Boo

Out of the tangled ancient
history of humanity,
with my distant ancestors
and your distant ancestors
here we are,
me and you,
here in this modern place.

We talk of the days
and the days,
and the days
of mundane things,
and eventually we talk
of the meaningful things.

The things that are really important to us
right now.

Did you read that poem?
Did read that short story
Who is your favourite writer?
Did you see that movie?
Did you write that story
Did you write that poem?
Did you do that thing?

Did I mention,
how much I like talking to you?
And listening to you,
you with your distant ancestors,
and me with my distant ancestors,
here and now,
in this modern place.

Today In The Cafe... You Never Regret Kindness

Today in the cafe... An older couple came into the cafe just after the kitchen had technically closed. They wanted some hot food. They liked the look of the soup. Sometimes you get a feeling about people, they just need some soup and a warm and quiet place to sit. I said yeah, sure, of course we're still open. The husband thanked me and apologised, saying they would have been here three hours earlier, but they had been stuck in St Vincent's Hospital. They loved the soup. I don't know their story, but I do know they needed that soup and that time out in a quiet and warm place more than I needed to go home.

Short time later, a paramedic walks in, clearly ready to walk back out again because clearly, we are closed.

Are you closed? she asks.

Yes we are closed, I tell her, but what were you after?

Just a couple of coffees...

An imploring look.

Of course I can do you a couple of coffees.

She was so grateful because, she told me, she had had such a busy day and had been trying to get coffee for most of the day but just didn't get the chance.

A paramedic's busy day isn't quite the same as a barista's busy day.

I was happy to end the day on two acts of kindness, because as a friend just pointed out, you never regret kindness.

Almost Face To Face, Stephen House At Butterfly Club, Review

Almost Face To Face

Reviewed by Lee Bemrose



It's difficult to determine who the real star is in this piece; the exquisite writing, or the equally perfect performance. That both are the work of the same person... truly impressive stuff.

Almost Face To Face is a one hour dramatic monologue – just one raw man on a bare stage - by master of the form Stephen House. It recounts his stories of his time in Dublin, living with an overweight prostitute/landlord. Don't be mistaken, these are stories of fringe-dwellers, the truly down and out, the broken ones we see on the periphery of our comfortable lives. Prostitution, drug addiction, alcoholism, sex with strangers... it's all here, and it all feels so very, unflinchingly real.

Using the word exquisite when dealing with such subject matter might seem odd, but the writing of these gritty stories is absolutely exquisite. At times the monologues actually morph into poetry, a form I suspect Stephen House enjoys quite a lot. There is tenderness at times in the words, sometimes sadness, often anger.

And the delivery is equally well-executed. As a performer, Mr House has an impressive range. He can be a gentle soul, a weary soul, a broken soul and an angry soul all in a very short time. Sometimes as he prowls the tiny stage at The Butterfly club, so real is his passion that you may find yourself in goosebumps.

There is an authenticity to Stephen's work that makes them important works we should pay attention to. In a review of another of his pieces (Appalling Behaviour, which is referenced in this piece), I think I said he gives a voice to those fringe dwellers we never really interact with. The fact that he has lived much of his material and is so eloquently able to share such gritty stories with us – and indeed that he is so willing to do so – is theatrically and personally impressive. If you're open to this kind of thing, you'll find yourself in a gentle state of awe, and you'll probably feel a sense of gratitude.

Not all is gutter and grime. There is actually much humour, in these stories of these broken humans. There are a few chuckle-out-loud moments, but there are many other moments where something is so tragically fucked up and kind of funny that rather than laugh, your heart melts. It's so funny, you'll think, but so fucking sad.

If you get out of your comfortable home for just one performance this week, make it this one. I promise, you will feel enriched.

At The Butterfly Club until 12th May 2018. Touring to other capitals afterwards.

Writing, Frustration & Solitude

Why wanting/needing to write - or indulge in any other creative endeavour - is frustrating...

You work a long week, 50 hours or more dealing with people and people and people, when you are a poster-boy introvert. But you cope and if you're good at it, no one really knows just how much you crave solitude. You enjoy the interaction, when you enjoy it, and you love some of the humans and want to look after the broken ones, but through it all you look forward to some solitude and reflection.

But the weekend comes and someone has a thing, let's catch up for a thing, some drinks, a meal, a barbecue in the backyard or a party in the bush. And you like these things, but you don't get the chance to be solitary and reflective during the working week, and you certainly can't do it when you're socialising, so when? You're tired at the end of a 10 hour day, you're tired at the end of a fifty hour week, and you're accused of being antisocial if you don't want to catch up with friends on the weekend. Catching up with friends is what they do for their not-working time. At the end of a long working week filled with humans and their wonder and their weirdness, some of us want to be alone and just write a poem.

But we have to catch up. Must catch up. We must socialise and socialise and socialise and talk about things.

Leaving no time for reflection and imagination.

A Silly Poem That Is Actually Quite Sad

I Love Silly Poetry Because

I love it when
You write a poem late at night,
And it's shit as pooh,
And so you go fuck it

And you think you deleted it,
But didn't,
And in the morning
You're all fuck me...
Seriously?
What?
Wot?
Wut?
WTF?

And then you don't even know what poetry is because really what is it? But you notice this line is waaaaaaay longer than the other lines of the really short lines of this fucked up and fucked up and this fucked up poem.

Yewp.
And that friend you thought
Knew you so well
Who never existed,
She tells you there there,

I really love that.

Almost Alone

All the good ones leave,
They are travellers
And adventurers
And just the most
Beautiful souls,
Who by their nature,
Drift,
And drift

They always leave,
They always leave,
And he is left
Almost alone.

Finnish, First Reading

So. I wrote a play, and here we are, me between two talented theatre people who apparently liked the script enough to want to help out, and in front of a few friends who were curious enough to come along to the cafe to hear the thing. I was only reading because the guy organised to read couldn't make it and I had no time to find someone else. Was I nervous? I've never read a damned thing of mine in public, so yes, I was a little bit nervous, especially as I've seen and reviewed the stage performances of the two people either side of me, and as performers, they are a little bit awesome. Pretty fucking awesome, actually.

It was quite a strange experience. The two words I kept repeating as my mantra when writing were Personal, Universal.

Meaning that I want it to feel so very personal, which it is. But I want it to have universal appeal, which I think it does. There is much truth and honesty in the subject matter, but also some fiction. It's three dialogues between three people, none of which ever happened. The essence though, the essence of the dialogues, is so very real.

It was strange that I ended up doing the reading. I know I wasn't of the calibre of Dayna and Steph, but I think I did okay. There was a funny moment for me... my character reads a very short story to another character, and I was so focused on the lines I was reading at the moment that I forgot about this part. This short story, Love You, See You Soon, it always fucks with me emotionally. Oh no, I thought, this story is coming up...

My character got to the story, and he let go. I let go. I read one of my most emotional short stories to a small audience with enough feeling to bring tears to the eyes of some of those listening, but without tearing up myself. I don't know what happened there, but I was relieved. A little bit of magic happened.

What happens next with the play? I don't know. I've entered it into a thing and it would be nice if it won that thing, but I have to be realistic and think about what to do if it doesn't do well in the thing.

Yesterday morning I woke up anxious and depressed and thought fuck it, we did the reading and that was fun, I'm done with this play. Then I watched the recording a friend had made of it, and I was back. In the recording, there was more laughter than I remembered, because I was focused on the reading. I think the drama works too. Watching Steph when she was not reading, her face and her giggles were like a barometer of what was going on in the play.

I don't know what happens next. Other than I know I have to start writing the next play.

Q & A With Tilly Legge, Lightning Jar's Venus In Fur

TILLY LEGGE

By Lee Bemrose

Lightning Jar Theatre is a newish independent theatre company based in Melbourne.  Their current production is Venus In Fur by American playwright David Ives. It’s a play within a play, based on an apparently fictional novella from the late 19^th Century, which as it turned out was more autobiographical than author Leopold von Sacher-Masoch might have wanted readers to believe, as well as giving us the word masochism. Australian Stage caught up with Lightning Jar’s Tilly Legge as she takes on the commanding and demanding role of Vanda.

                                     

How long has Lightning Jar Theatre been around and how did it come into being?

Lightning Jar Theatre was formed in 2016 by Hannah Greenwood, Dylan Watson and myself. We wanted to create more of the sort of theatre that we want to see. It had kinda been on the cards for the three of us for some time, it was just a matter of waiting for the right play to present itself.

I understand lightning jars are a vessel for preserving fruit... how did this become the company name?

It’s a subtle reference to a line in The Dreamer Examines His Pillow by John Patrick Shanley. The lead character Donna is trying to explain the emotions she feels raging inside her; she says to her ex-boyfriend, “There’s lightning screwed in a jar in here!”. We thought the image was great and represents what we love seeing on stage! It’s also an homage to how Dylan and Hannah met; they worked together on this play for an acting masterclass back in 2012.

What is your role at Lightning Jar?

We’re all the co-artistic directors. It’s a very collaborative effort. All responsibilities are shared between the three of us.

What's Lightning Jar's mission statement or ethos?

We want to create theatre that is exciting, fresh, moving & entertaining.

We want to celebrate writers, new & old.

We want to make you feel, make you forget, make you shift uncomfortably in your seat, make you laugh.

We want to be the reason people see more theatre.

How many plays have you produced so far?

This is our second show, following Aaron Posner’s Stupid Fucking Bird in 2017.

Stupid Fucking Bird was a wonderfully engaging production. What aspects of that play attracted you to it.

We loved its irreverence and at the same time deep respect for the source material - The Seagull by Anton Chekhov. It was a modern look at a classic, brimming with humour and pathos but also full of heart. It also had quite a lot of direct address to the audience which really brought the audience into the world of the characters. The metatheatrical elements of the play meant we could get away with some things that we may not have been able to with a more conventional script, especially from a budgeting perspective! We were honestly so surprised no-one had done it in Australia yet. It had so many successful runs in the US and we just felt we’d hit a gold mine when we came across it. It’s really one of those plays where an audience will have a good laugh and then WHAM! Hit right in the feels.

And the new production Venus In... actually, before we get to that, Venus In Fur or Venus In Furs? I'm confused. Please unconfuse me.

Venus in Fur (2010) by David Ives is about a playwright/director who’s adapted the book Venus in Fur (1870) Leopold von Sacher-Masoch for the stage. There’s a bit of translation debate about whether the title to the original book is plural or singular. Our version is plural but the one they talk about is the play is singular. Go figure!

Right. So Venus In Fur – what drew Lightning Jar to this particular play?

It’s pretty simple really; Venus in Fur is a great script. There’s a reason it was the most performed play in America in 2012/2013 - It’s an absolute cracker! It’s funny, it’s clever, it’s incredibly topical. The three of us are actors but we don’t want to choose plays just because there’s a role in it we want to play. It’s got to be a great story that deserves an audience.

Is the play simply fun or is it deep and making a statement?

It’s a bit of both really. Ives’ plays are always so whip-smart and he writes great dialogue; we joke that he’s (Aaron) Sorkin on Stage. It’s certainly entertaining but it does take the audience to a place they didn’t expect. Not only have all our audiences so far stayed seated for a few minutes after curtain to absorb what’s happened, they’re often then rushing out together to have prolonged discussions about what takes place. It’s great to make the audience think like that and want to discuss the play’s themes long into the night. We were heading out after a show one night last week and ran into a group of audience members at a bar that were doing just that!

I can't help thinking about the subject matter of the play and the current climate of sex and power play in Hollywood and indeed politics and culture generally. Is the play an observation or comment of what's going on now?

Well... it is, but it really is coincidental. The play was written in 2010 so not as a direct response to recent developments in the industry, although certainly it seems influenced by what many people knew occurred in the business but didn’t want to discuss. There have been jokes about the “casting couch” and what that implies that we’ve all heard, but as they say, there’s truth to every joke. Clearly Ives had his finger on the pulse! What’s occurred to us during rehearsals is how different a production of Venus may have looked like back when it was written compared to what we’re creating here. There has to be a certain amount of attention paid to themes that may not have been 8 years ago.

Leading up to opening night, what was the vibe like at rehearsals?

So nervous and excited! Previews were such a great way for us to warm to having an audience. We feel we’re in a great place to have some packed houses!

How do Tilly and Vanda get along with each other? What does each of you think of the other?

Vanda is an absolute firecracker - great fun at a party. Just don’t make her mad! What does she think of me? Well hopefully she thinks I’m doing her justice!

We should come and see Venus In Fur because...

You’ll be thoroughly entertained – by the end of the play, once you get over the initial dumbstruck stupor that most people seem to experience, you’ll be busting to grab a drink and discuss what you just saw. “So does that mean that she-?” And “So was it really…?”

Season runs at 45 Downstairs, 45 Flinders Lane, Melbourne until March 24.

Marciano & Ananas

Yet again, another friend and kindred spirit leaves me. I love this human. I enjoyed our brief time together so much. Marciano is sunshine. Every minute spent with her, it was a pretty perfect minute. There just weren't enough of them.

One By One

Today's happy thought: We are all going to die. But not all together. Our deaths will happen slowly and sadly, one by one.

Outside Visiting Hours

Those late night demons,
Those 4am demons
Those 4am demon voices
That wake you,
And keep you awake
With their all-knowing Truth,
With their relentless
Telling you
And telling you
And telling you
And judging you...

Those late night, 4am demons,
They are manageable
During visiting hours.
But when you start to notice them,
And hear them,
And listen to them
During your wide-awake hours,
After your visiting hours.

And they keep telling you
And telling you
And telling you things
And judging you
In a voice louder than
The voices in the visiting hours...

When this happens,
There is no escape.

Specks In This Cosmic Storm Of Chance

This is us, New Year's Day 2018. The Dreaded One and me, we made it through a struggle of a year. I don't really know how I made it. The urge for non-existence was strong early in the year. That urge never really leaves. It has always been part of me. It gets close, and it fades away.

But the survivor in me has never given into that urge. Partly because I know moments like this are possible in the future. Grumpy and The Dreaded One, they seem to be making each other happy again. When we're good, we totally fucking rock. After all this time, we still make each other laugh, and we still hold hands.  Humans and that freakish chance encounter thing... The Dreaded One was born three days after me in San Francisco. I was born three days before her in Sydney. What are the chances of us bumping into each other years later? What are the chances of us liking each other enough to eventually love each other for all these years? We're all just specks in a cosmic storm of chance.

And Marciano on my right in this picture is a perfect demonstration. She wrote the perfect job application for the position of working with me in the cafe. Perfect because it spoke to me. As with a previous co-worker, April, I kind of knew from those words on the page that something was there. Some beautiful connection. I was right both times. Both have become treasured friends.

Today was Marciano's last day. I have enjoyed every minute of her company.  We share a gentle, quirky sense of humour. We have made each other happy. We have hugged a couple of times a day, but today's last hug was a long and tight one, and I don't mind telling you that when she said into my shoulder, "Lee... my big brother"... well I might have teared up a bit.

What are the chances? What are the chances that a person born in Uruguay 25 years before a person born in Sydney will bump into each other in Melbourne one day and share such a silly sense of humour and become such close friends? What are the chances, in this cosmic storm of chance?

Finnish, Is Finished

12 months after starting it, I have finished my play, titled Finnish.

It shouldn't have taken me this long. It's only 85 or so pages of writing. But in parts, it is intense, and this has been an intense year. Such extremes of love and the questioning of love, self doubt that brought me to the edge of some very dark places because the person I love most... I had hurt her and she wanted to hurt me. She achieved that goal. I realised that I am, this late in life, still as lacking in self-confidence as I was as young boy. When I was a young boy, my self-confidence was destroyed. Unlike a lizard's tail, it seems your self-confidence never grows back. You cover up this lack of self-confidence late in life... you learn some tricks. But when it gets kicked out of you again, you realise that you are still that lonely little boy.

Writing this play was a coping mechanism. Writing this play was a way of trying to understand things. I really didn't do anything wrong. I loved outside of the accepted parameters of love maybe... meaning just that I love my friends. I have few friends, I am solitary man, but sometimes these random strangers break through and I find myself seeing these individuals fully, understanding them fully, accepting them fully, and loving them fully.

And that is what my play is about. It's about the nature of love and friendship. It's about can society accept alternative forms of love and friendship.

Can a 50 year old man have a beautiful friendship with a 25 or 30 year old woman without it being about sex or lust. This a valid question. It's also about the nature of love. What, exactly, is love, and how do we judge love. Maybe love can be pure, even though you are judging it from your world view. Just because you think love is about lust, it isn't necessarily so. Sometimes love is just about acceptance. You just accept them, and you embrace them, because you love them. Love is a mystery.

So I've finished a play about love. It's maybe the rawest thing I've ever written, and I tend to go for raw. I write to make myself cry or to laugh, and I have done both in writing this thing.

Just like in the closing of the third act of the play, I have no idea what happens next.

We Are Dreams

I sometimes wonder what would happen if the essence of us wasn't contained and restricted by our skin and bone and the miracle of our inner organs and that mystery that is our brain. What would happen if we were not trapped in this physical skin-prison? What would happen if the skin-prison released us? We would just be out there, swirling thoughts and swirling dreams, swirling with each other, together.

Never individual.

Blackrainbow When He Was Young And Pretty

These two guys were friends when they were teenagers. They have drifted into old age, and drifted apart.

You are more beautiful than you realise. Live now.

Betty Grumble Interview

Betty Grumble

By Lee Bemrose

If you haven't experienced Betty Grumble, you should. If you think you could come up with a creation like Betty Grumble, you can't, unless you are Emma Maye Gibson, because Betty is the most unique force of Sex Clown you will ever behold. And she is here to delight and entertain you and save the world with her fierce love and loving anger.



First up, thank you for taking the time to answer yet more questions. Do you ever get tired of answering questions about yourself? Or do you enjoy this part of the process?

I enjoy the experience. The conversation that art creates should have many tendrils across many mediums. Debate and dialogue encircle practice and we do love a good yarn.

Does the introspection of being asked questions about the nature of your character affect the nature of your character?

It depends on the line of questioning, the mood, the moment. Sometimes you feel strong enough to free dive deep down into your guts for some hard truths. Sometimes you just wanna wriggle across into some solitude. Asking questions about being asked questions is proving trippy today… But I like it.

I have to confess that I chose an email Q & A over a face-to-face because the prospect of meeting Betty Grumble in the flesh is kind of intimidating. Do you find Betty is generally an intimidating presence? Why/why not?

Betty can have that effect. She is a large energy, a fleshy, sensual beast. Some people are drawn into her laugh, some are arrested by it. She allows space for all of these responses and they are all valid. She is monstrous in her way, simultaneous war mask and children’s toy. Betty is going to mean different things for different experiences of the world. The overriding response is ‘give us a squeeze’ but the tension of Grumble’s inner workings - her love and anger - her comedy and horror - gives birth to a storm of energy. She’s a primal one, so I can understand how locking eyes in the jungle with a mythic maiden may induce a quiver. She’s a lover though, first and foremost, there’s always time to sniff each other out. No shame in watching from a distance though… Or not at all.

This is for both of you: What does Betty think of Emma Maye, and what does Emma Maye think of Betty? What aspect of the other do you like/dislike etc. Please answer as though the other was not in the room.

Emma Maye has always spoken about Betty as a survival mechanism. She’s an invocation of the sacred Glamour Spell that has long histories stretching through drag and shamanism. Emma Maye laughs and weeps alongside Betty. Betty gives Emma Maye space to see herself. The mask says ‘look at me’ but also, ‘don’t look at me’. It’s not a mirror so much as a water source, which reflects but you can also submerge into and swim in the other. You have to respect it though, as it can take you under… Performance Art & Sex Clown legend Glitta Supernova calls this phenomenon ‘SHOWCOSIS’. There are healthy and unhealthy cases of Showcosis, where like with any magic, you can go too deep or too far from the spirit into ego. ‘Alright, I’m ready for my close-up, Mr Demille.’ The stage is powerful, you have to respect it. Betty loves Emma Maye, she’s been watching her for some time.

Do you ever have creative differences? If so, how do you resolve these differences?

We have a pretty good symbiotic relationship. You could probably trace a battle of aesthetics through photographs of earlier performances to now. We work a lot with taboo, I think we have learnt a lot about listening to instinct and the world around, together. We have made mistakes together. We try not to chastise each other for it, it’s part of the process. We are open to learning. We are also proud of each other.

Your new show is called Love & Anger. The word I most associate with love is hate. Why Love & Anger?

Anger can be righteous. It’s a moving energy. I feel like hate has arrested itself. It’s stuck. As women, we are often told to ‘calm down’, that we are hysterical or crazy. I think women have a lot of anger, and its justified, we have lived and are living in an ongoing femicide. The feminine spirit has been under attack. The anger we have is in response to this, in can help us, empower us, protect us, ready us for battle, it can also connect us to the sisterhood. The anger doesn’t eat itself or go rancid, it constantly renews itself because it’s so connected to love energy. We are only so angry because we are so full of love, because we know innately how things can be and that the balance is out.

What kind of things stir feelings of love in the heart of Betty Grumble?

Nature, GAIA BABY YEAH. Oh, ole Grumble bum is always perving on the world around, loving that kookaburra cracking itself up on the branch of the white gum. The wind whipping around your thighs, the breath of fellow dancers on a dance floor going in and out. Tenderness incarnate in the human spirit, the resilience of people, the difference in people. I LOVE IT. Betty loves to move and be moved, she loves fantasising about the endless possibilities, thick musical beat, her biological and logical family. Animals, the ecosystem. CAVES! RAIN! It’s raining as we write this now and we want to throw ourselves into the day, mouth open. Love is lurve and love and love and love.

And anger?

People who try and control other people’s bodies… Or the body of the Earth. Fuck you. Fuck a government so corrupt and conservative they don’t even bury their bigotry, they air it with the kind of arrogance we though we left behind post WWII. Enemies of Grooviness - EAT SHIT.

What are your thoughts on hate?

Hate is going to be born out of fear or trauma. Hate is something we need to face and talk about. There’s too much hate disguised as justice. Not everyone needs to live the same life, but we need to live freely, the lives we desire and deserve. Identify those stepping on the throats of others.

You use the word ecosexual, and there is a theme of the impact humans are having on our fragile ecosystem in your work… what do you think is the fate of humankind?

Part of me believes in the ‘volunteer human extinction program’… That we will suffer the consequence of our selfishness as a species and rightly so… Part of me wants the revolution of consciousness to bring us into harmony with the cosmos. Can it be? I find comfort in the idea that Utopia is in the Struggle, that there is a space for us to live in the here and now in the reaching for the groovier future.

Emma Maye - do you ever forget you are not behind your Betty mask and do or say something that is pure Betty in off-stage reality?

No.

Do you think it would be healthy for everyone to have an alter-ego?

I think its healthy for people to play. Our child spirits need to live in us, too many have been stomped out. It’s all dress ups.

I understand that the name Betty Grumble was inspired by Emma’s grandparents. What would they think about your shows?

Realistically they would be shocked. Now they have passed into the spirit realm, I think they would find it all very funny. I think my Aunty, Lynda Gibson would be laughing the hardest up there, she is a big inspiration to me and I think processed the world a similar way to how I do. She was their daughter and I’m their grand daughter, it’s all connected.

Do you ever see faces in the audience that are genuinely shocked by what they are seeing?

If I’m lucky!

Part of the reason I want to see Love & Anger is to find out if this performance really is as hilarious and outrageous as I remember the last one being. What kind of experience are we in for this time?

Thank you! This is an ongoing womanifesto I say, so you can expect a similar approach to the body and fun, of seriousness colliding with surreal stupidity. You can anticipate seeing Betty shift in different ways, there is a deeper autobiographical approach to this go at it. I’m proud to bring this ceremony to Melbourne, the last run was very loving and I think we are going to make a lot of fun and noise together.

Finally, can you (either of you) tell us something about Betty Grumble you’ve never told anyone before?

She gets scared sometimes. 

AnaNA Siniestro

Today in the cafe... I don't really need another nickname or alter ego or personality, and yet...

This is my much loved current co-worker, Martina. I call her My Favourite Martian because of the anagram of her name. She is a treasure. She is a great worker, is great company, is a friend, and every day when she brings her sunshine personality into the cafe - as with The Dreaded One's assistant Jodie - I feel incredibly grateful that fate brought us together.

But the nickname thing. I'm learning Uruguyan Spanish, and apparentlyy my nickname is Anana Siniestro.

Sounds cool, huh? It's got a rhythm. It's got a beat. You can chant it... AnaNA Siniestro... AnaNA siniestro... AnaNa siniestro...

So primitive. So tribal.

So what you are probably wondering, if you do not speak the Uruguyan version of Spanish, does it mean?

It appears to mean "Weird Pinapple." Or maybe "Sinister Pineapple.

So. There you go.

Just Be Kind To Each Other

I don't like Christianity. Certainly don't like Islam and its current place in the sunshine of evil. Without the fairy story of Islam, there would be no evil Islam.

Alas, there is Evil Islam. ISIS exists because of Islam.

Religion has done more harm than it has done good. Religion has contributed nothing more to the human cause than common sense has. Common sense and respect for our fellow humans and other species, that's all we need. Not some 2000 year old prophet. Not the imaginary son of an imaginary god.

Just a sense of decency.

Fuck religion. Just be nice and, you know, kind to each other. It's so fucking simple.

And yet I've been in various parts of the world, Indonesia and Istanbul, and and I've heard the call to prayer and been moved by such beautiful sounds. The words being sung mean nothing to me, yet the sounds are so beautiful.

And now in my new home, I hear the Sunday bells of the nearby Christian church.

Again, such beautiful sounds, sounds without meaning, but such beautiful sounds.

Why can't religion - stupid religion - why can't its meaning resonate as purely as its call to prayer and its bell chimes do?

Be kind to each other. That's all we need to do. Just be kind to each other.

Peace, Hugs & Harmony In The Workplace

Beauty in our banged up little cafe... Recently two people applied for the position of Grumpy's helper. One person had superior coffee skills. The other had few coffee skills, but she had something. Both are lovely people. The Dreaded One advised that I should look after me, and so my head went with the person with the coffee skills.

Funny, though, my heart was wishing that the other person had scored the job. There had been a moment during her trial shift when I glanced across and she was looking in the other direction, not knowing she was being watched - drew in a big, slow, eyes-closed breath, and breathed it out again. She was feeling so completely at home in our little cafe. I really wanted to be able to give her the job because she was miserable at the restaurant she was working at. I'd ask her about it, and she would deflate as she talked about it. The cafe, however, seemed to make her happy. Properly happy.

Complications and complications and although I gave the coffee skills person the job, and although I know she would have been great and I would have enjoyed working with her, she turned the offer down.

So now this sweet stranger from Uruguay has the job. We work well together. The Dreaded One and Heart-Shaped Lollipop Girl adore her. The customers love her. I have chosen well, again.
But the beautiful moment... today after a long-weekend because of a football game, I asked how her weekend had been.

"Oh," she told me, that never faraway smile emerging, "The weekend was so long. I missed coming into the cafe."

And Then You Are Gone

No one asks
Because you seem sorted,
Your own place,
Your own love,
Your own friends
You seem sorted.
You're okay,
You're fine
You seem sorted
And fine
And okay,
You seem to be all of these things

No one asks.

And then you are gone.