peter gabriel

i’ve always dreamed of seeing peter gabriel in concert.

and we did see him at womad last year, however i wanted to see him…
live...
not as a part of something else.

and last night it happened.


canon g9, not bad for a pocket-sized camera: goes where a long lens would have been confiscated

Pete Gabriel looks like a cab driver but sounds like a rock god
@TheWomensRoom

when nic and i were first dating and i found out he knew all the words to all the peter gabriel songs i fell in love with him twice as much as i was already (and that was a LOT).

it was at that moment, i knew we were made for each other.

complicated mathematics

i believe it’s no accident that things are happening to me right now that bring me to an awareness of a 30-something year long conversation i have been having with myself.

things in my professional life have been difficult over the past year. the details of what exactly has happened isn’t the important bit; it’s what i have been telling myself about it (and the bigger story of myself) that is.

because it’s not just in my working life….
that just happens to be the thing that has been pressing my buttons, bringing my awareness to this conversation, forcing me to take some kind of action. because how i am feeling ultimately has nothing to do with my current workplace.

its all to do with ME.

it’s about value.
how i value myself, my time, my existence.

looking back throughout my life, i have made a lot of decisions based on a conversation with myself that i am not worth anything. it has shaped my choices even down to the food i put in my mouth and the things i have chosen to numb me from the scary things that have happened in my life.

i have looked outside of myself for some sign that i have worth.

  1. i do it by taking jobs just because people ask me to and i know i could do them well (even though the work doesn’t make me happy)
  2. i compare my daily rate with that of my husband (who is REALLY smart and does something that pays well)
  3. i seek validation that i am worthy or that my choices are ‘good ones’
  4. even when someone tells me how great i am, i find it difficult to believe

and i am very quick to say to myself “see? i told you you’re not worth it” when someone leaves, or when i encounter something that i haven’t been able to deal with emotionally. it’s like i have somewhere in the past made value = some complicated mathematical sum that i have long forgotten how to answer.

i had forgotten that my idea of the worth of myself cannot be taught to me, or shown to me, or told to me by anyone other than myself.

changing my conversation with myself is the only way i can change my value of myself. it’s not through listening to anyone else, or by measuring it with how much money i make, how many friends i have, or how many books i sell.

because none of that matters.

YOU might think i’m amazing and wonder why i can’t see it myself (you might not). but you (or anyone else) telling me that i am valuable and worth the space that i occupy on the planet isn’t going to make one jot of difference until i can say it to myself and truly believe the words i hear myself saying.

.

i am the wood fire burning beneath your outdoor bath
i am the dawn chorus
i am a cup of sugar borrowed from a neighbour
i am your mother’s favourite recipe
i am light filtering through the trees
i am the angel of death
i am the broken wing of an owl
i am black candles, lit for casting spells
i am the clock ticking loudly on your mantlepiece
i am a collection of shells from the beach
i am a stack of recycled paper
i am a stolen credit card used to purchase a brand new pair of shoes
i am a basket of freshly picked cherries
i am a lock that’s missing the key
i am prayer flags
i am a secret that’s dying to be told
i am the ribbon you wear in your hair
i am unknown, even to my friends
i am forgetfulness
i am the harley my grandparent’s used to ride
i am a pen-ink drawing of aphrodite
i am gum, stuck to the footpath
i am the tickets to a show you’ve always wanted to see
i am melted butter, dripping from corn-on-the-cob
i am a broken fanbelt
i am the art of non-conversation
i am all the colours of autumn
i am valuable

sunday for one

sadly emma couldn’t come and play with me today as planned. poor thing was struck down by some horrid affliction. feel better soon lady so you can come hang out with me….

i decided to head out anyway, since it was such a beautiful spring day in london town.

see
mindcontrol

taste
breakfast at the albion caff. a little bit disappointing this visit. thinking about trying somewhere else next time… eva dixon’s, fidel’s, santos & revel! – we miss you!!!

shop
had to have this print: kill your tv. decided to go home and MAKE STUFF

touch
all the lovely paper at cowling & wilcox

play
1. be a participant in the vertigo session of seamus ryan’s sunday shoots.
2. in the photobooths, same location

enquire
about a letterpress workshop in london. book #2 is already demanding attention

drink
too much coffee. not enough water. bloody mary for breakfast. new zealand wine with dinner

listen
the return of fly my pretties. played at least once a week at our place

consider
what it would feel like to be home

how was YOUR day?

spring

the carpet is growing weeds again and
crocus blooms keeping thrusting themselves
up through the charcoal flecks
adding patterns of joyous colour.
it’s kind of annoying though,
i have to watch my step when i get out of bed.

we have guests coming on friday. i’m going
to have to put a sign up outside the front door
“beware the plants” or something like that.
and at this rate, i’ll be able to set up a stall
outside our flat, with an honesty box -
flowers for sale: 50p a bunch.
come back tomorrow, there’ll be more!

i’m half expecting to arrive home today
to find my husband clasped in the arms
of an affectionate nasturtium, or
wedged beneath the rowan bush.
i’ve no idea if the neighbours are having issues
they always take pains to avoid us.
have i got twigs in my hair again?

sold! and relisted

wow. thanks. to all of you who ordered a copy of the book.

i sold out of the first print run (20 copies) in three days.

THREE. DAYS.

i am humbled. flabbergasted. spinning.

and just a little worried. whatiftheydon’tlikeitwhenitturnsup?

and… for anyone who would still like to buy a copy – or 2 or 3…. ;) – i have listed another 20 in my etsy store.

from my cracked-wide-open heart to all of yours, thanks just doesn’t seem big enough.

arohanui
x

it’s not

it’s not about being published;
though that does bring some degree of satisfaction,
feathering my ego’s nest with soft white down.

it’s not a desire to be noticed;
all this visibility often makes me want to hide, sneak away
and pretend it’s someone else that does this.

it’s not about what you think of it,
though i’m glad if it speaks to you, or if you recognise
some of your life in the words.

it is about the overwhelming urge to write, write, write
thoughts scamper about, teasing my pen, mocking my hand
for not being able to keep up.

it’s about the feeling of expressing in short form
a feeling, a snapshot,
a life being lived outside of the page.

© 2010. leonie wise

rescue

just cos i’m goin’ thru shit times doesn’t mean i need rescuin’
do you ever stop to think that hugging might make you feel better
but that i just want to be left the fuck alone to deal with this
and that i need to make my way out in my own sweet time?

please stay though, just don’t fucking touch me
whatever i’m feelin’ is likely to discharge
giving us both a shock and breakin’ my concentration
just sit there okay? hold me. but only with your eyes & heart
and not in any kinda physical way.

and don’t say you understand. because how could you?
you’re not me. like i’m not you, so kick me if i ever say
“oh honey, i know how you feel” because how can i?
you have your shit. i have mine. we connect. but our shit doesn’t overlap…

yeah, it might seem like the same shit sometimes (and possibly it is)
but thinking one of us can fix the other is so totally bullshit and all ego.
i can’t fix you any more than you can fix me.
and what if it’s not something that needs fixin’ anyway?

so yeah, stay. i’m just workin’ through my stuff.
it might not look pretty from the outside
but trust me, it makes everything better
and more beautiful. i just have to live through it.

© 2010 leonie wise

« Older Entries