507776920430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7180578633516064935.post-62392291915481199732021-08-27T19:03:00.001+12:002021-08-27T19:03:15.743+12:00deltora<p>and it's like time folds in and reverses through itself<br />back, back she goes<br />moon full and melting into orbit<br />mapping sorry saturn's incessant turning, <br />a churning choke for the decade's change</p><p>she goes out, she bursts open &<br />floods herself red,<br />gentle streams and devastating torrents and<br />dreams of sleepless sleeping<br />and eyes across the hallway<br />it's all amplified now, it's<br />all on record, all recorded --<br />keep your bluetooth razor sharp<br />and your mind in the mush</p><p>green holographic haze <br />and dazed fickle fingertip imprints, <br />(this is where it hurts,<br />she says, poking below the ribs)<br />inter-continental existence interrupted<br />by a never-ending wish list<br />and an existential hiccup --</p><p>well, here we are.<br />this is what we were walking towards<br />when we decided to enter the stream:<br />it's a brave new world now, darling<br />so dream whatever you can dream. </p><p><br /><br /><br /></p>nataliemariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14267759507776920430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7180578633516064935.post-85646682320466801312020-10-01T18:28:00.004+13:002021-10-07T20:29:08.078+13:00 tendrils & mirrors \\ anarchy & lentils<p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: 15px;">I landed barefoot on this land --</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><i>touff, touff</i> --</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">left then right,</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">a soft and gentle padding after years of ocean-spanning flight --</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">anchoring the arches of myself down, down into the soil...</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I listened sightlessly through my soles</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">seeking to transplant Her DNA through the veins of me,</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">atom by atom,</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">taking back from Adam.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">searching for a bottomless cavern,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">in which to send out the tendrils of me</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="font-family: helvetica;">sssshhhjjooumm</span></i></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">into the murky darkness</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="font-family: helvetica;">sssshhhjjooumm</span></i></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">searching a cushiony embrace to drown in the depths of</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">and stealthily like water</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">the tendrils made their way into every crevasse, every crack, every fracture...</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">seeking out every millimetre<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">until nothing's left.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">When I'm baptised, I run</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">and when I run, I keep running,</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">and I sprint</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">and I keep sprinting</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">until I'm back where I started</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">... because then I surely <i>know,</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I've been everywhere.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></i></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I've seen every corner,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">every signpost,</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">excavated every Every --</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I'm the perfect Millenial</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">the rushing woman / searching soul</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I want every Every</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">and what I want I want</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><i>now</i>.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">So where is that deep spaciousness?</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">That piercing sensitivity?</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I lost her in the expanse of me --</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">some have restored it, others leeched it away</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">always restless,</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">morphing,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">metamorphosing relentlessly<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">transforming through different shapes of me</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">endlessly, endlessly,</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">ebb and flow,</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">like the glow of the full moon.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Where is her deep spaciousness?</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Her striking sensitivity?</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I see it in the iridescent circle of the moon,</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">stained by little boys' charcoaled fingertips,</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">yet still halting time for those who stop and sit with her a while.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I hear her in the stoic ancientness of the land beyond the water --</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">she knows my name and asks me to speak hers<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">(when I do, others stand next to me).</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I feel her in the shifting dusk, reminding us</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">that everything must die.</span></p>nataliemariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14267759507776920430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7180578633516064935.post-19336127222422448002020-04-05T09:34:00.000+12:002020-04-05T21:37:10.429+12:00elmira avenue (in autumn) <br />
|| -- something comforting, nostalgic<br />
in the micro-mountainous footpaths,<br />
disrupted and distorted<br />
by the ageing roots of searching trees ---<br />
<br />
<br />
stronger than cement &<br />
reclaiming the earth below the earth<br />
restoring urban to jungle,<br />
& <i>chaos</i> to order<br />
<br />
<br />
I t r a v e l<br />
b a c k i n t i m e<br />
<br />
<br />
I have a pink-and-white bike;<br />
streamers flap from the handles<br />
on either side,<br />
<br />
beads clinking in the spokes of<br />
wheels clinking over footpaths:<br />
||<br />
an obstacle course<br />
crafted just for me<br />
by my friends, the trees, the trees, the trees<br />
and in the autumn, crunch-crunching<br />
reddish-yellowy leaves, leaves<br />
<br />
|| 27 ||||||||<br />
alone<br />
barefoot through the breeze<br />
folding my entire self in slow heartbeats<br />
of the trees,<br />
of the trees.nataliemariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14267759507776920430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7180578633516064935.post-51156127290924539492019-06-02T10:15:00.000+12:002019-06-02T10:15:38.158+12:00lavender and sage smokeI feel my sexual energy come back to me -<br />
winding her way through the grungy labyrinth alleyways<br />
of some depths of my mind -<br />
with a sharp, burnt orange melting<br />
that gorgeous, wild woman<br />
slides back into the bowl of my pelvis<br />
with her silky skin and shining teeth,<br />
stretching her beautiful ankles.<br />
<br />
I'm in his neck,<br />
my back body the crescent moon<br />
against his swallowing sun. We're moving<br />
deeper and deeper into the shadows.<br />
There's gentle warmth,<br />
a lot of it.<br />
<br />
We're smiling.<br />
Easily.<br />
<br />
I'm back in the possibility of creation,<br />
words flow again from my fingertips;<br />
one and one make three.<br />
<br />
I'm back with the artists and the makers,<br />
the dreamers and the doers -<br />
the ones who've learned to transmute<br />
their love and share it with the world...<br />
<br />
I've always sought out these spaces and knowing faces,<br />
warmed my feet by the fires<br />
of cosy beaches and backyards,<br />
drank the sweet smokey scent out of my clothes the next day,<br />
passed the Garden around from right to left.<br />
<br />
He leaves and I return,<br />
we all Come Home.<br />
He moves to go home; I become it.<br />
I beckon her back to me, that fiery Wildess,<br />
a crooked little finger waggling underneath the dinner table.<br />
We eat a feast, and she eats me.<br />
She devours me from the red up -<br />
and when she's finished, there's just light<br />
shining top down, brilliant and blinding.<br />
The particles of me scatter themselves wider<br />
and traverse different realms, drinking from every ocean<br />
until she's tasted them all.<br />
<br />nataliemariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14267759507776920430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7180578633516064935.post-33128361867835595962019-03-11T20:25:00.001+13:002021-10-07T20:27:33.573+13:00<p>don't forget<br />to dance<br />with your ancestors, daughter -- <br /><br />use that house within your bones <br />which we built you from,<br /><br />use it !<br />to shake stories from your limbs<br />and speak aeons with those faces<br /><br />fill your lungs<br />with thousand-year-old air<br /><br />(we came out of the water)<br /><br />and don't forget<br />the earth you walk on<br />-- let gravity hold you down.<br />she's heavy enough for the job. </p>nataliemariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14267759507776920430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7180578633516064935.post-42984769435311291452019-03-09T23:30:00.001+13:002021-10-07T20:23:45.426+13:00here I go,<br />
biting off pieces<br />
of my own salty flesh<br />
one by one<br />
I'm severing<br />
my atrophied limbs<br />
I'm draining my own blood,<br /> wallowing in a bath of<br />
milk and tears.<br />
I'm stoic<br />
but I'm fractured.<br />
I'm a house without foundations.<br />
I'm a mountain that can't be summited, for I have<br />
no base<br />
and no peake --<br />
I'm the rocky ground in between;<br />
a few stray trees<br />
leaning into the wind.<br />
<br />
I'm a heart on ice,<br />
waiting to be transplanted<br />
and even when I arrive,<br />
<br />
I still won't belong,<br />
mis-matched to some body<br />
the doctors deemed me suitable for.<br />
<br />
I'm a map<br />
with no directions<br />
I'm a compass<br />
unable to point north --<br />
the arm comes close, but ticks over<br />
I'm a head without a body<br />
I'm a face without a name<br />
I'm a fire without fuel<br />
I'm a sleepwalker<br />
caught in the middle of the night,<br />
pants down,<br />
climbing over the fence,<br />
feet covered in mud and<br />
daisies.<br />
<br />
I'm a receptionist's desk<br />
without a bell for help<br />
and everyone who arrives at me<br />
must wait<br />
for service<br />
-- including myself,<br />
I am the end<br />
of the queue.<br />
<br />
I'm a vast garden<br />
without<br />
any flowers<br />
or vegetables<br />
I'm a groom<br />
waiting at the altar<br />
for a bride who never said yes<br />
I'm a planet spinning infinitely<br />
into a black hole<br />
-- or worse,<br />
the sun<br />
<br />
I'm a single perfect note<br />
followed by<br />
a deafening silence<br />
<br />nataliemariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14267759507776920430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7180578633516064935.post-67070181743270903592019-02-07T19:30:00.000+13:002019-03-11T08:56:59.656+13:00illuminatedhere's walking on water:<br />
two rugged cliff faces,<br />
white crests in between<br />
<br />
here's walking on water<br />
on water<br />
on water<br />
<br />
my head floods green<br />
with a generous gift<br />
from the man with / out his pounamu<br />
(his green talisman shifted itself<br />
while he shifted green energy with green plastic...)<br />
<br />
... and I think about touching<br />
your quiet ribs,<br />
your hair gently at the edges<br />
of my smiling face<br />
<br />
and I feel green,<br />
not with envy, but grounded<br />
green in the earth<br />
<br />
my head is misty, like<br />
a morning in the tomo,<br />
drinking elixirs and inhaling smoke<br />
in the portal.nataliemariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14267759507776920430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7180578633516064935.post-73920381321633966272018-10-20T20:21:00.000+13:002018-10-20T20:21:12.633+13:00glimmer I don't wash my hands afterwards. I go into the living room and ask if I can help make you dinner. I put my fingers around your neck, including the nails of my right hand. The left squeezes into your waist. I inhale the particles of your skin.<br />
<br />
The carpet's murky. There's rips and splotches in it. It should have been replaced years ago. The cats have driven their over-grown claws into it over and over again. They've vomited on it. They've birthed hairballs out of their throats on it. One of them's going to die soon and the other one snorts an arrythmically endearing tune.<br />
<br />
You bring me a rose with a cockroach on it. The rose is pale pink which is my least favourite colour. The cockroach crawls all over the stained bedsheets, disoriented in a giant desert dune of mink. I watch its feelers recalibrating the space around it like TV antennae.<br />
<br />
The sun goes down indigo over the Coromandel Peninsula. Someone screams from the backyard of a house further up the hill. I saw a woman drinking Woodstock at 2pm yesterday. Long weekend in New Zealand. Longer for those who don't hold down a nine to five.<br />
<br />
The cat stretches its stiff paws out over me and sniffs at my knuckles. His breath smells like dead horse. My pelvis sinks down into the back of the couch.<br />
<br />
Someone asks me how south-east Asia was. I'm dressed like a flapper.<br />
<br />
We get stoned on the rockpools. A starfish crawls between the seaweed.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
nataliemariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14267759507776920430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7180578633516064935.post-73662962691839525502018-10-16T01:59:00.000+13:002018-10-16T01:59:49.961+13:00new salt<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">There's salt in my hair and she says I smell like Weleda. I've come straight from the beach and the ions are clinging to me. I feel my pelvis shifting and I feel my muscles stretching. The room is white. She turns off the lights. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">There's barres all around us but we don't hold back. There's something inside me I hold it back. I don't hold it back. I spill it all out. Everything comes out. My boyfriend pretends to be my counsellor he is my counsellor. He's practically a professional he's my professional. He gets on a plane, I go to the beach. I feel weird being around old friends. My new friends aren't dancers but they make me feel more creative.</span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">I touch my ankle it feels like I might cry. I go to class it feels like I might cry. Because I'm so happy because I've lost so much because it hurts to grow a life. My body remembers breaking. It was five years ago but my body hasn't forgotten. My spine hasn't forgotten trying to hold itself up on a shakey foundation. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">I wonder half-heartedly if the surgeon molested me while I was under anaesthetic he could have done anything. I wonder if there were female doctors in the room I wonder if it's too late to find out. My rational brain tells me it's unlikely he molested me but my heart tells me - he cut me open without my emotional permission while I was vulnerable while I was broken he's the patriarchy a good guy who surfs and is goood looking has a medical degree - and they're practically the same thing. I touch the scar tissue. My boyfriend touches the scar tissue and I want him to keep touching it forever and never take his hands off because he's magic because he's my counsellor it feels so gentle and loving when he touches it the only way I can heal is by letting someone else serve me. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">He gives me a rush. I take it I let him do it. I wonder why sex and my ankle and my shadow side keep coming up in everything I do think feel especially when I'm high I'm high all the time and if I'm not high I'm ecstatic and if I'm not ecstatic I'm melting a slow death into myself into a puddle of fucked up thoughts. I smell like salt there's salt crystals on my face where the ocean evaporated the sun after I swam at the beach. I smell like salt there's salt in my hair I decide to make a show about it. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; min-height: 20.3px;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;"></span></div>
nataliemariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14267759507776920430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7180578633516064935.post-51835176153475994332018-09-27T20:51:00.000+12:002018-09-27T20:51:24.194+12:00indentmy head :<br />
<br />
I had to indent it<br />
to stop the Fury from rising,<br />
had to roll my knuckles 'round the back of my skull<br />
to avoid repeating fifteen -<br />
<br />
<i>(plate intersecting window;</i><br />
<i>she made me pay for it -</i><br />
<i>despite my first two orbits </i><i>dizzy inside their fighting)</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
- supposedly its better<br />
to damage one's self over material property<br />
<br />
the Fury<br />
surges<br />
a current through me<br />
wants to explode<br />
OUT<br />
but I push it down,<br />
I push it down,<br />
it boils in my abdomen<br />
and rots my insides<br />
and wrings my organs<br />
<br />
the tumorous energy seeps slowly upwards<br />
and clogs my throat, forehead, eyes<br />
<br />
so far from flowing / or<br />
giving without exhaustion<br />
never hurting<br />
always beautiful<br />
<br />
always open<br />
and radiant, abundant<br />
<br />
instead -<br />
I feel heavy<br />
bruises forming inside me<br />
lesions of agitation<br />
scab my cheeks and chin<br />
<br />
my world is insular<br />
I forget everything outside of me<br />
<br />
I'm well off the path<br />
before I realise<br />
I'm lost ...<br />
<br />
head, meet ground<br />
meet fists<br />
meet shower wall<br />
<br />
heels, meet floor<br />
meet bed legs<br />
meet air<br />
<br />
forearms,<br />
meet pile of blankets<br />
meet thighs<br />
meet ears<br />
<br />
I can't hear<br />
I can't feel<br />
I can't feel<br />
if I can't hear<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />nataliemariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14267759507776920430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7180578633516064935.post-48753230883732201412018-08-31T06:54:00.000+12:002018-08-31T06:54:01.777+12:00end of winter, after summerThe light needs to sit within the darkness to be seen. Inside the cave of one's own body, one must position one's self opposite the flickering candlelight in order to see the circular prisms dancing on the ceiling of the world. The candle burns for several hours but never burns down - it just keeps sending its light onto the dark surfaces around it until the sun comes up. Once the sun comes up, the whole room is flooded with a cold orangey-blue - it's the colour of winter turning into spring.<br />
<br />
The city sits nestled inside the nook of a bushy valley - also emerging in the dawn from damp darkness into warm light. The streetlights flicker and eventually fade, just as the candles do. Something primal howls before dawn and then shifts to silence afterwards. The ferns snap crisp in the cool air, creating a knowing frame around the motorway in the distance. Car lights, too, dance up and down the horizon until the morning lifts them out of their fantasy and into the strange new world. The animals sit breathing at the window, shifting their own broken breath onto the panes of glass. They sit high, looking down - they have no illusions about their right to be here.<br />
<br />
A heavy, yellowish cloud shifts its way through the murky new light and the whole valley becomes a restless catacomb of Friday energy. Tui flutter between the wooden deck and the changing sky. The morning is a dense shade of dark green and the light spills out behind the perimeters of the clouds, like the sun behind the moon during an eclipse - radiating out from the edges and sending it's bright colour sharply around the darkness in front of it.<br />
<br />
My throat opens as I breath in the view. The cavities in my head become peaceful, breath flows through them easily once again. Everything is clear. I return to the sound that sits in my chest, I return to the knowledge that sits at my atlas, I return home. I integrate and re-integrate. I align my vertebrae with the journey its made - it will take some time before they're wholly here.<br /><br />The morning remains quiet. The cat mimics my gasping and then, my stillness. The world feels beautiful for a moment, as the night carries its energy over into the day. I sit up. I become awake. I take my thoughts and I make them solid. I speak. I listen. I wipe away the salt from my eyes. nataliemariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14267759507776920430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7180578633516064935.post-3769261191744122922018-08-24T09:54:00.003+12:002018-08-31T07:55:19.354+12:00summit / maungano one can hear<br />
each other<br />
in this place<br />
<br />
<i><b>that </b>is the question</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
this isn't face<br />
to face --<br />
this is<br />
no way for one human being<br />
to talk<br />
with another<br />
<br />
this isn't personal...<br />
or intimate, or <i>creative </i><br />
I'm not talking in clichè.<br />
I'm not orchestrating a revolution --<br />
this is the reality <i>I</i> perceive :<br />
of a fear-filled framework that seeks<br />
to other<br />
in order to protect itself<br />
(and yet, most dangerously,<br />
claims to do<br />
the exact opposite)<br />
<br />
I saw how it holds our tangata whenua in their place<br />
suited and afraid to sing<br />
lest they lose their pride<br />
to the vast white ocean that stole their waiata,<br />
or their own dark clouded ego<br />
found in the debris<br />
left by the hurricane of colonisation<br />
<br />
<i>this</i> is <i>no way</i> to talk about well-being,<br />
sitting in a sun-deprived chamber<br />
for eight hours of the day -- that's<br />
talking<br />
<i>without breathing, </i><br />
so we're all headaches and notifications<br />
<br />
we're<i> not </i>in congregation<br />
we're neatly ordered<br />
in order of ranking<br />
we're all<br />
facing forward,<br />
forgetting<br />
to see<br />
each other<br />
in our periphery,<br />
<i>forgetting where we came from</i><br />
<br />
(the little girl who wanted to tap dance<br />
doesn't belong here, no --<br />
she's up on Arthur's mountain<br />
eating wild blackberries in her zebra costume,<br />
lanyard around her neck --<br />
a puzzlingly incongruous puzzle)<br />
<br />
we artists give everything<br />
we empty ourselves<br />
of every inch of our atoms<br />
every molecule of our meta<br />
and in return we receive ourselves --<br />
that conspicuously elusive treasure<br />
which the privileged pay thousands<br />
for someone else to unearth on their behalf<br />
at the end of their lives<br />
<br />
... but if you just moved a little,<br />
stretched your insides just a little,<br />
heard the music rumbling<br />
through your own skin-kissing veins,<br />
at a decibel almost hidden from the canals of your ears --<br />
<br />
you'd have a life<br />
when you came to the end of your life;<br />
you'd know how to <i>give</i> life<br />
to those<br />
who are trusting you<br />
to provide one for them<br />
<br />
and we wouldn't need to <i>talk </i><br />
about well-being<br />
or being well<br />
we wouldn't need to <i>make </i><i>policy for it</i><br />
because we'd all have access to<br />
that shrouded privilege<br />
of ancient buried knowledge --<br />
the true bringer of equality :<br />
my education my revolution --<br />
<br />
we'd understand<br />
the policy is already written :<br />
it's in your skin, and in your land, and in your children<br />
<br />
and to echo yesterday's words spoken<br />
I'm not here to blame, or guilt, or reproach,<br />
or claim that <i>I'm</i> more woke<br />
-- because then I would be making myself an other --<br />
I'm merely here to provoke a conversation<br />
to make, and to offer my creation :<br />
to allow art to do what art is supposed to do<br />
to do what I am supposed to do<br />
to do what people are quintessentially here to do :<br />
to unearth and divulge the primal knowledge existing within us<br />
<br />
to do what my country taught me -<br />
you see<br />
we're pioneers, where I come from<br />
in 1893<br />
my country taught its wāhine<br />
to raise their voices into the ears of men --<br />
so here I am, standing to reach their height<br />
<br />
my country -- or at least its weather -- made me resilient --<br />
our flightless birds taught me how to ruffle feathers,<br />
even if I don't fly at the heights<br />
of those privileged enough to have wings<br />
<br />
my culture taught me to sit<br />
my body within its land<br />
my whenua taught me how to dance before any teacher did<br />
<br />
and where I have only a small voice<br />
where I must take my lunch on a different floor<br />
lest I do what I was told I was invited here to do --<br />
where I have only a few minutes<br />
but also the proverbial power offered by an audience<br />
(and <i><b>we</b></i> all know that with great power<br />
comes great responsibility) --<br />
with this voice and these few minutes<br />
I will find the stage on which I may stand<br />
and I will hold up my truth<br />
and I will be heard ...<br />
<i>we</i> will be heard<br />
<br />
and I tell you :<br />
the world is <i>not </i>fractured.<br />
so stop telling us that we are broken !<br />
we become what we believe.<br />
so go back to your countries<br />
and tell your people<br />
there <b>is</b> goodness<br />
and unearth that goodness in yourself<br />
and send it out into the world<br />
use your power to lift up, to reach out, to connect, to create<br />
<br />
to translate your words into action<br />
dance them outside of these walls<br />
give them life<br />
hear them breathe<br />
make your language move<br />
let it connect you in<br />
to a new global culture<br />
that chooses diversity over difference<br />
and action over apathy<br />
<br />
translate your words into action<br />
so that together we may thrive<br />
a new global culture<br />
that sanctifies being alive<br />
<br />
<br />nataliemariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14267759507776920430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7180578633516064935.post-48370135499296436322018-08-23T16:30:00.000+12:002018-08-24T08:01:17.843+12:00opening plenary I was conquering<br />
I was using my body as my voice<br />
I was speaking with tongues<br />
I was holding my flesh bare against the heads that wouldn't bear me<br />
I was taking back in the night what was daily robbed from me<br />
a post-feminist Robin Hood<br />
<br />
they didn't even know it<br />
<br />
they thought they were still on top<br />
even whilst convulsing underneath menataliemariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14267759507776920430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7180578633516064935.post-6739371488151121942018-08-23T09:03:00.001+12:002018-08-23T09:03:28.940+12:00garden of Edinthe history of this place<br />
sits nestled against the clouds<br />
sending itself vertically into the ether<br />
and high above the meta<br />
<br />
there's stones that have stories in them<br />
there's muddy bogs where witches have drowned<br />
there's gallows where sub-people breathed their last breaths<br />
<br />
there's paintings of the city's ancestors<br />
struck up on the palace walls<br />
<br />
and I'm drinking red wine<br />
with the world's politicians<br />
<br />
and I've twenty-two dollars to my name<br />
and my dental debit bounced<br />
<br />
and I told the waitress I was onto her,<br />
that I knew she was an alien<br />
and she told me that I looked cool<br />
because she knows my biggest fear is<br />
that I don't<br />
<br />
and that's the only way to win the humans over<br />
is to spoil them with flattery<br />
<br />
one day, when we're all green<br />
we'll drift on our own smoke<br />
up into the other realm<br />
that sits inside, above our own<br />
<br />
and we'll share our hearts with the beings<br />
that birthed us into this world<br />
they'll strip us of our flesh<br />
and we'll no longer need to be channeling<br />
because we'll know that<br />
we <i>just are</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I've drifted between times<br />
I've shoved my body into new places<br />
I've ached to be alone<br />
I've felt the loneliest I've ever felt<br />
<br />
I've dipped myself below my own eyes<br />
I've given my tongue to another<br />
I've longed for home<br />
and swum in filthy plastic-ridden shores<br />
I've sweated out all my grime -<br />
it's come out through my skin<br />
I am no longer black<br />
but bright, pearly white<br />
I've caught up with my own karma<br />
I've been blessed by my birth place<br />
<br />
there's nothing left in me<br />
there's nothing left<br />
I am hollow<br />
I am out<br />
I am inhabiting<br />
my God/(l)ess bodynataliemariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14267759507776920430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7180578633516064935.post-17898888473685732182018-08-22T11:37:00.003+12:002018-08-22T11:37:40.020+12:00flying they were eleven,<br />
and he was<br />
perhaps<br />
in his mid-twenties -<br />
as old as I am, now -<br />
<br />
and they were pale white, fair scandinavian beauties<br />
who knew things - they really knew;<br />
I understood<br />
what he meant<br />
when he said,<br />
they knew - know:<br />
they weren't children, they were<br />
women<br />
on the brink of womenhood<br />
totally self-aware<br />
as they pressed their lips, breasts against one another<br />
in an act of permission<br />
for him - they let him watch<br />
independent of their own eyes<br />
he was privileged<br />
independent<br />
of his own eyes<br />
they found their navels searching one another<br />
<br />
did the screens teach them to do that?<br />
I doubt it -<br />
I remember<br />
being sixteen<br />
sitting on the edge of bathtubs,<br />
learning how my best friend's lips<br />
were softer than any boy's I'd kissed<br />
finding the complex of edge<br />
of platonic intimacy<br />
<br />
I also see that deep, aching beauty<br />
that exists in certain adolescents<br />
they know it's there<br />
and how it makes them power-full<br />
we all witnessed it yesterday<br />
as a fifteen year old boy<br />
lay down in the spotlight<br />
and opened his throat, heart, body<br />
and we all ached with wonder at his being<br />
and ached with pity for the woman who birthed him<br />
<br />
and I, too, wonder how far I could go<br />
with manifesting my own fantasies<br />
both in words and in body<br />
and the corners my curiosity could drag me into<br />
if only I let myself<br />
surrender fully to my mantras<br />
<i>nothing is real, nothing actually matters...</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
the line, the line<br />
he asks us where is the line,<br />
if there is even a line at all<br />
or just a fuzzy, murky blur<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>written in response to </i><span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: "Lucida Sans Unicode", "Lucida Grande", "Lucida Sans", sans-serif;"><i>Bastiaan Vandendriessche's play, De Fuut, Edinburgh Fringe Festival</i></span></span><br />
<br />
<br />nataliemariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14267759507776920430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7180578633516064935.post-42387778775242164962018-08-11T11:31:00.001+12:002018-08-11T11:31:33.325+12:00forest fireI don't know where my words went. They just got up one day and left me. Not even out of my fingertips but just dropped out from the bottom of my guts, slurped up into some unseen void deep below me.<br />
<br />
At first, I told myself I'd shed some ego. That was partly true. Also true was the fact that I'd gained some new padding to replace what I'd shed. I'd reversed up one path to walk down another alongside it.<br />
<br />
But then I would go into the forest and they'd come back. My words would start floating towards me from somewhere inside the tree canopy, and nestle themselves into my head, winding around and around in circles like a dog finding the best position for sleeping. Maybe that's it - maybe they've just gone dormant and wake up when absolutely necessary. Genius is a luxury.<br />
<br />
My words are the opposite of light sleepers. When it's quiet, they rise. When it's chaotic and loud and all the lights are on, they slumber.<br />
<br />
<br />nataliemariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14267759507776920430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7180578633516064935.post-7785909526808050112018-07-25T04:36:00.002+12:002018-07-25T04:36:20.239+12:00To let yourself become totally absorbed in something<br />
is the most beautiful thing.nataliemariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14267759507776920430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7180578633516064935.post-76541322351622408822018-07-21T03:00:00.000+12:002018-07-22T01:00:50.799+12:00wasted in 12 at 30,000we're seeking out that elusive figure eight :<br />
something yet to be revealed and something oh so present<br />
merging through the crowd<br />
I feel so scattered and put back together<br />
<br />
and what's been tried and tired<br />
is all so inspired<br />
the waves are crashing down in the other hemisphere<br />
(it feels like we're searching<br />
for that needle in the hay)<br />
<br />
and at the day's end there's no way, no way<br />
to repurpose the notes<br />
that have gone astray from our heads<br />
<br />
except to convert them, to turn them into<br />
some oceanic assertion<br />
something folding back and forth<br />
like doors opening and closing<br />
knowing only that this portal<br />
leads somehow to the next...<br />
<br />
and if I see where I'm heading<br />
then maybe I'll know where to go;<br />
then time will somehow show me how<br />
to traverse this giant space<br />
to find the places I might call home -<br />
because they don't exist on this land, they're<br />
found only in people<br />
<br />
and meantime I'm seeking, seeking out<br />
an unopened time, a mind<br />
that's wandering, wondering, undoing<br />
and learning how to still be<br />
amongst all the unravelling<br />
<br />
it keeps the globe turning<br />
it's in flight from dusk til dawn<br />
-- the bright orange flash pierces its way through the tunnel<br />
and washes over the rows of us all<br />
like a fucking woke baptism<br />
funnelling through our eyelids<br />
until they droop onto cheeks<br />
<br />
the only thing that brings us together, really:<br />
overpriced snacks and a desire to be somewhere else<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">feelings repurposed from Doprah's <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aQZYYyVQ_6g" target="_blank">'Will I Be A Figure Eight'</a></span></i>nataliemariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14267759507776920430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7180578633516064935.post-50846343693406415452018-07-19T22:40:00.003+12:002018-07-19T22:40:44.503+12:00shamebelles rambleif I indulge, I have taken away my indulgence<br />
and if I die, then I have taken away my death<br />
if I subscribe, then I've cancelled my subscription<br />
if I put distance, then I've come closer<br />
if I am awake, I must be sleeping<br />
if I cry, then it is because I am happy<br />
if I hurt, it's because I am hurting<br />
if I suffer, it's because I is suffering<br />
if I am<br />
<br />
then I am channellingnataliemariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14267759507776920430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7180578633516064935.post-71820767177251075562018-07-18T22:00:00.000+12:002018-07-22T01:04:19.667+12:00IsyI remember the holes in him when we first met -<br />
recognising the beauty<br />
but seeing it so distant,<br />
like his body had left his heart behind<br />
when it shifted hemispheres<br />
<br />
knowing - feeling it - diluted<br />
and now seeing<br />
the completeness that comes<br />
with one's own home, lover, vitality ...<br />
<br />
.. and wondering if the same sees itself in me,<br />
a recognition that I am<br />
at once<br />
whole and with holes in me<br />
so complete and yet<br />
missing my completeness<br />
<br />
wandering for something close by<br />
and also forgotten<br />
holding it once in my own body<br />
and in my head-mind,<br />
on the edges of my limbs, or<br />
at only my fingertips<br />
<br />
we're all seeking, seeking,<br />
lost and foundnataliemariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14267759507776920430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7180578633516064935.post-15093426471734607952018-07-18T11:04:00.000+12:002018-07-22T01:05:15.780+12:00<i>"The mystery of life</i><br />
<i>is not a problem to be solved</i><br />
<i>but a reality to be experienced."</i><br />
<br />
- Uncle Alan Wattsnataliemariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14267759507776920430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7180578633516064935.post-25651260820941078572018-07-17T11:18:00.000+12:002018-07-24T05:21:43.037+12:00berlin 2.0 / 3.0this whole city hold echoes of you, now<br />
-- like those denim shorts did for five years, after Ohope<br />
until they literally frayed apart -- and then I'd<br />
gotten new atoms, anyhow...<br />
<br />
falafel smells like the nostalgia of you<br />
and anxiously holding my bag close seems<br />
less inconvenient<br />
but more achievable<br />
than containing my unkempt heart<br />
<br />
and the whole city feels<br />
like the achingly-full emptiness<br />
of knowing you briefly<br />
and of knowing another for many past lives prior<br />
and wondering<br />
about the interchangeability of souls<br />
across time and space<br />
and the faint foreboding echo<br />
of home-songs<br />
whose authors have long departed,<br />
cradling the surreality of it all,<br />
reassuring me I won't spill red<br />
all over the floor<br />
(just water<br />
and shame)<br />
<br />
and I hold on,<br />
though the arms of my womb ache ;<br />
I breathe in the salt that sits in the corners of my eyes<br />
I press myself into the frames of old lovers<br />
and echo their names<br />
until I pass out<br />
with lovenataliemariahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14267759507776920430noreply@blogger.com0