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Aestheticism

 

I take the espresso outside
and tuck myself
in the corner
on a wide metal seat
at a small wooden table.

The air about me is forest
fresh, and brings hints
of the rain
which thumps the streets
beyond this awning.

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Open Doors

 

It’s when the door slides open
cold air disrupting oceans of calm skin,
that I feel
my desire to abandon this life of ease–

I grow bolder

the further.

 

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Theatre of Nostalgia

Yesterday I had it in mind for an evening of theatre.

I imagined rocking up in my fancy shoes (of the three pairs of shoes I have, one pair is fancy), my hair freshly washed and voluminous–to keep all my secrets and spare change—and politely inquire after one ticket please, adult–obviously.

I imagined swirling a glass of red wine at intermission, sipping gently, letting the dryness roll over my tongue. Swallow, feel my toes lift just a hair.

I imagined myself amidst a sea of theatre-goers; stunning women wearing long dresses and high heels, groomed men with sparkling smiles. A host of intellectuals, individuals who chuckle at things like subtle English puns.

Armed with a select amount of Kiwi dollars in my pocket and the evening off, I scanned through the listings of evening theatre performances.

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Creature

 

I am a creature of freedom—
a creature of freedom.
Freedom
is tricky.
Some days like—
mind beats, judgement calls, unsound spectacles
unsheathing my soul in sub rosa places
only I can see (but boy do I feel).
Some days, more like—
crawling away hand over hand
grubby knees scoot across dust.
All the esoteric giggles become
covert, stealthy, tainted by criminality.

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Deep Black Silk

 

I doze with the lights on,
curled up on marble tile
next to my hanging laundry.

I see my world for what it is—
too tired to be
so normal.

Wafts of lavender greet me gaily
and I air myself out on the tile floor.
With my ear, like this,

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Spirals in the Sand

I am becoming less and less attached to the young female finds herself genre;

the rows and rows of book covers featuring strong tanned white females gazing into the sunsets with sloppy grins, mangy hair, and fluorescent teeth. The promise of “life-changing”, “truly inspirational”, “will make you want to pack a bag and go save the orphans”.

But when I picked up Ffyona Campbell’s A Walk Around the World from the free bin at Cafe Korero, something subconscious prompted me to unzip my backpack and place the book inside.

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Cheer Setting

Tim Ferriss attributes much of his success to the practice of “fear setting“: he takes a sheet of paper, divides it into three columns and labels them “Define”, “Prevent,” and “Repair.”

Under the first column, write 10-20 things that could go wrong if you answer your question in the affirmative. Under the second column, answer: “what could I do to prevent each of these bullets from happening?” In the third, answer: “if the worst-cast scenarios happen, what could I do to repair the damage?”

I, on the other hand, attribute all of my success to the practice of “cheer setting”.

It’s very different, and not explicitly useful in the slightest.

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Sunlight Spotlight

 

Seagulls sound like happy goats
and naked babies tickle toes in the water;
the first day of spring in the bones
is a good day indeed
for a picnic with my bare knees.

The duck, with feathers slicked
from quick dips
looks smooth and skilled
like a snake, in the water.
I perch on my rock ledge
wearing my wild hair
listening to the symphonies of Wagner.

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Routine vs. Ritual

I abhor routine.

Routine makes me feel like I’m adding more and more iron reinforcement to my own cage. That I stick myself in these patterns and they hold me accountable. They take over; I must do this and then this and then this exactly this way, it’s expected of me. It’s what I’ve got to do.

I find that this routine-loathing is quite prevalent among those who love travel and the freedom of adventure.

On the other hand.

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Weathertight

How peculiar to be
so water proof.

Like eating a sandwich with only the hands;
so much easier than knife and fork,
than rain coat umbrella-
I’ll just get messy
use the restroom hand dryer.

These rules we make
for not ourselves.

Actually
I don’t recall making the rules
at all.

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Evanescent Holiness

 

I’m riding light
etched far above my shadows
casting brilliant stark on a smooth grass plain
the sun is strong the sun is
holy
holiness is all around me. I taste it—
touch it, brush it,
holiness snuggles against me
tucks my hair behind one ear.

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For Now

 

It’s a bottle of wine
and a glass of stars—
and my heart beat beats
like you wouldn’t believe.

The wind, she rustles my tresses
but solicits no favors;
she gathers me up
and dip dives down in the valleys
of tree tops and tumbled down ran-shacks
the very kind
I can empathize with.

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