Journal

Francis Firebrace: Be a part of the story!

Hello one and all,…

I want to tell you a little bit more about Francis Firebrace (you may have already read what I’ve written, inspired by him, in my poem Firebrace

Francis is:

A prolific hugger, entertainer and passionate humanitarian, Francis is on a mission to share the ancient wisdom of his people, told through the Dreamtime Stories. If you’ve never heard of these stories, this is your chance.

Open, exuberant and funny, Francis touches the lives of everyone he meets and has spent the last 25 years of his life travelling the world spreading his own very special brand of aboriginal consciousness, trying to affect peoples lives on an individual basis and on a societal level, too.

He teaches the importance of respect and self esteem to the most difficult audiences – from teenagers, to pris

Icebergs in the Western World carve beauty into the ancient heart.

We shall reap the rewards from the battlefield of our lusts – our songs will be sung in the halls of the blind and our feats will be remembered in the minds of the deaf. Stand where others fall, sing where others cry – making music upon the ground where the masses fall. Veritas Odium Parit. Break the minds of the beautiful to find vast entrances into the greatest unknown.

Thoughts from a book I am reading...

1. The invisible man from upstairs is my problem, can’t you see?

2. Gnarled lollipop sticks are left everywhere,
they are the crucifixes of our generation…
The poet strikes his chords,
licks his vowels
and gently kisses the metal soul
with the power to inspire or destroy nations.

3. My bruises are burning
my cross is crushing
my dreams are perverting
and all hope is hiding
my life is lost.

4. Now, because our vessel is plunged into darkness, we can truly see ourselves in the faithful reflections of the light.

5. I am sorry for being such a selfish being. But I am tormented, thrown between different worlds like an unwanted child of a failed marriage. I am loose but restricted, like a person hanging from a tree: blood cold and bones fucking brittle, weather beaten, dripping with God’s spittle. I

Popping Pigs.

We endeavor to find the flow of the party
we try to slip between the bouncers like a hurricane in a waterfall
twisting up the natural torments and tormenting the naturally twisted.…

We resist the casual acquaintances because we realize that our brethren know us best.

We subsist upon the so, so, so subtle requests coming from Norway and from the East.

We kill another hundred over a week and then we blanch the most restricted senses. We go to places that Area-51 is scared of. We pretend to not understand the fit of the world.

We pretend to not make ourselves into the places and the faces that you want to see fitting into the circles and the squares like perfect puzzle pieces.

So when the challenge is finished we find ourselves sitting casually on the winning side -
contemplating our pride in th

The Impressionists put music to my poetry.

The Impressionists

The Impressionists are a new band from Sydney consisting of equal amounts of superb talent possessed by Alexander Westenberg, David Chua and Gimo Laxamana.

They ‘put music to my poetry’ so to speak. Listen to their song "Alleyways (when the night came) – it’s a song based on my poem Alleyways

Even though they recorded this in their house/bedrooms with very simple microphones I think they caught the essence and the mood of the poem beautifully in their music.

Check them out and enjoy :)

Hopefully we’ll be hearing more from them :D

Cheers,

RVR

Knowing you...

Knowing you
is like
pulling splinters
and each splinter
reminds me of the fun times we could have had.
I wish that with each pull
I knew for certain
that we would smile again…

Winter is nigh...

The cold is coming. Protect your luscious hair, your creative brain and whatever else you want with a brilliant meat hat

They are able to be heated and eaten! Mmmhmm stay warm and full this winter!

Kind regards,

A very warm and tasty,

RVR

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