Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts

Saturday, 18 February 2017

Gym Time!



recently joined the gym which is great as I'm not really drinking so its good to get some kicks some how. Whenever I go to the gym most days I think of Bukowski and how he would've liked going to such a place and all the things he could have written about it, Hemingway too. Yet these two writers were more interested in getting blind drunk, gambling on horses and deep sea fishing and bull fighting (all great options laughs). However, what both authors stressed simmilarly was the neccesisty to have an expert knowledge of whatever subject you write about and love what you choose to write about more than anything else or something that consumes your life, like work and leisure.

Some days I walk into the gym with that underlining feeling of getting ready to put my body to a brutal test. Endorphins and adrenaline flood my body before I've even start working out. Just standing in the air-conditioned room is a beautiful experience. A gym is really a room of self-improvement that is a unique thing in our modern society. It's also a nice change from gigs and bars and things that can be rather destructive. As I look around the modest room I see other athletes, woman, men young  and even elderly citizens pumping iron thrashing treadmills all with the aim of staying fit and having a good time in a sort of masochistic sense haha.

I choose to sign up to the YMCA and not some poncey Les Mills where i've heard they have beautiful machine, stringent contracts and and a plethora of uptight people working out constantly sneering being rude like corporate yuppies have a tendency towards. I have to tell you there is something rather demoralising about working out and having some steroid induced hulk like figure lifting about a bajillion kilos next to you while your slumming on the neophyte levels of about 15-20 kilos on your machine laughs. If you want to humble the ego just sign up to the gym and be prepared to fall to the bottom of the food chain like a piece of plankton. Thankfully when you join up with a kind community orientated gym their are people of all shapes and sizes working out. You have people really overweight doing their best to slim down and become more healthier and they are a real inspiration to me. I think if you're struggling with your weight you should be allowed to go to the gym for free. In Japan I believe it's actually illegal to be fat haha imagine that the state watching your waistline, thats a worry.

One time it was rather funny, there was a rather fat man who though rather large looked strong and was trying to lose some pounds. That in itself wasn't memorable, it was the fact that he was working out with his girlfriend or wife and to encourage him doing his sporadic reps on the leg machine she had positioned a box in front of his machine and was doing squats in front of him for an added bit of encouragement which made me laugh inside and slightly envious haha. The irony was also the fact that the girlfriend was fit as a fiddle which made the situation even more absurd than it should have been. I could also tell the man's heart wasn't really pumped about getting fit. He had that sort of lazy personality and seemed to be feeling the pressure and being slightly forced into working out, maybe as means not to lose his girlfriend! There was no sign from his that he was aiming to improve his health of his own accord, obviously I could be very wrong. Regardless of motivation the man reminded me of Aristotelian virtue ethics and how one should really abstain from doing the right thing if you don't willingly want to do it for its own sake. One should love the means not the end as one becomes virtuous and lives a better happy life. If you don't like working out don't do it, as this opens the door in the future for actually really wanting to work out!

I also stumbled across a great quote from Aristotle that said; 'people of a virtuous disposition and character are not usually subjected to great change over the course of ones life' (paraphrased).         So if you are are a good person and fall into bad ways or problems, usually you can dig deep within yourself and find the good person your bedrock and rebuild yourself in a more virtuous and happy healthier way, all you need is the will to become the beautiful person you can be,. Like fighting addiction you simply have to choose and strive towards being healthy everyday, while enjoying the process and dis-regarding the ends and whether you succeed or fail. Nietzsche also once said its the people that don't lust after the great accolades of society that in the end achieve greatness on an exceptional scale and not the ones who want things for shallow or empty reasons like fame, money or adoration. For the vacous mentioned things in themselves are not enough to motivate one to become virtuous and strive for human perfection and self-improvement. True selfishness can produce remarkable things but perhaps nothing of real lasting value or merit "The gifted people are not given something, the opposite is true of them that have something to give back to everyone".

Thursday, 26 January 2017

But when is it that my heart races most madly?

You send my heart racing 
even though I don't quite 
know your name 

You send my heart racing 
despite the fact I asked you out 
and you said no

You send my heart racing 
because you speak to me in
a rustic second language 

You send my heart racing 
because your so prim and proper 
while i'm a dishevelled mess 

You send my heart racing 
like a beam of light bouncing 
off the face of a pretty girl 

But when is it that my heart races most madly?

Whenever
I dive deep down into
your mesmerising crystal
blue eyes
Overcome with the sublime
intoxicated
feeling of love
that only 
bi-polar allows 






Sunday, 25 December 2016

Blocked by a Beautiful Stranger on Instagram


 
I felt a pang of sadness well up inside me when i realised she had blocked me on Instagram. I searched my conscience to filter back through time to see if i had been rude or mean. It came up blank. She had such fine features, Da Vinci himself would've struggled to render her onto white canvas. Her personality was so free spirited and zany. I felt rather devastated. On the scale of past hurts the pain was slight, a mere flesh wound. 
Yet at the same time it felt as if both my arms had been sliced from my body like the black knight from Monty Python.

Deep down I knew she would never know how such a small unthinking act of hers had flattened me. It took extra effort to get out of bed the next morning after being confronted by the bad news that I had been discarded. For all intents and purposes I had been declared surplus to requirements. The woman, someone, I had grown to adore in the most innocent of ways had left.Slowly I realised we were strangers even though we shared the same city and love of burgers. It was obvious now we lived in two vastly different circumstances, our circles would never intersect, unless dumb luck intervened. 

Over the coming days my love for her slowly evaporated 
into the dry cracks of my heart. Then one evening rain clouds gathered outside my window and let down a torrent of rain. I woke up and heard the cry of the wind as I hugged my worn pillow under my blanket. The lack of stars in the next sky only intensified my sadness and irrational sense of loss, and yet I was still glad I had loved her, in my own gentle unsuspecting kind of way. The only way I knew how!

Friday, 2 December 2016

The Killer in My Dreams

In front of me there’s a smashed in door
with a burnt out body inside.
The killer is scuttling around on the loose.
I can hear his feet padding around noisily.
I steal second and steady my breathing, my thoughts
racing into the recesses of my neocortex.
My desire to survive is overpowering.
This demands that I too my must become a killing machine
to escape this deadly encounter.
The hunt is on and I only know three things about
the assailant. He is male, armed
with a shotgun and has only one
shoulder. His slight of frame allows
him to hide in crevices and slide into
passages most men would get stuck in.
He may be a worth adversary only time will tell.
I will likely need my whole combined strength
mental and physical to take him down.
With a last gulp of metallic oxygen I burst through
the blood covered door shouting. I see him in the corner stunned,
everything turns to slow motion. Gun shots rattle
the walls like a child’s play toy. I am hit twice ripped flesh and blood leaking out my leg like spaghetti, but he lays motionless twitching.
As he lays dying it turns out I only knew two things about him.
He actually had two shoulders the myths and rumours were wrong.
Now he just looked like something resembling week old roadkill.
Who said hunting criminals was hard obviously never did,
the only thing tough about it was not turning into one yourself.

Friday, 25 November 2016

Pangs of a Poetess

Pangs of a poetess
Afraid to love
With broken words
and fragmented sentences
She hated herself 
Always choosing a simile
Over a smile
How all her words came out wrong
In a rebellious rage
She aimed to dominate
all her ideas upon a page 
But it was useless
To no avail
How could a true poet
Give up on the quest for love? 
For somewhere
Out there
In treacherous lands
A future beloved
could be heard
singing her name 
Travelling miles
dreaming of little else
carrying only
A passionate desire
to love her
some how

Monday, 10 October 2016

I Want to Laugh in the Face of Death


i want to laugh in the face of death 
get inked up, dead man walking across my chest 
I want to laugh so loud that my face turns red 
scream so hard that my cat drops dead
you see, im passing through, so how bout you
with our bodies worn no sign of youth
destined to become what we always knew
like worms in the soil twisting and turning
a stupid rusty screw loose in your head 
waiting to maybe take you on that fateful dance 
a long slow waltz
with deaths hand gripping your beautiful ass
your drowning in black and white
while i'm freezing in multi-colour baby
of all the sweet joys of life 
imagine music lost and unheard
For on your fatal day, betwixt two worlds
suddenly abruptly rudely wrenched from your dreams
one finds the world not destroyed but continually reborn
for what is crushed in an instant  
is destined to eternally recur 





Monday, 19 September 2016

this is for the ones who didn't make it

You seem trapped like a stoat slowly dying
Lost in a cycle of self-destruction and praise
One finger on the button of the nuclear bomb, hand on your crotch
Could you do it kill woman, children, husbands indiscrimantly
In an instant flesh burnt to dust by the man made sun of Hiroshima

Underlining pain and turmoil married to social unrest
Black slaves in the street know the real pain of the oppressed
Are you reader willing to fight even die at my side
 in an army of citizens swaying marching left right left right
Reaching out hands poised with serated knives
 or will the state do us in and steal our lives
Why not simply save face and conceal the magic of swines

A hundred years a thousand more and were still no closer to peace on earth
Locked in the throws of rapture brought on by torturing your toes
 we languish embedded in a holy war of symbols ruled by an aristocratic asterisk
The rich the poor everyone suffering due to impounded interest and slanted economics
Our world the great leveller crushing us into a small tidy compressed trash can
Of False humility and wickedness black grimy and festering
We grow and improve forever imprisoned in a cacophonous groove
In an eternal return to dance across stars like a melancholy moon
Who speaks "life is so pretty but it always ends so soon"

Onwards upwards climbing pecariously in the pit of hell
The work must be done our minds reforged for a labour ensues
Fighting off depression evil thoughts sharper than sickles and swords
At the same time we are becoming what you dreamt a million times
For Inside us lies dormant the keys to a universe of joy
Like a newborn child humanities essential character is good

David Merrit - Describing the role of the poet in New Zealand society

David Merritt from Paris Mercedes on Vimeo.

Sunday, 18 September 2016

musing on ideas in Zarathustra

Dry your eyes, there's no use in crying
we all live under the moon at night
were wolves howl and nightmares roam
that is until the flaming sun comes out
bringing life renewed to those who wander 
like scared animals being hunted we hide
praying for one last day to feather our nests
before our bodies decompose under moss covered trees

Wednesday, 14 September 2016

Brother Gabriel - A Brilliant Photographic Visionary defending himself against a Heartless Wellington Art Critic

Gabriel Bioletti commented on this.

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Comments
Sam Allen Probably my favourite piece in your 2106 collection, the stark contrast of light and dark, the absent confusion of the Grobbie, the number of pixels, all add to this sense of existential numbness. This piece really captures the futility of seeking purpose in life
UnlikeReply35 hrs
Gabriel Bioletti Hey Sam I greatly appreciate you're considered opinion on this initial collection. However there is just one point I need to make in response; I feel the shortest path to greatness and fulfillment in art is to live it, breathe it, encompass the ideas you portray into your own everyday life. For this reason I feel like any attempt at perceiving 'intent' in my pictures will result in a somewhat contrived analysis of the real meaning behind the aesthetics. So whilst you're description does seem apt, I do struggle to reconcile my own personal beliefs with such an interpretation.
UnlikeReply55 hrs
LikeReplyJust now
Moss Bioletti

Write a reply...
Sam Allen Oh hey Gabriel, it's not often I get to talk to such a visionary artist as yourself. I guess the fame hasn't found you yet, but I'm sure it will some day.
You posit that my perception of meaning in your work was an "attempt", but to me the words came e
ffortlessly, and without contrivance or indeed any motive of self-aggrandizement.
Given the absolute subjectivity of art and beauty, I feel that you as the artist need to learn to relinquish absolute interpretive authority over your works as you release them for public consumption (I too struggle with this, would you believe!). My comment was not an attempt to trap your art's meaning in stasis, but more to add a sort of meta value to it. 
We could even argue that my comment has more beauty and meaning than your photo, as it demonstrates - through its very existence - how art can inspire and bring substance to thought.
Again, really love the photo.
LikeReply4 hrs
Gabriel Bioletti Oh hey again Sam. I do realise that, to a certain degree, the notion of 'death of the author' has been quite en mode recently. While i do agree that there is a certain obligation for critics of art (such as yourself), i believe vehemently that there is a much stronger obligation for the artist (me, in this case) to be steadfast in their original interpretation. The idea of absolute subjectivity does result in potentially integral motifs, themes and techniques to be lost in translation. This results in a violation of the conservation of information, something i believe to be of a much higher significance.

Again, don't think for a moment that i don't appreciate you're feedback. Maybe we will have to agree to disagree
LikeReply4 hrs
Sam Allen Dear sir.
I hope you understand that I'm actually one of the most down to earth and humble people you will ever meet, and I don't appreciate being called a "critic". What I do is not the dissemination of criticism, but the delivery of high impact and i
nsightful commentary on various pieces and their meaning as I interpret it.
My commentary adds impact to art and increases exposure of the artist, as I have a significant following of art lovers who rely on my taste and interpretations.
I hope you appreciate that the rigidity you try to impose on your work's meaning is a self serving knife to the throat of all viewers.
no offence intended.
Sincerely
Samuel Allen.
LikeReply4 hrs
Gabriel Bioletti Dear Hopeless Critic,

Judging by you're utterly inappropriate and unprofessional response i would be inclined to think that you are not nearly as significant a CRITIC as you have built yourself up to be.


It is not my job to validate you're sub-par existence as a source of second-hand information. I appreciate the necessity of constructive criticism in order to move forward as a coherent and self-contained artist. Furthermore, you clearly display great insight and potential to legitimately contribute to the world of the art and I would sincerely suggest you pursue tertiary education on the subject in order to convey you're ideas in a more succinct, less frantic manner.

Yours sincerely, Gabriel Alfred George Bioletti
LikeReply3 hrsEdited
Sam Allen Sir.
Let us agree to disagree. While I respect your obvious and gratuitous skill as an artist, I find you manner to be unbearably standoffish and 
I strongly suggest that you also pursue tertiary education, perhaps in formal communication.

I came to you with nothing but good intentions and you turned around and shat all over my face and in my ears.
How dare you call me sub-par. You have no right to criticise my work.
You are an insufferable artist and I only hope that you may one day find peace within yourself as I did long ago.
Good day.
LikeReply3 hrs
LikeReply3 hrs
Gus McRobbie I think i'll eat it now.
LikeReply23 hrs
Moss Bioletti the photo that spilt a thousand words