Sunday, March 26, 2017

The Reckoning.

When there is that which is reckoned,
and that which is known.
The Reckoning.
A silent known.
Reckoning (Silver Blackthorn, #1)
One girl.
One chance.
The question asked.
In the village of an age old quest.
A trust to fear and a fear to trust in a world where
must is must.
The Reckoning.
One girl's determination
under the cruelness
of one king, or one queen.

Sunday, March 12, 2017

Mary Shelley 1818.

Today, Mary Shelley's Frankenstein
published anonymously.
Where the legend began
and where it ends.

Wednesday, February 15, 2017

The Library Of Calm.

The Library of Calm,
that's where you will find me.
I sit in the corner,
and in this place I watch and see
 surrounded by words 
that do the same as me.
The Library of Calm,
a joyous quiet place to be
tucked away
in spaces no one can see,
where yours to mine,
and mine to yours,
where we all are
to see.
The Invisible Library (The Invisible Library, #1)
Top of her game, or she is gone.
She surely is hiding things.
This is the adventure of stolen books,
secret agents, and forbidden societies.
Her aim is to find the book.
The answers are in there.
Failure is not an option,
for the nature of reality is clearly at stake.
The Invisible Library.
What's your stake?

Saturday, February 11, 2017

Burning House. Manchester by the Sea.

One mistake.
That's all it took,
and everything was lost, gone, burned to the ground.
This is not light-hearted fun,
but it is absolutely and undeniably real.
Yeah, real.
Not the illusion of Hollywood's more typical crash bang spit sputter glitter.
Manchester is earthy, grounded, sad and sorrowful,
and it is beautiful.
There was too much feeling in this movie, too much bravery,
too much trying,
and it was impossible not to be affected by it.
There is one scene where the two impacted characters face each other.
They lost a lot, 
and it was through love that one wished to help the other.
Such a gesture of pure honesty, love in words,
in seeing and in trying.
Sometimes, it's the most modest gestures that reveal our strength.
Sometimes it's more than that. 
And sometimes, it's just more.
See this movie, 
and feel something real.

Thursday, February 9, 2017

The Secret Swimmer.

The heavens claim.
She is gone, forever gone --
until in the blink of an eye he glances up and sees her again.
Could it be?
Is he seeing straight?
 Was it her?
Could he possibly believe?
In that one moment, everything he thought is reversed,
and the letters are found.
Letters written that tell of a life, the truth of that life, and not at all what he had thought or hoped to believe.
They thought she was dead, and now they don't know what to think at all.
Did she run away?
A secret played?
The truth in pages.
The truth in words.
Letters that ebb and flow the waves of time.
Swimming Lessons.

Sunday, February 5, 2017

Olive vs. Jasper. What next?

The Next Two.
The Next Pick.
Both will be read, a no doubt guarantee, but how to immediately decide between Jasper Jones
 and Olive Kitteridge.
Take it from the first few lines.
Take it from one's own mood.
Olive is brutally honest and offers insights into our conflicts, our insights,
tragedy, joy and endurance. Life. But, she's a tough customer one has to be in the mood for.
"Traits don't change, states of mind do."
And then there's Jasper, a precocious boy startled one night by a knock on his window.
Where does it take him?
Where does it lead?
That which knocks does not necessarily mean follow,
but he does and learns truth from myth and why white lies creep like a curse.
Jasper Jones, as everything changed.
Olive KitteridgeJasper Jones

You Don't Know My Name.

Many things define it.
Who we are. What we are. What we are called by name.
The pseudonym's of life,
or in this case the pseudonym of one Black Angel who can change her identity in a day.
It means you can never get too close, or let anyone too close.
Your friends are never really your friends.
Falling in love becomes a dangerous game, but doesn't life find us all?
She has two choices, stick with what she knows and is trained for,
or follow her heart and embrace the life she's always wanted.
Does she even have that choice?
You Don't Know My Name.
A ride to possibility.
You Don't Know My Name (The Black Angel Chronicles #1)

Thursday, February 2, 2017

Everyone Brave Is Forgiven?

The weakness of men.
We wonder what we will forgive and what we won't.
To be brave,
 is to admit mistakes, to show humility, to continue where others have failed.
To be brave is to stand before those in weakness and stay true.
To be brave is to be you.
And to forgive? What of that?
What are we willing to allow is what we are willing to forgive.
It is not easy to turn the other cheek.
We are complex and complicated human beings that try, but do not always succeed.
The fact that we recognize that trying is sometimes enough, for it is an acknowledgement, an understanding of that need.
Ah, to always assume such grace.
I forgive, and I don't, an honest human quality.
I turn cheek, and I do not.
There is a tolerance and acceptance that men should be strong in themselves,
of themselves, in only themselves for these are the men of all men.
Perhaps it is so that,
Everyone Brave Is Forgiven.
A story that explores the disenfranchised, the elite, the embattled.
A story of love, loss and courage.
There you see,
the courage in us is not always to turn cheek, but to turn towards the capacity of
the brave.
Everyone Brave is Forgiven

Wednesday, February 1, 2017

The Dry Patch.

The titles roll,
stacks fall,
pages flip and bend.
I'm hitting on a dry patch over here.
It's not that I'm not enjoying the writing, it's the topics. 
They are all important, I don't discount that,
it's just not where I want to go with my reading and I've put down more than I'm continuing with.
I find that very disappointing. 
I was going to post titles,
but I don't want want my reflections to chase someone away from what still is
solid good writing and solid good stories --
they just aren't hitting my mark.
I said it before, time is valuable, so the next read is Atkinson's,
Life After Life and I admit there is some trepidation to what is another concept I'm not sold on.
Sure, I might be hoping -- cause Lord knows I always hope -- it's going to melt the icicles slowly forming around my brain,
but I'm not convinced.
All I can say is, 
I need a bit of a hot poker to get things going again, and I'm sure hoping this is it.
Interesting concept, no doubt  ----
If you had the chance to live your life again and again, until you finally got it right, until you fixed the unfixable, where would that take you?
Living the best moments, making some different choices, sure, but reliving good and bad both?
Who the heck wants to do that?
Live something else instead.
So, I'm not sure, but I'm giving it a try.
Life After Live.
The picture firmly in mind.
 Life After Life

Tuesday, January 31, 2017

Forgive Me, Leonard Peacock.

This is a tough one.
Gun violence and suicide.
In the US, there have been far too many incidents of teenage gun violence, and whilst it is a topic
that must be tackled, I couldn't quite get into this the way I normally would with Quick's work -- I just couldn't do the topic.
I suppose there are some things I would rather not acknowledge.
It is a weakness of mine,
to push aside that which is difficult to acknowledge as a factually supported truth.
We all do that to greater or lesser degrees,
bury facts under rugs so thick and with all those feet running over the top surely no one would ever feel the lumps.
I mean we should be able to stop something like this, right?
We're meant to see the red flags, right?
Like I said, a tough topic, and there is no question that Quick handles it in a way
that is very personal and connects us enough to climb inside one teenage mind to
find what makes those thoughts and motivations tick.
Forgive Me, Leonard Peacock
I did have a wee bit of difficulty with the character, initially anyway.
I just couldn't quite believe the light-hearted side to someone who carries a gun in a backpack with an intention to use it would bother beautifully wrapping presents for those he was leaving behind,
but then maybe I'm wrong.
Maybe even in those extreme moments we are so very multi-dimensional that why not?
It's within the realm, it's just not within my realm.
Cause to think about doing such things means you are in such a terribly
dark place the last thing you ever think about is the affect on those left behind,
so the presents?
Not sure there.
So far, this one's not for me,
but I'll push on just to make sure I give it every opportunity
to prove me wrong.
Whether you can handle this subject matter or not,
one thing is certain, the figures talk.
We're not doing something right,
or we're just not doing enough.

Thursday, January 26, 2017

What does it mean? Australia Day.

So, what does it mean, this thing called,
Australia Day.
Okay, so we will know that on this day of January 26, 1788 the First Fleet of British Ships hit our shores at Port Jackson, New South Wales, 
and the Union Jack was raised.
Yeah, okay got that, but what does it mean, now?
Do we celebrate those ships in respect and acknowledgement of the past?
Well, yes, partly, but the day has evolved to a greater sense of appreciation and deeply felt gratitude of what it means to be Australian.
Observe the world climate for a minute or two and you will understand what I mean.
We are fortunate, lucky to be here, by birth or otherwise.
That is not to say we are perfect. It is not to say that there are still not problems.
There is much to learn, and much to bridge in balance and understanding between the native people of this land
and those who have chosen and come to be a part of. 
The face of Australia has indeed changed.
Image result for Opening the window to Australia day
A land separate and not separate at all.
A country built from people across the seas,
the same seas crossed then that are crossed now. 
We open our doors,
to greater and lesser degrees,
and the faces of Australia have changed and continue to do so,
and bring with it cultural shifts and a greater understanding of our acceptance and place.  
I was not born here.
I speak differently.
I have had different experiences.
I have seen cities burn.
I have not met Donald Trump. 
My skin is white, but it could have perhaps been green, pink, brown, black, blue, polkadot,
for all that it matters.
This is my home,
adopted yes, but with a link not every immigrant will share.
 My own children come from a rather long line of Australians.
Their great grandfather fought in two wars. Their grandfather frequented the local pub.
He's buried in the local cemetery. Their father rode these streets when they were dirt and beach and not much more. Our extended family of cousins and uncles and aunts come from a very long, long line of Aussie stock.
I don't --
for all that it matters, this is still my home.
And so, we stand back on this day in appreciation and value of all that as been,
and yet to become,
and still to be grown --
And, in unity we hope.
Happy Australia Day.
Image result for Faces of Australia

Tuesday, January 24, 2017

The Distance We Place.

Time must be justified.
For me, this is an absolute.
I understand we need downtime, we need time for necessities,
but time as a rule is a sticking point with me.
I do not seem to have enough,
and yet I have more than most.
It is sleep that bothers me, that need for rest. 
I wish I could plug myself into a socket and recharge for a brief hour and that would be it.
Such a waste, this need,
so I am cracking through the reads.
If you don't grab me in those first few pages, you're getting pushed to the side.
I have set aside three of the short-listed Victorian Premier's Award for that very reason.
I am not going to say which,
but I will say that there are books and stories of all kinds as there are people, with their own
likes and dislikes and all the in-betweens. 
Not all will make that grab, but if you can't get to my heart, I can't give you my time.
I just can't.
It's not in me to do so.
The last I set down was well written, certainly, but there was a veil between me and the heart in the story, the people in the story, almost like it was submerged, or I was submerged.
I could not rise to the surface.
Perhaps, it was that there was no heart.
Not every story does indeed possess that motivation,
and nor should it, but it is a requirement still to feel "something."
There was something slipping between the words and me,
a palpable divide I couldn't push myself past.
I couldn't pursue it.
There simply are not enough hours to any day.
So, lift the veil,
tell me your story not through glass or fog or the challenge of any divide. 
Open the window,
Let me feel the breath of it in your words.

Monday, January 23, 2017

We Come to, Split, Shyamala's latest.

Not since Sybil have we seen splits such as these,
a multitude of characters in the host of one body, a fascinating starting point to a
 sordid tale on the effects of trauma.
Betty Buckley, still beautiful in her advanced age, plays Dr. Fletcher and brings
a real human touch to the condition of multiple disorders in this film,
and it's this combination of compassion and horror that ties together well.
She was brilliant, and even though
McAvoy did a superb job playing the multitudes,
it was Buckley that grounded it in believability, and let's face it, 
the root of any successful bit of scary is to create a story that teeters on the edge of possibility.
I'm not a huge fan of the scary genre,
but this was in the psychological thriller realm, and there's no one better than Shyamala to pull it off with just the right blend of twists and edge of your seat, 
"Hurry, hurry, turn the damn lock and get the hell out."
 The guy has experience, worked it well in Sixth Sense and some will say brought it home with Split.
There were moments in the end,
where he loosened the reigns with the appearance of the Beast, but he only let it brush against the supernatural briefly before he snapped it back to what was a well laid out story on the protection of the human spirit, the fight we all have in us to survive,
and the Beast that comes forward to ensure such survival.
Human regeneration of the crazy kind!
So, if you're in the mood for scary,
take a punt on
The best I've seen in its category in a very long time.

To Give Up. Hemingway.

To give up on anything,
it's a terrible crime and punishment.
A death of its own kind, you could say.
I wonder about those "things" we
hold so very dear
a part of us in some way or another,
that in being so,
become our fibers, the parts we grow along the way.
To decide, to make conscious effort, to give up 
is death.
Taking your own hands and digging out that part of yourself, whatever it may be, 
the clawing of flesh.
A painful process that leaves one to wonder at the kind of deaths
we do live in one life.
By choice. By circumstance. By forces outside our control.
Take Hemingway as an example,
not necessarily an example that will level with any of our own deaths, but still ...
Image result for Hemingway
There was a moment in his life
where all was lost,
where every word he'd ever written taken in a suitcase brought with good intention.
Every copy too, gone.
He must have stood there under that realization and just felt emptied out, 
gone himself to some extent,
but eventually what lived in him, what indeed was him resurfaced,
and whilst some of his heart died in that moment,
there was too something left to take over.
And so he did,
and so we have him forever as a result.
What is in our hearts,
is our hearts.
Clawed, or not. 
That which is us,

Saturday, January 21, 2017

They might well have been ...

Trying to slice past
belief with a
 knife that spoke in a language of its own.
Once upon a time,
as all fairies begin, 
in an old oak at the edge with all the rest of the folk.
There are things that bring danger,
and things that burn to be alive,
and there is much to be hunted in the end of such silence,
and there is Knife who 
will change their sentence.
Not with wand,
for that is an entirely different story,
and this is the story of, 

Y'all should be. Happy.

Well heck,
I Hope You Are All Happy Now.
You did exactly what you set out to do.
It certainly shows what a good "banding" together will do.
There's one person you
might just explain a few things to,
or might explain to you.
You can give him a call.
Or, you can let the photos
Rock and Roll.
The Yeah Yeah Yeahs!
I Hope You are All Happy Now
Life in a band.
Thirty years of photos to show what that life is exactly like.
Every crowd. Every face. Every hotel.
Every consequence.
I Hope You Are Happy Now,
behind the music
for real.

Thursday, January 19, 2017

We Call. Lion.

This is real.
Forget everything else.
This one has it all.
Depth. Power. Story.
The fertile ground was there in the story itself,
and no question it was meant to be written and brought to the screen,
but it was the way it was handled that spoke of absolute intelligence.
The editing, superb.
The sound track, clever.
The opening scenes intended to get your heart pounding, to get you "there,"
live it with them, feel it.
From there it went straight into
"heart-squeeze" right to the finish.
This is what I mean by "real."
It was "complete" in a way that engages us to feel.
Patel, Denham, Kidman, Mara, engrossing.
Supporting cast, perfect, and
little Sunny Pawar who stepped into Saroo's shoes and filled every inch of them
with an honesty that lit up the screen.
Beautiful to see.

It seems unfathomable to think of a child going missing,
to have him "lost" for twenty-five years and then have the gift of him returned to you
and the knowledge that he was well, cared for,
A gift indeed.
But, as the Lion campaign states, 80,000 children go missing in India EVERY YEAR.
Not everyone can be saved,
and yet we need to believe that some can, some will.
Lion hands back that belief,
and hands back the reality of "more" in our world.
We do "call" each other,
and in this haunting tale, we feel that call,
the call of a Lion.
 A truly beautiful "real" story,
done with care, honesty,
and gives us enough room
to feel.

Have your way. Have mine. Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche.

Moral ground.
Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche
You have your way. I have my way.
As for the right way, the correct way, and the only way,
it does not exist.
So. What does?  Exist?
Nietzsche, and his moral code.
I will not make comment on thoughts of any Germanic kind,
not will I venture into his misogynistic attitudes,
but I will talk about this idea of morality.
Hume's thought centers on the belief that morality is built on natural sympathy for others.
What do you think?
Is it our empathy, our insight that allows us to conduct ourselves in what is deemed acceptable order,
or is it what is engrained in us, taught in our pews of knowledge and past,
taught and shown in what we must value.
For yes, of course there must indeed be order,
but there too must be honesty,
and there treads the difficulty with people confronted by, right, just, and reasonable
restrain within a framework of honesty to one's self.
Nietzsche explores this,
and succeeds with all its controversy and all the support of other philosophers that
leave political correctness by the wayside to explore societal truths, restrictions, guidelines
of our "rightness' within our own personal frames.
We can agree at the end with this one Nietzsche thought ...
Life is ultimately absurd, was not a reason for angst but a cause for celebration, self-creation, and artistic fervor.
We follow what has passed,
belief of our predecessors, belief in our own place, and we tread somewhere in the middle of
what is written in stone
and what can be written in truth.
And so, find our own moral ground,
and exploration of mind,
with care, with love, with truth.
Human, All Too HumanBeyond Good and EvilThe Birth of Tragedy