The importance of edit.

The call to write and then the challenge to get started.

It’s that opening sentence that is the hardest.

Once you get past that and get into that flow state all of that junk just starts to pour out of your mind. Sometimes we just have to start right? It’s that self doubt and the thought that what you put down won’t be good enough.

It’s coherency that is often the challenge. The psychobabble might make sense as it comes out of your head, but when you read it back you realise that you’ve simply put a lot of words on a page about nothing at all.

We all have so many ideas with literally hundreds of categories and themes and tangents to go off into. The thing is, how do you make it tangible or logical for someone who isn’t you?

Therein lies the importance of the next step. The edit. The uncelebrated art of learning to pull it all together and make what we are writing coherent.

What we read is rarely a first draft.

What we hear is rarely a first take.

The message, the product, the beauty only becomes apparent in the edit.

The shadow hat man and malevolent entities

I had never really experienced malevolent entities.

I figured this was something that happened to people who had traumatic childhoods or had some issues from a past life that may have carried across.

Last night I woke to find a shadowy entity standing over my bed.

It instantly filled me with fear as it was quite menacing and ominous in it’s appearance. I noticed it was wearing a hat, like a dark brimmed fedora.

A quick google search indicated that this was actually a common entity experienced by many people. The ‘shadow hat man’ or sometimes referred to as ‘the leader of the shadow people’.

Anyway, all a bit strange and i’m still processing it.

Image result for shadow hat man

The Boss

A man so consumed with work that he has lost the ability to connect with anyone at a human level.
He is all business.
Long since forgotten what it means to be a real person.
His identity is work. He doesn’t need to be a real person.
He doesn’t need to connect with anyone other than achieving the business goals. Quarterly profit. Revenue at all costs.

Does he ever stop to think why?
No. That childlike curiosity left him long ago.
Corporate conditioning has well and truly drilled out the mindset of questioning anything beyond the strategy direction.

If you need to know anything. Ask him. He will know. It’s all he thinks about.

If you want to know anything else. Don’t ask him. He knows nothing outside of work. This is his narrow focus. This is his world.
And what happens tomorrow if the business is gone?
What happens then?
What has he been building?
What is his legacy?

Connect to source.

What are we doing when we are trying to create?

We sit here waiting for inspiration and when we get it, we need to capture it. We need to write what comes out. Why? Why are we doing this?

Maybe from the words pouring out maybe something good will come of it? Maybe it will help someone to discover their own voice. Maybe that’s what it’s about. We produce to inspire and continue the inspiration of humanity. We might not produce the book that leads the revolution, but we might influence the person that does write that book.
We might inspire the person who had the conversation with the woman who wrote the song. The man who held the brush, that painted the face that made somebody smile.

It’s not about living in the ego. It’s about living outside the ego. It’s about plugging into that deeper energy frequency. Connecting to source.
It’s about shaking off that etheric rust and moving into another mode of existence.
We must make the effort to frequently try and connect to source.
This is what gives us the power to realise that we are plugging into something much greater than ourselves.
We are simply conduits to help share the secrets of the universe.
What they are? I don’t know. But they are there.
The laws of the universe are written in the stars.

When we live in alignment, it allows us to connect far more deeply to source. It enables us to live beyond our ego. That is the important thing here.
It is our ego that we need to shed.
Source.
Align. Connect. Plug in to that greater frequency.

Ricochet Morning

The pained stare through bloodshot eyes. A flick of greasy brown hair falls across the face.
It was a big night. A normal night, really. The sun streaming through the cracked curtain, spotlighting ashtrays, empty bottles and credit card scraped plates.

The last memory, dancing, wine glass in hand. Music too loud.
The neighbours gave up long ago.
Perfectly pleasant met sober in midday corridors.
Another beast entirely, answered intoxicated in full flight, post midnight, lungs ablaze with smoke and lyrics misspoke.

The familiarity of this description makes it easy to visualise. Memories familiar of misspent youth.
But who am I to judge if it really is youth misspent?

Ones and Zeros

INT. Office, green plants hanging from the ceiling. Cork notice board. Open kitchen.

Derrick: ‘There’s a lot more to it than that you know’

Corinne: ‘I know, I know, I just, I just wanted to believe that what was going on there, it was a bit more simple, a bit more, pure?’

Derrick: ‘I know what you mean. Come on. you know that there is no purity left in the world these days’

EXT. Park, outdoor setting Midday sun.

Daniel: ‘Why don’t you kiss me like you used to?’

Amiel: ‘Don’t be like that. Why would you say that?’

Daniel: ‘I just get a feeling that maybe you’re not as into this as you were. Things feel a bit different. You seem a little, distant.
Amiel: ‘I’m not distant’

INT. Bar – Downstairs bar. Pooltable in the corner. Jukebox. Cigarette smoke.

Derrick: ‘I can’t be the only one who thinks like that. I just can’t be. I know that things have changed in the last few years, but people still believe in tradition right? The values of yesteryear. You know, all those thigns that we grew up believing as a kid.
I fucking hate AI’

Daniel: ‘Yeah well, I know what you mean, but I kind of like it. You know how nice it is not having to go to the shops and think about cooking anymore? I just get home, log in and that’s my evening sorted.’

INT. Office. Daytime. Nice, bright office.

Amiel typing away on the keyboard.

Rolled Gold

 

The road was dusty, splintered, blue.
It reminded me of you.
The wind it swept around the house
Emptied due to last years drought.
No one comes around these days
Corrugated memories of your face

Not much running from the bore
The windmill, a reminder of before
The dust kicks up and spirals into existence
Behind cracked lips, there is no grin, just persistence

It’s hard to know what’s driving him.
He hasn’t had a good price at the gate in years.
The city, most left long ago,
Is the only place he’ll find a mate

But it’s rolled gold territory.
Bushrangers thick through here before.
It’s rolled gold country.
The pans will sing alluvial once more.