Let them eat cake.

images-6Today I did an incredibly adult thing. Probably the most significantly adulty thing of all things. I had chocolate cake for breakfast! It was fabulous.
images-10

Now, I hear you say (with less than the respect in your tone, than should be given for the aforementioned action) how can this be an ultimate act of adulting? Well, I’m glad you asked. Here it is…

When we’re young, we can’t wait to ‘grow up’, to be adults, and be ‘allowed’ to do all the things that adults can do. We ponder having the ability to be in charge of ourselves, and to set our own rules. We abhor being told what to do, and the confines of childhood, parents and protectiveness. We endure going to school, learning, being educated, and being taught (and no, they’re not all just synonyms).
As kids, we try and get away with adult actions, or try to secretly fulfill our fantasies of what it will be like, when we can walk in heels, earn money, wear make-up, have sex, drive cars, drink alcohol, or elegantly puff on that long-stemmed cigarette like Audrey.

Adults say things like “Enjoy your childhood, while it lasts” and “School are the best days of your life”. Little do we realise that they are speaking from experience. That the days of being footloose and bill-free are limited, and soon enough, we will know why they say it. That the days of roaming the streets, sleepovers, unlimited parties and hanging out with your friends each day, come to an end.
7ea97616113d9df67e259a18a1571316

When it all does start to happen, we realise, that the glamour wears off very quickly.
Earning money means getting a job, which means sacrificing time with friends, or weekends, or other things that enhance the quality of your life. Yet the vicious circle, is that without the job/money, we can’t afford the time.
Jobs also mean being re-educated, more learning and being taught.
Driving a car, means maintaining it, paying registration, fuelling it and keeping it clean.
Wearing make-up, means more learning, allergies, colour-matching, and more money.
Walking in heels, yet more learning, discomfort and for some (much like watching a calf try to walk for the first time) admitting that you really can’t do everything.
Smoking means more money, and being aware of the health and social effects.
Sex means more learning, being responsible, realising that it involves emotion (and not just yours), and while it can be amazing…if you’re not careful, it can also get you into more trouble than you can imagine.
images-7And those things are really only the added items on the ice-berg tip of adulting. Let’s not even delve into paying for the staples like rent, mortgages, food, pets, everyday items, replacements, insurance, phones, internet and electricity.
All the ‘things’ that you never really accounted for when fantasising about ‘growing up’, because you weren’t even really aware that they existed in child-land.

You start to wonder why the fuck you ever wanted to be an adult in the first place-ever?! It seems like it’s just an endless stream of responsibilities and bills and adult rules. You didn’t sign up for this shit??! Where is the dream?? The freedom…
images-8

And this, my friends…is why you should eat chocolate cake for breakfast. Because…you can. Because as an adult, there are things we can do, that hurt nobody, aren’t policed, and are well within our means to do. We can eat cake.
images-3

We can set our own bedtime. We can go for long drives, and play loud music. We can take time to roll on the floor with our dogs, and run through the house. We can jump on the bed. We can watch old movies all night. We can go out for cool night walks, and talk on the phone at 2am. We can have picnic parties on the lounge room floor, and wash the dishes ‘tomorrow’. We can drink a bottle of whiskey and smoke cigarettes. We can get tattoos and piercings. We can wear whatever we want. We can sit on the beach, watching the waves roll in, until all you can see is a sliver of moon on the water, and so much more. And we can eat cake.
images-9

We all too often lose sight of the freedoms and luxuries we actually do have, beyond all the responsibilities in full view. It is easy to forget we even have them. The little things.
ea701a7cdf6952ee294e1859a22e9037
I’m not saying that cake can solve all of your problems, or even when exactly it is consumed, that will help. It is more the symbolism behiiiiind the cake. Whether you are miserably unhappy, or your days are full of love, breakfast cake can just remind you that not all is lost. That you can still make choices. That being an adult has its benefits, however small. That if you choose to eat cake…nobody in the world can stop you, even from doing just that one little thing. And if you look hard enough…you might find other things that follow.
images-11.jpeg

So Kids…mine was Belgian white chocolate…what’s your flavour?
Cheers
V

Here

17671114_10211560491221600_1933120850_n.png

I sat for a minute, lay down, not knowing what else to do.
There are, there are things to do, but what they are escape me right now.
The music puts its foot on my chest and holds me down and I don’t even try to wonder how. It says all the things I won’t understand.
I am existing. In this room. In this place, between nowhere and nowhere else.
It’s grey and rainy, and the weight is everywhere I can see.
Warm fur nestles to my side, begging that I love, feel, and the memories just flow, leak, roll.
The face I can see, and don’t see, and the hand I can’t touch, slides into my own. The heart I can’t reach, beats behind my eyes, pushing each tear to the point of overflowing.
That heart is gone, wherever mine is, they have run away together, but I am still here.
There are things to do. Important things, unimportant things. But what and which, is what and which?
The voice changes, the music, the song. It always changes.
And the chair sits in the corner and rocks, laments days when it was an important thing.
The scents leak from the cupboard. Things hidden away, nestle together in the comfort they can no longer give.
And the call beckons softly, to find another place, other things. To pack the music up and take it away with me.
The warm body next to me huddles closer. A tear licked away. A soft snuffle. Please?
I am here for the love you cannot give. The things that are gone. I am here.
I am here.
17742472_10211560495821715_1804299853_n.png

You oughta know

3f929d4745cfaa43dd208db05e49c68c

Music. It is food for the soul. Art, an escape, an expression, a painting, a song.
Artists and musicians are thought quirky and individual, unique and bizarre. Their works are often seen by the blind, as just words to paper or paint to canvas. Their pieces are bought and sold like commodities, to be played in lounges and casinos, or hung in halls to be analysed, stared at, appreciated or ignored.
Yet what are they, but the epitome of truth, shrouded in veils of commercialism and set in scenes of neutral passersby.
ec51b8defd806a366f08998bdf9400e7Artists, musical or fine, the real ones, are tellers of the most important thing in the world: the truth. They sit with paper and bleed lyrics of their truth, until their bones are brittle and drained. They find music that will convey their pain or happiness, or the depth of their despair. They paint with hues that are felt from their very souls. They write of heartache and loss, and places from which there is no foreseeable coming back. They question the very fibre of their beings, and with whom they can combine it, to once again see light in their worlds.
991b022c11520e47c6a8f6bdfd5af9eeMartha Wainwright, Garth Brooks, Lemmy Kilmeister, Depeche Mode, David Grey, Disturbed, Aretha Franklin, Anni DeFranco, Ed Kowalcyck, Shaun Morgan and Creed all spew from the speakers, and push their pain and suffering into your veins. Alanis Morrisette, The Verve, Adele, Elle King, Sister Hazel, Dido, and Marilyn Manson tell intricate, excruciating tales of love lost, and some even plans of sweet revenge, through gritted teeth, with closed fists.
images-40Springsteen, Dire Straits, Alter Bridge, Chantal Kreviazuk tell you of days lost, slipped through their grasp, never to be relived. Nine Inch Nails, Tracey Chapman, 3 doors down, grind out their hardships and sorrow. Bruno Mars, Billy Joel, Pink, Nickelback, The Pogues & Jamie Lawson swoon songs of passion and undying love. Eminem & Jeff Lang force forth their words of survival and resilience. Tim McGraw & KT Tunstall instill hope and light. Elvis, makes your toes tap with memories of childhood and cleaner days, and Madness, Plain White Tees, Christina Aguilera & Lily Allen take it one step further until you’re on your feet moving.
fc73b604fce70343713e5cf42a8c5d82There is a song for every feeling, every mood, every change in the weather and every tear. They sing or write, or paint about what you feel, because they have felt it long before you have. Singers are storytellers, and we find our stories in their songs, to cling to them for comfort and unity. For they are our truths also. We find the people on the planet that have endured the same things we have, and lived to speak of it. The eloquent ones, that can make misery sound meaningful or useful. The talented ones that can make pain into pleasure, or healing, or give us the gifts of tears, or hope or smiles. Music is filled with lessons, and coping mechanisms, and emotion.
351c19dd9452523fb9c36042480d1910And the people that you know, the ones in your life, not just your playlist, they also tell their stories in their music. I have yet to know anyone, that sits down to write a song sans personal inspiration. Writing lyrics, as with poetry or painting or any other form of art, is to put a part of your heart and soul on display for all to see. And just like with this blog, they may tell themselves that nobody will read it, hear it, see it…but once it is created, it is out there in the world, hiding in plain sight. And it will be heard.
c54b717a1ddd32da2d741a21159ddeeeIf anyone ever asks you to listen to their songs Kids-listen. You will learn more about them, who they are, than words alone can ever say.
Cheers
V