Creative Writing

Seasons changing,life re-arranging. Making mirrors.

Wild and mild, 2 days away from being a child.

Why this, Why that. Surfs pumping, passions flat.

Like two day old fizzy drink, cant stop the ink, Blink.

New line purchased and the weathers fine.

Chocolate mouse, following a diet, whats the use.

Supernova, big bang blast,cant stop to think, mind to fast.

Snap back to the stanza, where pancakes cooked garnished with Bananza.

Creating a poem. That rhymes but now its time to stop. Like

The sun on a solar eclipse, Black within the day. Time to move away from the screen and look within and without.

 Cant type, no movement. No love. Just the grace that echoes and permeates through air’s lips, until it reaches the crescent where the summit is hells hell and your beauty is smooth like lightning but quiet like space. No more words just an empty pool, where we skate and re-create the universe the way we like it!  

Mr Answer

Rain falls and a distant thunder bolt lands, its connection awakes me from my slumber sleep, I am meant to work today, rainfalls even harder, thats the signal to drop work and wax the board.

The mind is wanting more money for a future adventure to india but at the same time its craving waves and it has only been one moon-over since it was drowned in water.

This life exist within the minds ocean, and the boat that is wrestling in its wild sea's always needs a compass, to find home,to find happiness.

The waves are on, and I am sinking myself yet again under another cloud ball of motion.

The destruction is building inside my veins to paint the ocean white. Yet my insides are melting with the desire for purpose and direction. The world is at a critical point, overpopulation, climate change, economic evaporation, one world order and gas for water!

'Snap' all of a sudden breathing becomes hard, feeling my intestines grip and shrink, my vision of a stable and cruisy life crumples under the pressure inside my eyes, eyes are tearing with despair. They see a distant figure, focusing, now fixated on a man smiling at me, like he is the cause of all my problems and yet he is the one with all the answers!

The man knows me and I have never seen him before, He knows me, knows me.

he is old, around the age of 50, leathery skin and a silver mop of hair, that connects to a wise dropping beard. He paddles straight at me, with full conviction and determination, I am witnessing this moment on the outside looking in. He comes within a metre of my water space, close, he stairs at me and takes a deep breath, opens his mouth and the words flow

" tell me in one word what is wrong?"

I am shattered that my projection of him paddling over me with his 9 foot gun, has blossomed into a offering of help and concern! The answer that I was not looking for erupted out of my mouth, 'purpose' . he laughed.

'purpose is not a problem, more a state of being.'

my ego rages that he has such a simple answer to my perplexing conundrum.

he then goes on to intrinsically pick my thoughts by saying.

"simplicity and being are the keys to life"

'There is nothing simple about life' I bark back at him certain he has nothing to counter.

"yes life is simply complicated'. He started laughing, then broke out into a coughing fit, what sounded like to me a lifetime of the black lung, he whipped his whispie beard and smiled back at me with his koala like expression.

I was about to counter his witted remark when he cut off my voice with a signal of his hand, then he pointed to his heart!

"the heart simply knows what the mind cannot, "

My chest fell inwards and that distant space of the heart sounded its drums of recognition.

gazing at the horizon, 'good luck' he said then he simply paddles off around the headland, probably never to be seen again.

Did that really just happen, did my whole concept of reality just get warped, directing me away from the minds illusory labyrinth, into the simple heart-space of being connected to heart.

The ocean calms, dolphins dine, sun refracts and the heart beats, beats, beats.!

blind tears.

These sounds that play through our eyes and that sink through our senses,

Will soon surface into the high ceilings of our hearts.

Birthing tears to flow, down the valley of our souls into a space,

Where that beat will start to manipulate our feet into a fit, a fit, Im fitting.

A release is there but our love is never fair or free!

Excuse the pain.

Be free, be sane but remember it is all apart of his silent game.

Silence is the loudest sound, like a earthquake it will shake the ground.

leaving devastation within the mind, curing this madman.

I am no longer blind.

To see the sound that you have given.

To be a slave, we pleasure driven.

Please excuse this poets rhythm,

this is an expression.

A story.

A thought, of a love song that I have never caught.

Pain and Creativity.

The inspiration to take the camera down to the beach instead of the stick was induced by a road rage accident that ended with a bruised foot. The pain was enlightening and the laughter that friends get from seeing you smash your skull onto the tar and grind your teeth along the summer heated ash-felt is questionable but I still love them, even if they get pleasure from my pain!

These pics where taken accompanied with various tunes that made my head and sore feet dance into another realm, thats why the pics are shit because I was to busy dancing. I am blind when its comes to photography. I have creative vision when I add music to my life, it creates emotions that stimulate associated images. so when I have a image capturer and music, I hunt!

Ill make it short but when your life is safe and pain free there is no space for deep introspection and contemplation, which is the fuel for creative visions and spiritual awakening!

Music and Madness

There is a song out there, amidst the madness, waiting for you...

There I was talking to my dinner-plate. We agreed that there was a uniqueness between the nature of the mind and the simple yet intricate reality that music has on our ears and emotions.

The sounds of Robert Zullerman hit the hammer of my inner ear and cause a nostalgic coma, the iPod skips and then a strike in the matrix's births the evolutionary sounds of Felix Da House Cat.

There is always a space for Bob's grassy folk hymns. Moving then into the future sounds that are now being developed and mastered by digital audio engineers, as the likes of the "Liu Viton Don, Yeeze!". But pressing play and having the loudest sound system isn't cutting any mustard in the olfactory aesthetics. So I am exploring and loving the ability to create my own music, dancing from chords to grass roots lyrics. Very simple, sweet and slightly sour, but undeniably satisfying and fulfilling.

When I think of quality, I like to think of food. Like food, music is the same. Best food and music can be found locally, and produced organically. There is a new breed of sound, coming from a shooting super star that is more humble then a Billinudgel Humble pie. His voice is stylishly organic and his inspiration is so local that his heart is the base of his beats. Inspired by the sound variables of the guitar and infinite gift of the voice, Mr Lionhart shares and shares.

Right now, music is the magic that once existed at the end of a wizards wand, it is the language of the soul and it has the power to heal all wounds and silence the madness of the mind..

Seek the music that speaks the truth and that awakens and creates love within and without.

Spiritual Warriors.

The road is hot, sweat drips and thoughts of freedom are erupting into chants of anti establishment war cry's. All streets in Byron are flooded with angry hippies, established chippies and passionate protesters.

The government and large corporations are raping the land once again for their bank accounts. Bastards!!!

The people are not inspired to support a government that allows exploitation of our land, they want a renewable based resource system, that supports the ecosystem and sustains the quality of land and life around.

Half way through the protest, we stop in the middle of the road and all sit. The tar is burning and the hearts are melting into a space of unity and sound. Drums are reverberating into the depths of our consciousness's. Are we waking up?

Or is this another fad. A horn sounds and it's the signal to continue to march. Dancing and smiling the group will weave through the streets to the ocean where music and speakers finish the protest off.

The ocean greats the mob with its accompanied breeze and spacious aesthetics.

My skin is burnt, feet almost blistered, hands are recovering from two hours of drumming.

Pain and pleasure are the same in essence. I hear a man beside me spit truthful poison out of his mouth,

"This will not change a thing, that our efforts are all in vain."

He's most likely right but silence him and the mind, best to do something then nothing, stick it to the man, and raise your fists cause the world needs Spiritual warriors!

HOOORAA,HARE BOL, HOORAA

A Wet Gift

When waves hit the coast, they are always there, screaming out for us to explore, however the inspiration to go and find them, is not always there. Why? I don't know, but I have an idea.

Let us look within.

Inspiration comes from a realm that is inside of us but not of us. It is this realm that surfaces and vanishes leaving us empty, sustained and hungry for more.

To perform music in front of people takes a lot of confidence and courage. To un-shackle ourselves from the limited perception, that our minds regularly fabricate on our being and to reveal that golden gift that is there, that is ever so patient. Are you ready to share to the world that gift? We all have that golden egg within us. It sits there, humbly, until it is freed by the power of inspiration.

Surfing gives that, it gives inspiration, Music gives that, It gives inspiration, Giving, It gives inspiration.

So when inspiration comes knocking, don't fuck around! ride that storm of creativity and awareness until your burnt out and almost dead.

Why?

Because what you would have given and shared will be of substance and real.

Surfing and music for me opens a porthole of potentiality.It gives clarity and shows reality for what it is!

Next time I play guitar, I will play until my fingers are bleeding and surf until my parking ticket expires because the outside doesn't matter when your on the inside!

Pour me another Mat'e and lets dance!

photo's: Lorien Waldron