Thursday 26 July 2012
Wednesday 25 July 2012
Life of a ‘Veronica’
From reading any of my other posts, it
could be said that Life is a prominent theme within my thoughts. But I am often
vague and spiritual in my posts, never specifying what it is exactly that captivates
me so. Well today, dear readers, I will reveal what it is that transfixes me in
my Life.
There are only two people in my Life who inspire
and excite me to such an extent that I cry tears of exquisite elation when they
do something I deem fantastic; under their influence I have discovered a myriad
of previously conceals traits about myself and my true identity. They have taught
me not to be afraid of being who I truly am and doubt that I would have the
courage to be the person I am now without this reassurance, this power, that they inspire within me.
From the moment I saw the two dark yet
pale, minute yet glorious, obscure yet pure women aptly placed in a gothic
church conveying their experiences of being unable to be physically present
with loved ones, my eyes amplified, my ears pricked and my skin grew cold. This
opened the window to my soul leaving me defenceless, infatuated, and asphyxiated
with pure intrigue and alacrity.
I could have watched the two angelic figures on my television screen for hours, and the 4 minute song seemed
perpetual, and the unknown force of ardour was growing more potent with each second as
it drew me into a new world.
When the song’s intricate melodies had died
away from reality, the unthwarted echoes of what I believe to be absolute ecstasy
began to orbit the halls of my mind. The pure light which I had just heard, perceived,
felt was the most exquisite moment of my life. Nothing has ever captivated me
so.
To
this day, I cannot describe what it feels like to be constantly attached to
people you have never physically met by silver ties of immeasurable, terrifying,
magical Faith. Thin and wispy like a spider’s web, Faith is what connects all
of us. Subconsciously, I rely on my Faith of 'The Veronicas' to guide me in
reality and to inspire my dreams.
This Friday, after a three year interval of
not hearing any new music, 'The Veronicas' will release their first single from
their new album. My zeal leads me to believe that ‘Lolita’ will indeed
entrance and entice me as much as ‘Untouched’ did on first hearing it. This
feeling is novel, unique, fascinating and totally unexplainable. Whenever I
feel weak, 'The Veronicas' give me vigour, I feel charged whenever I listen to
their music and utterly at peace.
Being a 'Veronica' is unbelievable, the
energy received from a song, a tweet, a video is beautiful; the friends I have
made, wonderful; the hope of one day meeting my idols and telling them how much
I admire, rely on, and cherish them, infinite.
**
All that I can gather from this is that
from all earnestness, from the pits of my soul, I am perpetually grateful for
everything you have done for not only me but for others too. Prior to my knowledge
of you, I often felt a pang of vacancy, void of any hope and indeed Faith; my Life, barren of a reason for my tangible being. This love gives me purpose,
gives me light! My passions will never cease, with disregard to my sentiments,
it is not something which can be controlled, but that is the splendour of being
a 'Veronica'. Every day is different, each day unsystematically brings with it an
opportunity to be myself and to discover the secrets of dreaming.
Copyright © JRFB 2012
Saturday 21 July 2012
Soup: A thought on categorising Life...
Labels are supposed to create a sense of order and a sense of categorisation in order to avoid any chance of chaos arising. Yet, think about how traumatic it can be for someone who identifies themselves as a Tomato Soup, but really they have doubts about their 'soupability' and perhaps would prefer to be a Minestrone.
To summarise, my advice is this: be free, be fluid and for God's sake, be something that you feel comfortable being... Be simply yourself, and leave the labeling to cans.
Copyright © JRFB 2012
We all share similar ingredients, but each is an individual because of the secret substance within; we are all cans of different flavours.
Finding yourself consuming Asian Prawn Soup without knowing it is Asian Prawn Soup because the label has fallen off is far more exciting, daring and intriguing than having specific knowledge of the ingredients, as it leaves more scope for one to interpret it in different ways, therefore appealing to a wider range of customers.
I, for example could be less vague with this topic and pinpoint that I am of course referring to teenage fashion and how it is arguably less individual and more of an social stigma for one to say
'I'm Indie, I don't follow rules and that's why I bought this red snapback...'
- the fact that one needs to brand oneself is a labeling statement in itself. But this is not purely about trends and fashion (although it may be interpreted in this way by all means), this soup metaphor is about YOU, about individuality, about not having to complicate things by ironically trying to categorise them.
'I'm Indie, I don't follow rules and that's why I bought this red snapback...'
- the fact that one needs to brand oneself is a labeling statement in itself. But this is not purely about trends and fashion (although it may be interpreted in this way by all means), this soup metaphor is about YOU, about individuality, about not having to complicate things by ironically trying to categorise them.
As soon as you say 'I am this' or 'I am that', the walls around the statement cement together, encasing you in a make-shift prison, disallowing any departure of something which does not befit the label.
Copyright © JRFB 2012
Friday 20 July 2012
'Review' of an abstract beauty; common, yet an overlooked symbol of Nature's enticement...
[I recently published this via my friend Floraidh's blog - http://floraidhsuncensoredpen.blogspot.de/ but figured I should post it here too.... so here's a repost, enjoy!]
The day before yesterday I went to the most extraordinary event in my lifetime. I did have to travel to some distant field and queue for about three hours, but I can confirm that the discomfort and agitation stirred beforehand was totally worth it.
I had never heard of this event until the very night before. A rogue dressed in khaki bed sheets knocked on my door and offered me a pamphlet for the next day’s happenings. Well I say pamphlet, but it was actually a dried Horse Chestnut Leaf with faint words inked on (presumably this was done by organic means as later, the nomad tried to convert me to Veganism and I hadn’t the heart to point out that the leather jacket on my back and beef steak in the oven would forbid me to do so). I was rather intrigued, to say the least, and since this man seemed trustworthy - if you omitted the stench of horse manure and bare feet which were muddy like a Woodland’s floor and stumpy like a Hobbit’s - I gratefully thanked the rogue and delightfully decided to attend this fantastic affair the following day.
The map on the Leaf was rather peculiar; instead of showing roads and houses, it depicted footsteps, paddocks and cornfields. I know you may think that I am insane for accepting and attending such an obscure invitation to an event so unknown and so eccentric on my own, but I’ll have you know that the neighbour’s Springer Spaniel, Odysseus, barked at the chance to come with me (for this was a once in a lifetime opportunity). Whatever, we set off late that night or early the next morning, (depending on your own perception of Time) and bounded to the field in a state of dreamlike euphoria.
The invitation suggested that fancy dress was appreciated, for the theme was Mythical Beasts, and so I decided Woodland Sprite would be appropriate. I harnessed Odysseus into a dog-sized purple, scaly dragon bonnet, allowing his sun-tainted brown ears to flop around his elated face and I slotted an equally scaly tail over his own. It was dark when we set out, and so I used my luminous wand, crafted from the Stars, to guide the way and to allow my straining eyes to read the Leaf-invitation. I never lost sight of Odysseus, as his scales shone back the glow of magical exuberance from the wand.
We came across a multitude of Mythical Beasts all lined up in an urbane manner, which did not befit their costumes. I could see the licks of Flame of a bright Fire at the very front of the queue, the distant Smoke billowing and curling like the stems of the Wheat heads at my feet. Enriched by the magnificent spectres ahead and those which were still to come, I eagerly took my place in the queue and waited.
I got chatting to a few witches and they told me that they came every year to what they referred to as ‘The Illumination’ and that it was absolutely spectacular. One let out an exhausted sigh as she’d been forced into making small talk with vexing relatives whom one only hopes to see at Christmas parties where the occurrence is somewhat bearable as one tends to be intoxicated off Christmas ‘Spirits’. Sadly, just as she was going into explicit detail about how her Great Aunty Johanna has the niggling habit of exclaiming ‘Esmeralda you’ve grown so much since we last saw one another’, (albeit Esmeralda is in fact thirty-three and has had the same height, width and weight since she was fifteen), an anomalous bugle-like noise jangled through the air, vibrating in and out of our shivering skin.
It had begun. The crowd started heading towards the heavenly light of Flames and swirling grey Air ahead. Although this Smoke was engulfing my blue lungs, I felt as if I had inhaled an air of magic; I marched on with the crowd.
***
When I entered the field with Odysseus, I saw it. There it was: the texture so exquisite, so enchanting, so impeccable that I could hardly believe that I was laying my transfixed eyes on it!
The green tufts were twisting and spiralling upwards like a new-born child’s soft fuzz of hair; the green rinds, so bright, so crystalline, so breath-taking seemed to glint at me coaxingly; it was sublime, surreal. The deep hue of the thick strands was mesmerising, elegant; yet it looked as sharp as a knife, mercilessly slicing the frigid air as it climbed into the Skies.
The warm Loam beneath effortlessly pulsed the opulent curls out from its depths, sighing with each collective movement, as if the Earth was smiling as it tensed and relaxed, the light tufts unwinding as they are nurtured by kisses from the velvet Air…
This event was not a manifestation of humanity’s ‘Creativity’, nor was it a vulgar display of Man’s skill in technology or cinematics; it was an illumination of Nature’s simplistic beauty, which charms those who take the time to value its magnificence. There was I, watching Grass bloom from Nature’s loving bosom: the mane of the Earth.
Copyright © JRFB 2012
The day before yesterday I went to the most extraordinary event in my lifetime. I did have to travel to some distant field and queue for about three hours, but I can confirm that the discomfort and agitation stirred beforehand was totally worth it.
I had never heard of this event until the very night before. A rogue dressed in khaki bed sheets knocked on my door and offered me a pamphlet for the next day’s happenings. Well I say pamphlet, but it was actually a dried Horse Chestnut Leaf with faint words inked on (presumably this was done by organic means as later, the nomad tried to convert me to Veganism and I hadn’t the heart to point out that the leather jacket on my back and beef steak in the oven would forbid me to do so). I was rather intrigued, to say the least, and since this man seemed trustworthy - if you omitted the stench of horse manure and bare feet which were muddy like a Woodland’s floor and stumpy like a Hobbit’s - I gratefully thanked the rogue and delightfully decided to attend this fantastic affair the following day.
The map on the Leaf was rather peculiar; instead of showing roads and houses, it depicted footsteps, paddocks and cornfields. I know you may think that I am insane for accepting and attending such an obscure invitation to an event so unknown and so eccentric on my own, but I’ll have you know that the neighbour’s Springer Spaniel, Odysseus, barked at the chance to come with me (for this was a once in a lifetime opportunity). Whatever, we set off late that night or early the next morning, (depending on your own perception of Time) and bounded to the field in a state of dreamlike euphoria.
The invitation suggested that fancy dress was appreciated, for the theme was Mythical Beasts, and so I decided Woodland Sprite would be appropriate. I harnessed Odysseus into a dog-sized purple, scaly dragon bonnet, allowing his sun-tainted brown ears to flop around his elated face and I slotted an equally scaly tail over his own. It was dark when we set out, and so I used my luminous wand, crafted from the Stars, to guide the way and to allow my straining eyes to read the Leaf-invitation. I never lost sight of Odysseus, as his scales shone back the glow of magical exuberance from the wand.
We came across a multitude of Mythical Beasts all lined up in an urbane manner, which did not befit their costumes. I could see the licks of Flame of a bright Fire at the very front of the queue, the distant Smoke billowing and curling like the stems of the Wheat heads at my feet. Enriched by the magnificent spectres ahead and those which were still to come, I eagerly took my place in the queue and waited.
I got chatting to a few witches and they told me that they came every year to what they referred to as ‘The Illumination’ and that it was absolutely spectacular. One let out an exhausted sigh as she’d been forced into making small talk with vexing relatives whom one only hopes to see at Christmas parties where the occurrence is somewhat bearable as one tends to be intoxicated off Christmas ‘Spirits’. Sadly, just as she was going into explicit detail about how her Great Aunty Johanna has the niggling habit of exclaiming ‘Esmeralda you’ve grown so much since we last saw one another’, (albeit Esmeralda is in fact thirty-three and has had the same height, width and weight since she was fifteen), an anomalous bugle-like noise jangled through the air, vibrating in and out of our shivering skin.
It had begun. The crowd started heading towards the heavenly light of Flames and swirling grey Air ahead. Although this Smoke was engulfing my blue lungs, I felt as if I had inhaled an air of magic; I marched on with the crowd.
***
When I entered the field with Odysseus, I saw it. There it was: the texture so exquisite, so enchanting, so impeccable that I could hardly believe that I was laying my transfixed eyes on it!
The green tufts were twisting and spiralling upwards like a new-born child’s soft fuzz of hair; the green rinds, so bright, so crystalline, so breath-taking seemed to glint at me coaxingly; it was sublime, surreal. The deep hue of the thick strands was mesmerising, elegant; yet it looked as sharp as a knife, mercilessly slicing the frigid air as it climbed into the Skies.
The warm Loam beneath effortlessly pulsed the opulent curls out from its depths, sighing with each collective movement, as if the Earth was smiling as it tensed and relaxed, the light tufts unwinding as they are nurtured by kisses from the velvet Air…
This event was not a manifestation of humanity’s ‘Creativity’, nor was it a vulgar display of Man’s skill in technology or cinematics; it was an illumination of Nature’s simplistic beauty, which charms those who take the time to value its magnificence. There was I, watching Grass bloom from Nature’s loving bosom: the mane of the Earth.
Copyright © JRFB 2012
Wednesday 11 July 2012
MY FIRST POST ON 'THE UNCENSORED PEN' BLOG: The Uncensored Pen: Can You Guess What I'm Reviewing?
The Uncensored Pen: Can You Guess What I'm Reviewing?: By Jaguar Bingham ( http://www.beautybehindapaneofglass.blogspot.com ) The day before yesterday I went to the most extraordinary event in ...
Monday 2 July 2012
The Minons
While TV's blare ~ mindnumbing
While the students study ~ boring
While the second hand emigrates back to 12 ~ tick
tick.
While the night moves on ~ slowly
*
The Minons glide past – carefree -
Their purple cloaks shift and quiver as the night unravels,
Yet the air is still.
*
While the cold night shivers in echoes of the last night
and the night before...
The Minons go to where we are not, do not know, and never
shall be.
For the Minons, their flight has just begun.
hearts screaming; minds pulsing; eyes fixed:
They know all that is Unknown to us.
*
Beyond the superficial cosmic din that we call space
Beyond the immortals
Beyond Mars, Neptune and Jupiter -
Lies the People of Minacia.
*
There, the fruit grows bigger – fuller - juicier.
and the corn.
and Their minds.
*
While late night programs seem to be entertaining...
At Minacia, such a thought is trivial. Foolish. Unthinkable.
It is beyond enlightenment.
Beyond life
Beyond love -
Ropes of tires and
Strings of fires.
*
The Minons compel us to cease
like a downhill rally, We must
decline.
To us, colour is merely colour -
but at Minacia, colour is not seen, nor heard...
It is felt; they thrive off sensations.
Love – is - simple, shapeless -
like a cold shadow under the afternoon's sun.
*
The Minons marry the day and disturb the night.
The Minons seduce the day.
The Minons rape the night
- tearing at the still air - groping
the darkness till it
bleeds and grows yet
darker. They inhale the stench of self-pity; smothering
Their lungs, as the essence trickles into Their soul.
*
*
*
They are indelible, infallible, perpetual.
*
*
I would know.
*
*
Because they came for me.
While Life's disruptions blared
While heaven's fires blazed,
They came.
-Jaguar **Disclaimer: 'The Minons' are imaginary beings who shun humanity and believe that their own way of existence is a far more substantial way of living**
Copyright © JRFB 2012
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