I loved working with writers who have similar ideas and thoughts, but also diverse imaginations.

More Than

They don’t define you
They define themselves
They don’t know who you are
The choices they make have nothing to do with you.
You are . . .
Enough, remember, you went through a whole list that time, all those times
Good, whatever that means
Complex, you are more than a singular
Vast, you span further than your physical body, in the minds of
others, in spaces, in homes.
You claimed your space like it was not yours to take
Stolen goods, body reflecting guilt
Every day a shoplifted perfume from a store you could not afford
It’s time to claim your space now like you mean it.
You believe in yourself
and fight for your disability benefits
You explore, expand your mind and your heart
You’re happy with your friends and family
Fighting, relentless hate, judgment and blame
Cycles of shame and repentance
Who are you? You are courage. You are resilience.
You are mystery.

– writers writing me . . . thank

from Access2Arts on Vimeo.

The Writing Me workshops have helped with my emotional state, my sense of connection to others, my creative wellbeing, and there was lots of laughter!! <3

Botho is one of my favourite words

My Favourite Food

Eating Sweet and Sour Pork – on the fork until I’m full to the brim Spaghetti Bolognese – in a craze, I was lost in a maze for seven days
Chalam Masala – I like to go to Guatemala for a swim
Chicken Curry – in a hurry, that’s something funny
Seafood Paella – raining on my umbrella
Beef stir fry – that’s fried to cry
Eton Mess – not as healthy for whipped cream
Fruit Salad – I’m in a dream but it’s breezy
Big Breakfast –it’s my favourite thing
Crocodile meat – that I don’t eat.

-Josh Campton

Delusion

A synapsis flow,
A chemical neuron transmits
Slow it goes,
Thickens like blood in the arterial brain
Tracks on line, a slippery train,
A dysfunctional mind.

Who am I ? …

-Jean Winter

A Bright Red Scream

A bright red scream,
To undo the paths,
That were taken
Where the real me
Was denied, forgotten.
Eyes painted shut
Like a window,
So the red dust,
From bricks being crushed
Cannot dissolve into the air,
A signal for others to see,

A bright red scream,
To re-open me,
To let out arms,
To search for what was taken,
To feel for the shape of it,
In the low light,
Pools of water on the pavement,
Sediments at the bottom,
What is left of me,
Traces, unidentifiable, traces.

-Pony Horseman

That’s What She Said – Work in Progress

A bar, two friends sit at a small table with music playing a mild volume. They have beers in front of them and they are eating slices of prosciutto on single slices of bread.

Daniel: This is so good!

Xavier: Is it prosciutto?

Daniel: Yeah it is

Xavier: ……One day we’ll be sitting in Tuscany eating this

Daniel: Aah well is Tuscany in Spain?

Xavier: No, it’s in Italy

Daniel: Well this is from Spain

Xavier: Is it prosciutto?

Daniel: I don’t know but it’s from Spain

Xavier: Really?

Daniel: Yeah!

Xavier: Ok

Beat Beat

Daniel: But it’s great though it’s cured ham

Xavier: Well that’s prosciutto, but are you sure it’s not Italian, prosciutto’s an Italian word

Beat Beat

Daniel: Well I don’t know about that but we had it all the time in Spain

Xavier: Ok well one day will be sitting in Tuscany eating Spanish ham.

Daniel: Ha ha

Daniel looks around the room

(more…)

Mind Blank
(Nightmares and Fear)

Every time I go to sleep, closed eyes
Opened eyes, I saw something a burning light outside my window
I walked towards the window and all I could see was the earth burning
When the lights went out
I was freaked out
Scared and terrified of the dark

– Joshua Campton

How to Train the Brain

A reward, I got it right,
Some food,
I am like a dog,
Doing what you want.
Change the system and brain
Rearrange
I do not want to be hurt,
Given treats, a chemical cocktail
Peace engulfs,
You have lost the fight
It is easier to be like you.

– Jean Winter

Sorry For Speaking

Sorry for speaking,
I’m sorry I speak,
That you are subjected to
My vocalisations,
The shapes of my lips,
The height of the my tongue,
How it forms a different passage,
For the air to move through,
Different harmonics,
Over a fundamental tone,
That you are conditioned
To decode into meaning,
Pictures, ideas, associations,
In your mind,

I’m sorry that I’m speaking,
Without warning you,
About what it was going to
Mean,
I should have been more careful,
Made sure it was fine with you.
Can I undo these sounds
With more sounds of sorry?
Sorry, [ˈsɔɹi],
My lips pout,
My tongue glides,
My breath out,
[ˈsɔɹi]
Until I can unmake
Those other sounds,
[ˈsɔɹi]
I made to you.

– Pony Horseman

The way I write a poem
To make them believe a love story
To make a dance film
Or even to make a song

Extract from Chapter 9, Mindshadows

I was led into an area and I watched the doors being locked behind me. They took me to a desk where I had to sign forms.

‘You know I am a lawyer,’ I said.

There are so many papers to sign – therefore I must be a lawyer, I thought.
I did have temporary insight, although this knowledge was sporadic and perplexing, like an abstract dream. I realised at different times that I was locked in some type of secure hospital ward and meaningful ideas would germinate. Saying I was a lawyer, thinking I was somebody else comforted me. My paranoid thinking had not ceased. I still believed they were going to kill me and it was a logical deduction on my part – why else would I be treated this way?

I was then taken to a large room and told to undress. This was an old part of the hospital. It had high ceilings and hard concrete walls. There were two small windows which looked out onto the grounds and black iron bars attached on the outside of the windows. Part of the room had tiling floor and I noticed two cubicles made of brick without doors attached. The room had no furnishings except one plastic chair where I could place my clothes. Two male nurses watched me as I took my clothes off. One of the men told me to go into the brick like cubicle and I crouched in the corner as he sprayed me with a long hose. My body felt the pressure of the cold hard water. After this initial cleansing they dressed me in men’s pyjamas and these were placed on me with the buttons at the back. After this I was led into a cell like room with a mattress on the floor and the locked door had a small square window.

– Jean Winter

– Pony Horseman

Dear Julian

I see the things you go through, I see the things you face. You are stronger than most people could imagine, it’s a strength you know and don’t know. You are kind and loving, talented and great.

Your body is strong and sinewy and even though you have stretched me out a bit I will bounce back and I know it’s a challenge you will overcome.

I love you for all the things you are. For the way you can feel other people’s energy off me, to the way you are constantly trying to understand the world around you . I love how your capacity for giving and saying the right thing is still there despite how miss understood you feel by the entire world.

I loved watching you grow this past year and as you continue to step into your power and leave the past behind. You don’t always feel like you’re growing, bu I can tell by the way you have started to take care of yourself and me through all you have to deal with.

You are destined for great things and it will be my joy to be there with you to see it. I long to be with you forever and grow old with you and share the happiness that will envelope your life.

With
Love always
Your  Skin
– Julian Jaensch

I thought that love is being known 

Love

Love is spiritual
It crosses all boundaries
Overcomes the physical
Demands of life
Dreaming of love
In a barren wasteland
Is what keeps me going
A unifying bold force
Intent on saving souls
Not destroying
Love is a conscious arbitrator
There is a line, which cannot be crossed
Identifying
What is right or wrong …

– Jean Winter

A revolutionary type of love. What would that look like?

Love is about friendship

Love is my community
Love is culture
Love is love
Love is aboriginality
Love is my drug
Love is nation
Love is blind
Love is tomorrow
Love is ToGetHer
Love is my world
Love is boundaries

– Joshua Campton

Particles Floating

Particles floating
Around my head;
A veil of dust
Was that my soul?
Was that my voice?
Escaping my body
To a place where
I would be loved?
Respected? Valued?
Where my desires
Would be considered?

Not for me,
Your motions.
Not for me,
Your sounds,
Not for me.

From the ceiling
I watched.
You unwrapped me,
Your eyes measuring
My worth.

– Pony Horseman

– Group love poem – Gross, way 2 gross