Author: Claire

nine lives

the house next door had holes in the walls

I could see sunlight shine through

on bright days

and when it rained

my sliding window

3-inches wide

behind bars

flaking and tired

open so

the cat could come and go

then, at night

through

forks of light

you called

and buildings fell

curtains of grey rain

soft, soothed

a rift in time

muffled all

except Sinead

and sudden, close

her vibration

cut through the beer and wine

standing naked

couldn’t tell

hell from beauty

warmth from fire

sickness, health

anyway

that was one

of nine lives

 

Photo by Petr Slováček on Unsplash

Valentines

The valentine’s candle

smells like Hayden’s house

deep amber and vetiver

when I was a teenager

floating on the warmth

of sponge-painted yellow

walls, companion

novelty and wondering

how I’d fit

you’re mellow

they told me

but I don’t know

think I was just

quiet and still

observing the smokedrift

listening, watching

and waiting to see

what was expected

and who

I might be

 

Photo by petr sidorov on Unsplash

 

 

2024 Goals and Words

When I was looking through my blog and paging through some old diaries, I found my list of previous words and have been revisiting those.

Interesting to see which years were ‘on track’ and which ones the wheels fell off a bit (2018 and 2022 I’m looking at you!). I think I’m slowly regaining my equilibrium with this job and trying to slot in some writing again (always!)

This year my word is ‘creativity’ which means finding time for my own creative pursuits, in whatever form – writing, baking, drawing, furniture restoration, decorating, home renovations – and trying to keep at bay the black hole of my job, which seems to suck all the oxygen from the room! Don’t get me wrong, I get a lot of enjoyment out of my work but it’s not ‘for me’ and I need to find a better way to balance that out and not feel resentful and not pour my entire being into a place that just keeps take, take, taking.

I will hit 5 years sober this month. This was a goal of mine. I have to say, I’m feeling a little triggered and wobbly with that. The ‘point’ of sobriety feels dulled. Do I really need to be so hardcore? But then I think of slipping back into regular drinking and all the headaches, illness, self-loathing and additional work I’d have to do… it’s not worth it.

I also said that if it came to the point of drinking again vs. my job, I’d quit.

This is not a very positive post about my current employment is it! I wonder if that’s telling me something?

Funny, I survived for several years without (much) paid work and things were fine, but now I’m back on that hamster wheel, it’s hard to fathom how I could get by without the regular salary.

That said, my husband has been studying and out of paid employment for 2-3 years now, but he’s starting to earn $ again. So that might change things.

We’re also planning to renovate the house we live in this year! Gah.

Oh well. If I can somehow wrangle a way to roughly balance my day-job with my own writing and other creative pursuits, family time and fitness, then I will judge 2024 to be a success!

 

LIST OF GOALS AND WORDS

 

2024 goals and words – creativity

2023 goals and words – intuition, conviction, action (this was the year I ran my first marathon)

2022 goals and words – another survival-mode year. I was so slammed by work, my husband’s depression and COVID, while trying to write and stay sober and keep fit, wow.

2021 goals and words – intention (this was the year I started working at the Council)

2020 goals and words – ‘Raw’ and ‘Curious’

2019 goals and words– new and wild (this was the year I got sober and moved back to Australia)

2018 goals – paid job, survival mode, (this was the year I started running)

2017 goals and words – consolidation & realignment

2016 goals and words – small, incremental changes

2015 goals and words – surrender

previous words – don’t rush in where angels fear to tread

 

Danger

let wind kiss skin

starved of affection

waves stroke and soothe

a new years’ benediction

smell of smoke and airline fuel

a change of direction

old perfumes stir memories

pain, and its reflection

all the deeds unpunished

must live in the body

alongside achievements

like running, like love, like danger

unacknowledged

 

Soundcloud: https://on.soundcloud.com/K7Nva

 

Photo by Nadia Jamnik on Unsplash

Other artists inspire me

Photo: my husband and I as Slash & Axl at our New Years Eve party 20 years ago. The first and only time I’ve ever worn white jeans.

I wonder if W. Axl Rose is a baker.

It’s a delightfully idiosyncratic thought: sitting down to a slice of sponge prepared by the lead singer of Gunners. You know it would be perfect. He’s a massive perfectionist. I can relate.

Wonder what his house is like. Is it a man-cave drug den like Jesse’s pad in Breaking Bad or does he have designer décor and mid-century modern furniture? Again, the latter thought amuses.

Last of the Giants by Mick Wall was a great read. I enjoy a good rock biog and I have read an embarrassing amount of them. From that Sugarman Doors romp (required reading when I was in high school), the whole encyclopedia of England’s Dreaming (don’t bother, yawn! No Irish, No Blacks, No Dogs is waaay better), The Dirt (a winner), Lemmy, Viv Albertine, Steven Tyler (disappointing due to lack of dirt), Kim Gordon, Slash, and many others along the way.

Giants didn’t delve into the home stylings of the band but it did cover a lot of what I wanted to know. However it also didn’t explain what happened to turn Axl, this mysterious, capricious, troubled genius figure*, from grumpy recluse to diligent performer in his 50s. That said, I’m all for hearing about people finding themselves in later life and I think it often does take that long.

When I was baking my first New York Cheesecake this week (I enjoy baking but this was my first NYC, I also made a more-disastrous cheesecake for Xmas day, which we won’t speak of) the thought just popped into my head about Axl. I mean we’ve all watched Bake Off and thoroughly enjoyed that. And the level of detail required, but the almost-instant payoff you get: it’s right on that skill-satisfaction spectrum to a perfectionist type. Especially a hedonist perfectionist. Again, I can relate.

A bit like sand sculptures, you make it as well as you can but it’s for a good time not a long time. And you’re already getting ideas for the next one while you do it. Hello Chinese Democracy?

Anyway, I’m sure I can look this up and I’ll feel peeved but excited if I see Axl’s got a whole cake decorating show on HBO or something that I never knew about (I would’ve heard right?) While Nikki Sixx is doing motorbikes, recovery and tattoos, maybe Axl’s making sugar swirls and meringue? Or perhaps he’s more of a souffle man. Now that takes precision.

As a slapdash hedonistic perfectionist, this where I converge from Axl.

Perhaps that’s why he’s a millionaire, multiplatinum-album selling artist and I still haven’t completed my novel.

[* Of course Axl, and unfortunately most of the male rock stars I admire/d, have almost to a man been accused multiple times of sexual assault and domestic violence which I 100% do not condone and in fact hate. See Roxanne Gay’s Bad Feminist for a far more articulate explanation of how/why I’m still into them. I should say that I have no sexual assault accusations against me, so in this respect, I’m winning – I’d like to write at some point about the notion of the tortured artist vs. the normal person and maybe that’s why I’m not mega successful (or don’t see myself as such) and can we please have better templates and stereotypes for ‘true artists’ because surely you don’t have to be a monster and sacrifice all to achieve your art, but that’s a whole different piece.]

Here’s to 2024, more creativity and getting as close to perfect as possible but still getting it DONE and moving forward. Cheers Axl, hope you’re having a good one.

I love comments, please write to me.

 

Photo: my husband and I as Slash & Axl at our New Years Eve party 20 years ago. The first and only time I’ve ever worn white jeans.

jacaranda

forgot I fell in love
with street corner
concrete
and patches of sunlight
falling aslant
where the
pavement
swells with roots
of fig trees
like your leg
against mine
under the summer
sheets
after we
oh
there’s that, too
the lilac of
jacaranda
strokes my eyes
offset by
sapphire sea
I’m drifting
into Jeff Buckley
again
yearning
early
emotion
I’m not sure this is new
or far too
late
blooming
as candy clouds
like a sweet sort of joke
pastel caress
kiss, kiss
kiss, more, more please
kiss
at my throat

perpendicular

high on the escarpment

in a train

white cockatoo flies

exactly the speed

wing-beats, pace same

I’m choked

with need

to be

in love?

or grief

tendrils reach

from a thorn-spiked heart

sinuous and green

into the thick undergrowth

lustrous, keen

gymeas ridiculous

Quentin Blake sketch

in a stringybark forest

perpendicular

bridges from

a childhood book

with an old man’s pride

and tragic accident

to overcome

oh!

the ocean glints

and froths

whiteblue, whiteblue

in the distance, so

utterly beautiful

that rock shelf

like bricks, like stones, like fossils and holes

I yearn to be

whole

entirely

immersed

with spray in my face

spindrift, salty

it’s something like homesickness

or lust

ancient craving

carving

can’t explain

the deep interior

sea-cave

heartspace

soul-pain

 

Photo by Ryo Nagisa on Unsplash