Much Ado About Something

I feel like the fabric that has held my life together has been pulled taught. And between the separated strands new things have been allowed to leak in like an intrusive breeze. I'm still undecided whether it's good thing, or something to remedy.

Welcome to the process.

Sometimes adjustment requires some core shakings. I'm aware of that, but, this is a different level of uncomfort. This has dire repercussions. Eternity hangs like water on this particular thread. And that's the weight I'm digging away at. There's a metaphoric pile of something on the path I call life. I'm not even sure what it is. But it covers the only thing that has been a constant. It's heavy in that sense. The one constant in my life feels like a vase knocked off a table. It was something beautiful, but it's spread like pain on the floor, it's insides exposed and open to be prodded.

One of two things can happen. Either it'll be deemed worthless collected into a pile and thrown away. Or what we've all been looking for will have spilt from it's insides. It's that simple. And yet it's more than that. It's complicated like life.

You want to know what this whole thing is over. Well I'm not even sure what to call it. I can't seem to articulate what it is or what happened. Somewhere between me and my keyboard the words are disappearing like spilt coins in a busy street.

I don't like it. In fact I hate it.

But... That's where things are.

This will change my life. I'll be throwing away a vase I dearly love, or it'll spill it's life like blood, and re-colour my dulling peripheries.

And on that bombshell....

One more chapter to revise...

Night before the first of my last exams. That did make sense. I have a friend who very rightly pointed out that it's never really over. Work and life are full of exam like situations. However, they're not directly called exams, and thus I'm happier to face them. It's like Newton's fifth law. Exams (E) suck in proportion to the the relative time endured (TE) and the time to go (Te) in days till the end of your degree, thus;

E=TE(Te)

That is all, one more chapter to go...

©2010 Sean Tuckey

You.

Our barter with time,

patronage to something eternal.

Patronage for hope.

Unknown shadows yield,

to where we go.

Rippling time,

In fabric dimensions.

Midnight express,

at high noon.

Churning coal,

Burning for the next corner,

straining at brass,

Set the lever for the second heat.

Beating pulse,

and 158.

Beyond the bend,

lies my biggest guess.

My quest for what's next,

has thrown clouds to the sky,

and ashes into my eyes.

My eyes burn at my future.

You.

Period of my heart beat.

Metronome to what s real

You,

make it real to me.

Set the lever for the final step.

I'll give you my full-stop,

and wrap it around your finger.

The fabric that still rests,

We'll push it back,

Force it's perpetuity,

and call it's bluff.

You.

And me.

©2010 Sean Tuckey

We have this thing...

Humans.

We are identical in function to any other mammal. We experience a chemical cascade and interpret it as emotion. But we're more than just an interpretation of chemical signals. We're essentially animals, but there is something more.

We have this 'thing'... ...somewhere

Where ever it is, it seems able to translate chemicals into a human response. A higher response. Something an animal would just not get. Which means we as humans live in the tension between animal and something greater. We know that. We have cognitive thought, moral and ethical development. Our mental capacity extends beyond the hunt: mate: survive.

Most of the time.

I think that because we live in the human:animal tension we have the opportunity to experience existence on each side of the scale; animal and human. I picture it like a canyon, where you, the human, is suspended in the middle. Each decision you make alters your balance, you sway from animal to human and vis versa. And that 'thing' that interprets your chemicals get louder on the greater-than side, and softer on the animal side.

So, animals. We've got some of it. I think when you are incapable of treating another person like a human, you're as bad as an animal. Simply mating on a one night stand. Disregard in any form is animalistic, it's all derivative of pack instinct. It all comes down to value. And sometimes we all need to be reminded of our value, as humans., of what it is to be human. On how to save a life. There is something more to life than existing as an animal. We're designed for greater things, and anything below those designs simply won't attract a human response, or a human appreciation and satisfaction.

What got me onto this....

Human emotion at it's purest. Love...

©2010 Sean Tuckey

Where. Just where...

How many different soils have you stood on with your shoes. I've fallen in love with the world, ever since seeing India. It's the rawest form of the world I've experienced. And I brought some of it back on my shoes. But I also brought it back somewhere in me. Somewhere in me I have a small part of India, and subsequently every place I've been since. 

Oh I just miss the world...

©2010 Sean Tuckey

Hmmm...

I have a new phone. Some times I like it, but just as I've written that I begin to dislike it. See the thing is, it's a smart-phone. I like the paper and pen approach to life. I like diaries, journals, and real notes. I like the newspaper. I also play the bass. Which sounds like a tangent but it's not. It only has four strings, and I like that minimalistic approach to things, I think my phone should represent that. If I were to pick a representative instrument, it would be a seven string electric guitar with built in kaos pad, and finished in silver. Because it sounds fantastically technological, and you could probably make great things happen, like control Mexico, but for the life of me I don't know where it switches off. Nor do I really want to. It has features that I don't want to use, my journal will gather dust. And on principal I don't like real things gathering dust, will virtual things replace them.

And that is why I will never buy a Rasberry, or an iPhone with rubber things, and apps.


©2010 Sean Tuckey

Violence: Love

There is a poetic finality about a bullet. The roulette of death or life that unfolds with the flight of the bullet, is as irreversible as a word given wings. The brutality with which a bullet carries out it's destiny is admirable in my opinion.

Departed from it's sinister origins, it's a beautifully simple mechanism designed to realise it sole purpose in milliseconds. To realise love with the brutality of a bullet. There's a poetic statement.

The world is in fact black and white. When you boil everything down to it's most finite divergence, you are always faced with two options, and they always diverge in opposite directions from there. I think once you get that, you get life. Life involves choices, and we make them grey.

I don't think you can get the totality of that simplicity until you begin to understand a bigger picture. Life is about absolutes. Truth is always true.

Ultimately you can love, or not. And within that you can love or not with all you are...

...and that is why I hold onto love with violence.

©2010 Sean Tuckey

The World is Black and White...

Why? Playgrounds...

So life is back on...

What can I say...

I like to write in such a way that if what I have written were gathered up and bound into a book it would be a logical collection of my thoughts and experiences. That is just how I am. I love writing, and to me the ultimate expression of writing is to gather a book's worth of words. It is the 747 equivalent for a pilot, the pinnacle of the craft.

So maybe this would be an editorial. Somewhere outside the continuum everything else I've written is interned. No, it's in there, it has to be. It was written after something, and no doubt I'll write something after it, it has it place in my continuum.

So with the constant progression down the line, and with just months separating me from holding a degree, I'm finding it hard to write anything worth placing into that continuum.

I have never considered University as a qualifying part of my time string, it is not what I'm most passionate about. The problem is, I'm not sure how to place it in the flow of pegs I've accumulated on this time line. It feels like it has generated it's own lineage, and floats parallel to the line I claim ownership of. Which means I haven't placed it on that imaginary line you unroll in front of you, some call plans.

I love those stories told by hindisght, and how it allows you to explore in such detail the path you've taken, and how it has drawn so many stones from so many places to cobble. Somewhere I have a feeling that the years I've studied has been laid down by hindsight's workers. I'll probably laugh when I stand on it.

What if...

What if the role of my studying was to absorb a set amount of time, time enough to allow me to meet important people. Or time to become what I'm supposed to be before I step to the next cobble. Instead of qualifying me officially, what if University was there to expose me to people or situations.

Ironically, after mentioning string, and continuums I don't think life is a strict linear progression punctuated with strictly planned events. By that standard things are either being done, going to be done, it's on or off. By that logic, University will either be used, or if it fails to re-appear further along the time string, never used. It's either being used or not. That urks me because, if it's use never appears, it was a waste of time.

I think that life is a bit like a play ground. That destiny exists only in the timing of your moving form toy to toy, and that each toy plays a pre-requisite part of achieving the movement to the next toy. Movement is open to you, you can wander off the toys, climb on any one you like. In that way, you have the ability to move on, or if you do nothing, move nowhere. The pinnacle I mentioned before applies to people to. I know there is more to life than progressing from one event to the next. I believe that each person has a toy in which they will reach what they are designed to do. You can climb onto any one you want, but outside of the plan, and that toy won't be fun.

I think we get to worked up about what we are doing, and then what we are going to do, 'what ' thinking is the on or off option. I think the shift should be to why. Why is an infinite possibility. It has reason which is neither on or off. I think 'why' thinking acknowledges something bigger than you, it looks for that bigger thing, the pinnacle of your existence.

And that is worth writing a book about...


©2010 Sean Tuckey

Where are the keys, and Why's it Ajar?

©2010 Sean Tuckey

A Stanza in Binary Code

010010010010011101110110011001010010000001100010011001010110001101101111011011010110010100100000011000010010000001100100011010010110011101101001011101000110000101101100001000000110010101101110011101000110100101110100011110010010110000100000010010010010011101101101001000000110110101101111011100100110010100100000011011110110111001100101011100110010000001100001011011100110010000100000011110100110010101110010011011110111001100100000011101000110100001100001011011100010000001100110011011000110010101110011011010000010000001100001011011100110010000100000011000100110110001101111011011110110010000101110001000000100100100100111011011010010000001100001001000000110001101101111011011100111001101100011011010010110111101110101011100110110111001100101011100110111001100100000011101000110100001100001011101000010000001110010011001010111000101110101011010010111001001100101011100110010000001100001001000000111000001101100011101010110011100101110001000000100001001110101011101000010000001101110011011110010000001101101011011110111001001100101001011100010111000101110

Like Crack Cocaine,

Except streaming ones and Zeros,

My veins coarse in binary.

On or Off.

Black and white.

Dialling opiate.

Swearing in dial tone hues.

01010011011010000110000101101011011010010110111001100111001000000110000101110010011011010010110000100000011101100110100101110010011101000111010101100001011011000110110001111001001000000110001001110010011101010110100101110011011001010110010000101110001000000100010001101001011011000110000101110100011001010110010000100000011100000111010101110000011010010110110001110011001000000110000101101110011001000010000001100111011011000110000101111010011001010110010000100000011011110111011001100101011100100010000001100101011110010110010101110011001011100010000001000100011010010111001101100101011011100110011101100001011001110110100101101110011001110010000001101101011110010010000001101101011010010110111001100100001011000010000001100001011011100110010000100000011001000110010101110110011011110111010101110010011010010110111001100111001000000110110101111001001000000111010001101001011011010110010100101110

©2010 Sean Tuckey

Fourteen Block Letters...

The light bulb hung,

fighting at the night,

loosing only but it's immediate surrounds.

It's nervous,

And the shadows it casts jitter anxiously.

They fidget at the edge of the light,

The bulb turns it back and swings,

and darkness invades it's arc.

Only to be forced back on it's return,

And so the pendulum battle continues.

Beyond the concrete tunnel I have entered,

past the nervous shadows,

and to the left,

there is a room.

It's numbered door hides it's purpose,

and awkwardly reaches for an identity.

This is my place,

and this is my battle field.

Behind it's staring mirrored window,

confined by a binary stream,

My heart has rested,

and a prize it has found.

Bring me those shadows,

and I will ignite them.

The force of my will powers that swinging bulb.

I've seen my alter,

And know my path.

Ask me your questions,

and scribble on your paper.

Those ticks and crosses fall at my feet,

and cobble my path.

I walk and nothing changes,

now,

I know,

I Love,

Full stop.

Down that passage,

Past all the other doors I've ventured.

This one holds me.

It's paint has bowed to the lashings of time,

flaking off, and showing bare wood.

It limps open when pushed.

Yet it proudly displays it's number,

Individually on metal block letters it reads

Lifë.

This one is a mystery, It is laden with meaning, but I'm going to keep the mystery, it mine to have. Read the words, and read between them, you can have whatever you come up with, but the original mystery is mine. Fourteen block letters spell out my heart...

©2010 Sean Tuckey

Rhythm, Lights and India

I think I've just started something. I've just visited India. What a beautiful place, both the people and the country. It's one of those places that you can just look at and find something interesting, something odd, and something fascinating.

Places like India have a depth about them, underneath the surface there is meaning. At one time we were “lucky” enough to find ourselves surrounded by the typical tourists, wearing what they thought to be India, and eating McDonalds. It did get me thinking. They were part of a package tour, most probably seeing a whole lot more of India than I got to. But that's where their experience ended. All they got to do was see India. I got to experience India. I met people, talked to people, had chai with some of the friendliest people in the world. With places like India, were you can see a lot of chaos and dirt, I think it takes depth to experience places, you're interested in more than the face value of the usual pretty places. On the surface, India is full on, but if you give it a chance and delve a little deeper, it will change your life. There's buried treasure all over India, there are trunks of perspective, trunks of love and reality. India, given the chance will change your life.I don't think I've ever been so profoundly effected by a place as I was in India. It wasn't the normal 'third world' shock that did it, I grew up in one of the 'thirdest' countries in Africa. India made me feel. I can't explain what it did, but I do know that it made me feel. A bit like listening to a song. The lyrics may be abstract, but you feel something. That's what India is, it's a song. And it's a song that I just really really like, love even.

India has a unique rhythm, it's got it's own signature beat. It's fascinating how things happen there. They way thing are arrived at is bizarre and at the same time beautifully logical, and other times beautifully illogical. You know that feeling when you really like someone and they do something ridiculously illogical, some call it quirky; and you just can't wait to see them do it again. That's India, and you just sort of get caught up in it and enjoy the difference. Western thinking has yes and no, Indian thinking has so much more. There are two prices, the first one, and the real one. Which is like everything else, there are two answers to everything, two ways of going about anything. Which is quirky and interesting, and it'll keep you hanging around, and going back.

India will also break your heart. To pieces. If you're not effected by human's living they way they are, you need to reconnect with your human side. It's emotional. It's full on. Seeing a situation where someone is stripped of dignity, and the basic essence of being human, where that they stop functioning like somebody, and function like something, effects you. Full stop. Something twists inside you. It's overwhelming, especially when you see the sheer magnitude of humanity that are living as something. India is incredible but it has a dark side it's only too eager to keep form you. You can't help but think that only something so far above human effort is needed to reintroduce humans to their humanity.

And yet it's such a colourful vibrant place, that really is incredible India

©2010 Sean Tuckey

Please turn to Chapter Tomorrow; Page Thursday

A Page

Like clay under a tide

that's drawn it's breath,

I lie in drought.

Silence has begun to scream,

allying herself with time,

the following page has become an opiate,

dulling what's now.

Pages have turned,

and I flee the one I'm on.

My words last only now,

and yet abstinence keeps me silent.

Another page has turned.

blank.

Only awkward footprints reveal my presence,

each a memorial to the betrayal of youth

for the conclusion.

What I've left is not worthy,

I've lulled in an opiate a chapter away,

waiting for lustre and reverie.

I've held on for a fate,

written out in pages turned.

With timeless strength the tide has exhaled,

It's lustre graces my pages,

It's glow hold no answers,

only places were sentences used to be.

I seek the horizon,

and the answers that must lie there.

But it's pages past,

written in time,

that holds what I seek.

I think sometimes we tend to wait our lives away. It's a cliché sort of statement, but I feel nonetheless still poignant. How often do we perceive an answer to reside in some chapter in the future, when at times our shuffling footprints soil what's here and now.

©2010 Sean Tuckey

Retro Appeal

I'd love to hear the stories behind this badge.

There's just something appealing about something vintage.

This came from a caravan in the area named honey bee; it was old, about to collapse but proudly told everyone it was a zephyr.

©2010 Sean Tuckey

No. 1

So it's my first post.

This seems a strange thing to embark on. Why write? Why show people? And yet why not? Since so long ago I've had a very fond relationship with words. I love the art of a sentence. I love art. Art happens when things are shaped around an expression. And so I guess this blog is an attempt to share my ideas, my attempts at shaping words around my expressions however far ranging they may be.

And so welcome to the black swan bulletin. The name has meaning as so many things do, but like so many other things it also has mystery. It's not something that is going to be spelt out in letters further down this post.

It's silent, and it's text. It's amazing how mystery prompts seeking, and how much authority silence can lend to something.

I can see this blog becoming somewhat of a metaphorical canyon. On one side lies something I'm not sure I wholly grasp, or understand. My fascination with that side is strong and so I'll call it art or even words. Opposite lies a less mysterious place, it's called life, and it encompasses exactly what I'm doing now, or what I have been doing, or even what I think will happen. This blog then would be a precarious place somewhere in between: a swing of sorts, sometimes linking both sides, and other times exploring what happens on the edges of one side.

Having said all of that I could murder a cup of tea, and so that is exactly what I'll do.

©2010 Sean Tuckey