I am sensitive, and passionate, and so often get caught up in my frustrations regarding inequality, mistreatment and generally how far we have to go in the fight for gender equality around the world. This #IWD I’m choosing to focus solely on the positive; the wild and wonderful creature that is W O M A N. We won’t stop striving, nor will we forget to celebrate our worth and rooted power. Never forget your strength wonderful creatures. Never stop fighting the good fight.
‘Be wild; that is how to clear the river. The river does not flow in polluted, we manage that. The river does not dry up, we block it. If we want to allow it its freedom, we have to allow our ideational lives to be let loose, to stream, letting anything come, initially censoring nothing. That is creative life. It is made up of divine paradox. To create one must be willing to be stone stupid, to sit upon a throne on top of a jackass and spill rubies from one’s mouth. Then the river will flow, then we can stand in the stream of it raining down.’
– Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Women Who Run With The Wolves.
Bowie Mirror Hadden Hall, 1972, Photographer: Mick Rock
When I was seven or so I first encountered the Goblin King. With my older siblings huddled around me, I sat cosily staring up at the box, utterly and instantly enthralled in ‘Labyrinth’ which, frankly, caters to everything I STILL croon wildly over today (fantasy genre / music / gender fluidity)
I still so vividly recall the moment he appeared on screen, and the immediate connection and fascination I felt upon seeing him(?!) in his grey skins and black boots. I had never before encountered a creature like this. Naturally, I knew it was true love, and that my kindergarten boyfriend Steven now meant very little in the grand scheme of my important fairy life. My little wide eyes were glued to the screen in an almost hypnotic fixation. I think a sibling told me to stop inching closer and closer toward the TV as it was distracting. I remember holding my breath and pulling my dressing gown tightly around my tiny frame.
He. Was. MAGIC.
And that, at the ripe age of seven, is how I insightfully concluded what romantic love must be. What it must feel like for teenagers kissing in parks afterhours and formally gross married grownup sorts. Ridiculous? Maybe. But I maintain, every real romantic affair I’ve encountered since I assure you, I’ve felt the very same stir. (I’d like to take this moment to point out my brother thinking that coming to my 21st dressed as said Goblin King, the pinup for my sexual awakening, would be a sweet gesture was actually, unbeknown to him, a very confusing and confronting time for me. But I digress..)
Some short years later, perhaps no more than two, sitting in the car with Mum, a melody trickled through the Tarago’s questionable speaker system. Despite the lack of audio clarity, I felt a distant yet familiar shiver rush up my spine; the same flood of euphoric magic washed over my body like cold lava and I was again, utterly transfixed. When the magic eerily ceased and I returned to planet earth and my body, now rigid and alert in the front seat, the presenters deep, crackly voice mumbled nonchalantly ‘And that was Space Oddity, by David Bowie’.
Bowie. Bowie. Bowie.
I repeated it silently in my head determined to learn more about this encapsulating voice. Another magic offering from the world I was still getting to know and hadn’t found my feet in just yet. I can’t remember how it all fell into place exactly, I was only ten or so, but when the realisation occurred that MY Goblin King and the man with the moon magic voice on the radio was one and the same, it blew my tiny mind into a million star dust pieces. And that was it.
From that day on my relationship (Yes, relationship) with Bowie has been a constant and a joy. A bold and proud obsession that has made birthday gifting very simple for those that know me well. My twenty plus year exploration into his art and work on all platforms has inspired me in almost every way, connected however loosely to so many creative pursuits and concepts and perhaps even fashion sense on more than one occasion. He also reminded me it was okay to be different. That outside my suburban door there was a world full of wonder. That being odd, or unusual could even be celebrated.
I am so beyond grateful that I’ve seen him perform in my lifetime, and thrilled that he was here on planet earth for the release date of his new record, which I had the joy of listening to just this weekend past, and now feel I understand on a whole other level.
Planet earth is blue, and there’s nothing I can do.
All my love to you my fae blooded Starman. Thank you for sharing your magic with the world, and inspiring pixie children like me across the hazy globe.
Here we are, trapped in the amber of this moment. There is no why. – Kurt Vonnegut
Open journal. Pick lines at random. What remains truthful?
When the sun rises she’s flirtatious. Dancing rays are cast through the window; they flicker over bare flesh and stale sheets. There is so much to do today. My mind is racing as it can, does, often will, with words and a flood of chaotic ideas so overwhelmingly weighted I sink deeper into the mattress. In order to pace this growing mind mess I need to move, but the sun flickers are hypnotic and there are warm, delicate, ballerina rays skipping softly down my back. The nape of her neck. I’ll stay just a while longer. Like the slow migration of glaciers I reluctantly inch my tired body in one direction, then another. In silent tongue I beg my mind to wait, but seldom does it ignore the clatter. Hey! There is so much to do today.
We lounge on deck chairs cluttered on rooftops and drive deep into unfamiliar spaces. You can’t fool us, our expectations are high and we made them that way with clear intention. We’re gonna’ keep trying until we can’t no more. Our fingertip’s may bleed clinging onto vague hope with dear life but hey, we’re breathing, deeply. Quickly. Loudly. We’re scared as hell but at least we know what it means to truly be ALIVE. At least, that’s what we say. Empty tummy’s and dusty pockets but we’re okay, okay?
Write for no one but yourself.
All these years past and sometimes we still ache for one another; an invisible and frightful cord, both too frightened to truly cut it off, severe the tired tie and be freed in all entirety.
The earth is calling me and I’m stuck here sinking in slow burning concrete. We weren’t birthed to live this way.
I see your heart exploding, I think to myself, but mine grows heavier at the constant mind keeping, sweeping, fluttering about you, hands outstretched ready to catch it should it be ripped from your chest once again. Ready to repair it. Mend it. Stitch it all up. Glue it messily back together. Next time I think I’ll simply watch it drop and shatter on the floor.
It is confronting to reflect on thoughts of hours past; Musings about making the boldest of marks whilst sitting here amongst you all, fading into the background with little to show.
I don’t need anyone to run away with. But it would be easier to run away with someone.
I am laughing so hard I lose complete awareness of time and space and you and me and – OH. I am glad I am here. This moment is life.
What a beautiful, glorious surge. I can almost see it pulsating throughout her delicious form. Little golden rivers gushing through strong veins like fresh warm water through adventure canals. How wonderful it is to be in the company of the inspired! How foolish I was to earlier believe I had been too idealistic, optimistic and dreamy. Why do I let them get to me?
Still shut up in this tiny gypsy hole and the walls look so familiar sometimes. They make my stomach churn on restless nights.
Here I am, I think to myself, surrounded by all these people, and I can’t quite shake the lonely. I swallow up all the noise and casually make them all laugh with a shrug. Then, in the quiet corners, I remain as I consistently seem to be; Always alone.
We are children of the earth sitting in constructed plastic boxes and it isn’t changing yet.
It is winter. The air is painfully cold and I’m wearing silly shoes to be at the beach. I’m bundled up, but the ocean is too tempting, too inviting. I want to be cleansed. This secret cove feels untouched, ancient and preserved, a rarity, a real hidden gem. As I wade in my legs feel like they are turning to stone. An abrupt sting and then it is a deep, dull ache climbing up my shaky frame. When I finally gain the courage and dive under before emerging from the crystal foam, there is an instant tranquil sensation wrapping around my creaky bones. In that simple moment I feel reborn, recharged. A pure and instant rebirth. I’m not done yet by any means.