do not share it

keep it hidden
you are naked
clothe your self
get out of my garden
never to return
you now have knowledge
of the way
to blue
be outside the core
i will graft you in one day
you point to a face a stone face a single steping stone into the river where the next step is turst
and a wedding or it is back to the sure of equal uncertaintly where love doesn't live here no more
of jimmy nails
and wooden crossroads and
she's lying
with ever action a refection of the love i seek to share you make a mimicked pot
cast as if a slip pot similar and even if not the same a womb for the true seed but a mother left empty till
her child beside her her boyfriend her unnoticed man her kind lover who need to know she will not reject him for the empty sailing on isolation hermit hildegarde von bingen holiness or jan gabarek's high flight
but with the deaf percussionist in a cave like a hermit with functional wonderful shells of delight tinkling the shore together two voices can stir a tsunami of love in their mutual thrillness i believe in love i believe in art but this art is the name of three men tree men hearts of yew that seem to have been hollowed out but have left me here the outercasing the very alive absorbes joy and ocean current of playfull continuum there is no still ness
oh billy winchester i saw you wandering hermit always you swam the sea and you swam lakes in forests and yet when your small flesh was burnt from its white sticks i could not gety to behind the metal corrugated workmens fence at the crematorium to ri the voice from the naggin knife of the pneumatic chill that spoke of life of mindlessness

on a mountain somewhere someone might one day offer me the quiet for my sadness as i like you sought to stir their very joy so that instead of the eerie height of ripping eagle and self righteous angel i would off them the soul of a lover that is the lark ascending from the risked bed in the shrubs of lif'e golf course where the seldomness the casualness and folly of man's game is spread for longer and yet your song vaughan williams is sung for them all to draw them away forom and not towards the nest to be out here with me creative great view near by

the danger as we know is to have a uninhabited place where they will put up there pylons and web like spiders the air itself and suck the vista dry of our rippling efforts to fly free of foolish art work to become gold leaf and canned artis poo when we are part of the river i am not in it i do not walk it God will show you there is nothing but me

ego is

transcended i matter |god love this individual as he is not aprt from he is at heart only god nothing less




in jesus fulfilment and purpose and care eternallly one day but more likely in christ you know you cannot leave the hat without removing your very head


inversly and yet still really puzzlingly true for words are the threads that evicdence the head and the head the crown of the fruit and the mind in the fingers is equal to the soil and i am then here and gone and samuel beckett seek in godot to hang around the french counrtyside resistence movement to get people out of the regime of catechism enfoced by law and into the reall world of   not knowing
exploring together
both mutually dressed in mutual warmth amen

a donkey is not just for easter nor for christmas

and the scientific camera and the acid and the plate even the plate camera was invented by the lake that etched the groung to make the spring that she refelects back to herself now bu narcissuss is only missing echo and echo missing the point just like freud and dali did strange but surreal what was i thinking says hugh grant
persnality less and hollw
not to be interviewed he was just the pencil in the hand of the director not supossed to blow the bloody doors off it will let the rain in
the roofless church of the big issue sellers i sang my song and tom and jean were there as the balloons released in concert and catalist marko wondered about what was happening as the film of their venture had not brought hoim the joy and all was way beyond and yet god's will be done and i sit and i collage in the water of thought willing the current to find me right that you lord god and you lady neighbour may nurtute a kindness to let this child tells you i miss and love ebvery raindrop that has fallen into me amen



kenneth williams cultivated streams of hope in his transporting knowledge that though he too created wisdom streams left little room for others who had lovee that reassured and settled their sensuousness and betjemen shy and lovely and parky could not stop kenneth nor satisfy his neediness oncce the deep cut into th mountain ridge has been cut the slightest breeze will stirr the loneliness of the deeply hurt and unloved open arms of a child with out mother and man without his wife/love/frind he will desperately send out a current to evry nightime shining shivering isolation car the dark of the seeming lighthouse chasing the light of the twinkle in the eye of the bird that like the frigate bird booby cannot land on the ground and must steal the sould food midsrtream form other birds but not alone god has made many for the same species to wonder at epecie to specie man is lonely as a sepcie say steve berger hence the need to make a flm called alien where a sick looking sham puppet appeals to the heart of unnatural pop corn eating amn and corn fed chickens instead of reerange none battery hens are full of omega three let us find the land so put up the plum tree and the fig and pray jesus will come and fill you amen to my hopeull lonely sould i already mis the friend i nerly knew but the wife who is always about to go oh lord when will you stop the devil treating me like job? oh my firend in jesus open you flask of tea and share the printroom at wrexham and and let me know you are there can it be a female eve to my cheerful adam and let there be lots of sharing and let me applaud you on an instrument somehow


i blog not for julia but because it is the clay being washed for us to share together

oh what a pleasure when i was the flying car of life and hope to give a lift from a to b to billy amen
and how great to take in turns the car to wrexham when art and i ate and etched our prayers into momentary watery smiles and laughter

now then too

alright the beach of rolling pebbles shifts as my synapses
 do not so much sizzle as stumble when i want them to jiggle n sparkle

how much time do i have?
how elastic is my time?

i am impressed by what friends have accomplished i never expected my friend john to live in the Loire valley
nor i suppose that Amy would be such an athlete of globe trotting

my nose sometimes smells an inferred scent and my taste buds take me to the supermarket for the ingredients of say rhubabrb crumble and i am small agin with a broken rusty bucket with the bit leaves with caterpillar nibbled lace work like stocking with holes and fat pink ruddy legs of juivy sournesss firmly stepping them into the sunlight tyring to oush away the bucket i lift it off oh how i am growing myslef back in my childhood bedrooom i am not trying to solve some psychoanalytical puzzle please shut the book no this is the flavour of my memory useable real present associative tactile my living nerve ends are my fingers in the self same now of thinking eyes watching manipulations of form and sensed abbility to creat play enjoy be like cider with rosie apple crumble with anyone come in and take a load off be a friend to me you can hold me you can take tea you can show me you can care be cared for marry me bring the coal in help me light the fire i can chop some would i will make you love tokens but no good if your mind is wandering so far away you do not take me with you wear my gloves share a blanket tell me all be gald to fearlessly hold nothing back water of tearful tender caring carefuilling full truth of not choosing but including all as we seive together for the gold of life giving moment i will not go far and we will be together never alone but so married so beloved so belonging with new news vital to our sahred wonderment oh now you forget a cheerfil moment when the dance and your hunger to share took me to precious learning opening hopefulness book writing i am not your memtor i am your good souls truth and guide and you are mine we dug deep and created footing for god's energy to pour not through frail breeze but firm fat trunks of solid goodness but the glancing happens momentrayily through sharpended stick and quinlk line the potter himself uses as he also unrolls the cheap lining paper nice buff natural colour endless like the quarried clay in touch with earth oh do not let stories of madness and darl sides of the moon draw you in but do listen to the lovely fingerstyle retunings seemingly hauntinmg but not so real and tender of nick drakes river

as a couple of attempts to upload have failed i am choosing the more cheerful kirsti instead



man let me find it to freshen the fragrance of this moment on the page in the morning sunlight that spills onto the paper mache salt dough faced wire sketon dancers that will do a stop motion dance of life and impiulse and prayerful caring like our own oh find your husband or find me but find me forever finders keepers love the one you treasure buy the field god mentioned and dig for its treasure beleive encourage and marry your hopes desires step back into the boat of love and stear it with the wheel in the window as you set of not after red rachakams ghost through arthur rackham tree drawing biut for god's treasyre core seed values and replace industrial thron spokes with firm stron g sfreindly reliable arms braches strong enough for tree houses love amen

vine dresser

please don't cut me off
pour your river into me
pollarded trees are all around me
cuts n bruises savage me
i  am in a fallen orchard branches twigs and collaged forms
the foliage is all illussion parasitic ivy moss
greenery yet river passes your my author uour the boss
kindly father you've a purpose on the tree
the crucifix
excruciating pain you bore for all of me and all my us

i me mine and all the friendship kindly and encouraging isaiah 55
come get me like the old 55 liverpool bus taking me back to my mother and a dad who cared for me cared for david yet was flawed to trimmed my father kept him dancing put your word inside his soul
he drove for miles with little caravan forty years and holidays giving isable his mary memories

van morrsion you too have faithful faithfully enclosed your tears in several enveope of lyrics albums of your fallen leaves tears a plenty in the spirit friends fall away and leave us hurt where oh where my old friend arthur
lord you've left me standing here without so many gorageous branches frederick fanck and brrian beadles art muraski technical able bodied able minded gentle fathers brothers all when i had lost the fuel i carried wasted pages buzan mindmaps endless possibilities did i cut of my own hands then when i said i will not go back to anyone who hurt me did not value me nor know that the spirit that you gave me was God hearted soaked in joy little child and gentle lover lost in wonder playful childlike chritian boy oh i hear the critics taunt me perhaps you sevvered their limbs too as when they reached out for wrong reasons they found they weren't samaraitan but strangers yet starngers may well be your angels and thought they bruise and cut at us yet you find a purpose in them not a purpose to confuse for you are the holy river loving god i read psalm on word of god flow mighty in me when they sap me with old roads memories the devl haunts us says i.ve got but of course jesus taught the devil always that he is our shepherd there to guide us back and garden with us pull away the sad old thorns from such times with gathered roses we'll come through productively isaiah 55 is in me will not retrun without achieving holy purpose for your child i smile sometimes in purest mystery in innocence you give to me blow some notes sad sounding wonder grumpy grumbling zen of faith achy sounds an laments really blues upon a b flat heart
like a child i wear pyjamas neath my clothes for most the day arta and art and kind young girlfriends are you coming out to play will you hold a distance from me will you know the fathers joy as sincerely you explore them roads a plenty you have seen roads that you have left to strangers find your way on pollard trunk to the father to the rive snow up high with gambling lamb springing four feet simultaneous deeper than foundation base winds are blowing any answers dylans bluesharp blowing too oh to etch again in heaven better thought and better ways deeply bitten open bite it won's hold ink unless i rough its wounds gravel pathsa and sores a pletny hold the blood pull out my throns how 'd we feel to pull those prints my friends held outr breath as from the kiln curtains opened on performance shared communion of care door curtains open them to air and lungs a fresh with love and hope and new life perhaps somewrere over the rainbow beyond old mill like teeth pulled out that mountain is put one samll mouth piece of the sheperd blowing pipes to gather all the ideas and stone soup goodness drawing all into the mix we have learned that individually god does love us i am mine but also his i am not your if you are lonely if you cling and hide the truth i am onlu everybodies though your pride may hit the roof so another plays and i don' for i have a lot to learn if i haven't made the measure kirstis right i have to earn so with effort cut me back lord make my efforts focused on you pour the light from dryier chanels purer image holy lamb how i want to share the goodness of the concert of pure skill ellusive fluid fab and frinedly head me for th holy hill get the cross you always had then ready with those killing pins how i'm sorry for the sadness of unlovingness in me sex has brought me to sad passage intimacy stopped in me girlfriends choose to leave me harmles sad in memory man no more implore with a spaniels features mother in them love me more yet i seek that jill for this jack take me back to high loves hill where the river is unsullied pollrded braches bare new twigs sap and leaf not moss n ivy reality in some apline flower white a springing lamb an d flower blossom me thought fruit has severed now now children can i seed when i draw i must not upload them for they are not real nor read god he will not deny me he told me from desire of old at a college summer holiday he will love each hollow broken reed




thankyou for my morning pages holy water pour through me allegory and film as parable vow
goodwill and shipping news
pay it forward
ediie izzard performces emotional memories the landscape of a holy god we cannot see past our talking like the glass the eyes are shaded cannot see with purer vision lest decluttered we stand bare
boy and girl and holy spirit in your garden trusting share

so you stay again conctented safe in some old comfort zone as i leave unholy faamily waiting in god's waiting zone send me leaf or send me braches let me write like herge now let tove johnnson out in spirit enid blyton minister now no don't want the eerire stuffed stuff damien hurst and manzoni poo

i like winnie  ilike gentle i love jesus yes i do
bring me chilkdhood beatrix potter country cottage seeing eye hope of heaven fluid lines abaundant river float with me to forvever playful giver in my thought my mind my hair in each inky fingered loving stains a plenty fallen lives hopefilled pens of chapters given to a real and loving wife i would ask my god for sap then as i come to dance alone don't know all the moves moved through me not until they are your own i know god and he s my courage though the nest fall off and are thrown last years harvest loves old faces weary wolf sheepclothing ownded give away the sad old foxes ermine stoves and staves that force metronomes are tiny minded clicking tics for cuckoo clocks go back to your own nest i beg you do not peck me half to death lord rewind the springs insside then as you take their unimaginativeness to rest svere then the sppring of contact with the modern jive of moves till we find spontaneous signals holy wine and holy grooves riffs a plenty int his river as we share creativity let me alone to watch the clouds changes icy shadows over we,  nboy and girl and loving father orchard of ture loving score a story home a path a village pots in fingers holding more amen

it is no secret what God can do what he's done for others He'll do for you with eyes wide open he'll see you through it is no secret waht God can do so be like him and live a none secretive life from now on no duplicity and then no half truths nor lies a single breath to breath  the true air unsullied amen

 i have had a hard gruelling sad time when wanting to play out in god's holy garden lord cut the head off the snakes and the adders of loggerheads and other unholy unwholesome dark sided memories amen

there is no dark side when your heart is flooded with truth light hope belief honesty encouragement amen amen

tahn k God for dee fine arts the future blue moon that saw me standing alone with easel painting pictures of no love of my own but not without a dream in my heart amen

so then

i have spent two weeks on week 11s morning pages and have seen them grow thin and am unsure whether i have had an artist's date that was that appointment twixt myself and i an God but i can say that i have
spent two days of feeling the presence of arthur gee my old friend and fellow printmaker and also arthur muraski my friend and art technician

i think of them as kind none judgmental encouraging and in many ways the gentlest of tutors mature mentors and skilled exponents of that singualar gift   kindness

thought of mountains but are these panoramas real as they flash past the glazed windows of the momentary gaze the promissory note of return or the hope of fellowship retrieved through God's kindness

there is no way back and the ink of course does not touch the sky though the paper is my heart pierced for communion and the blood of quink is poured out and smudged

God i do not want to either write in pretensious haiku nor indeed in modern stychomithia poems but in sincere reverie and reverence for fish n chips shared with arthug and watch purchsed by arthur m

oh the remembered pottery subject of the painting of my son on the landing take me back take me way way back as van morrison says so i can see their kindness and say farewell properly both funerals have been lost and then i would not have found their own spirit there just families hurting and lost as they searched the ari for a picture of their friend as i do now. o lord i mourn i have put the bathwater on and hope to wash the sorrow of these thoughts form my aching emptiness oh to face the light of hope and let the shadows fall behind me amen

i will go and have my bath and then return to do my best to find God and love and my friends spirits inmy heart and mind i do not really know where to turn fell so much fuel of hope and memory has been burned in the furnace of self  justification and sad remembrance and wishing i had done everything better or even known whether i was doing anything of purpose at all i long for a hopefilled future from a unconditionally loving God beyond my small human imagination and then for you lord to talk with me into my sore soul and let me here the whisper of hope that might ignite none dependency yet faithfilled satisfying produvtivity how wonderful a potter makes simimal pots and that they all sell to people who call to purchase in bulk how fab bless the potter who does so tha one whom i must not mention yet is a good man as i am amen


i will look at julia's book to see if there is something there to encourage me or halp me grow amen

let your thoughts go

meaning flow
Yangtze river
Mississippi
Life
Love God
loaf
liver
lover
blood

being beyond my understanding
concurrent
transparent
flowing alive to surprise

how to recognise surprise when found
you just are
oh

then

gifted

my continuous soap box to wash from under my feet
turn it into bubbles of fun
thin air
fragile thin ice water of life
more than on

before me a friend walks talks drinks complements flows kindly yet side steps his fuelling by
theorising as this poet of nothingness brings creatio ex nihilo to life as once again
ready made created music of Hildegarde von bingen ;s voice is that of choristers creating illusions




i have three drawings by edward ardizone to my right and tthey are blow up photocopies of stig of the dump
i want to step back or go forward into childhood with a friend
i want to be loved and to know that i am
and to love and to show that i do

my sin is to be a child of a loving god and the worlds sin is to judge me for it as if you were he but you are not

but i will fall off any soap box like one of my own wobbly wire and saltdough and papermache figures i cry to my Lord let me fall catch me and remake me as i fall into the potters field after playing my my part
your heart
is who i am
amen

why do the flowers have to keep dying?

i do not know
and simply cannot stay
just keep on pushing through the drizzle
seeking friendship
in the dullness of the grey pick some more when eyes are there to
 see them which reminds me in my pocket there are blossoms
i collected on the way i will literally go look in my pocket
 bring their crushed small sunlight to the light of my today

in the absence of a dead friend or two and with
another in hospital i did not know the dob or address
of so could not visit when i passed the hospital
i have writtten a letter to a slightly younger though further back in my book of life
pages in the hope of retreiving something sharable and fresh from within the lost friendship and also the neglect


i was sad yesterday as i did not know the where and when of the dance group and felt out of the loop despite my attempted enthusiasm towards their collective and individual heart warmth their grey day sun;light
when i got to them i had to keep going as the hospital and the wire of the homebase called me to creativity and i was glad when that rare synchronicity of a friends call within my loneliness restored some hope and then i bought food and tried to believe i had the resources for it i am pretending i have money and pretending to have the ability to dance because of faith that had me write a song i share and care about

there are gifts yet to discover loves released yet not on view seeds of hope to be encouraged/discovered /revealled warmed and sshare i n the very heart of YOu

this is the message of the gospel echoed i feel in julia cameron's the atrists way which came into view in bold street bookshop when i went to go on the creative bias course in liverpool the same building colins architectural practice belong in which is owned by regenda that employed me through jimmy rae so there are more god incidences for you if following the others

evidently consequently hopefully

answerable
questionable


o izzy pop


and timepiece

and the size of God


I think back to that wonderful moment when i seemed to belong to a family and it was a new place anew bookshop a new beginnining and the life coaching gro model anfd the mindmap called to me and so i will find my way back to that moment in the nottingham christmas bookshop when god brought a row of financialmiracle

pathology and the vorologist and the flabobomotomisy and the doves had been shot the rabits had been found homes and the finches too as rats from the brook chased me from my home consequently


ed said recently that i was moody as i always feel hopeful i had not noticed but george said yes from in a playful mood to being in a bloddy miserable moodo dear how i wish this insight had not reached me as i had not so much got comfortable as was drifting in a loving hopefulness yet there has to be a possibility of joy and of the holy spirit making a difference and so i have to accept tom is going into a hospice as hildegard von bingern nuns sing as if from a mountain and i look at a cheerful iimage i made of the valley the moon the sleeping person and it has a moon in it and i wanted to find a wine label image of blue moon to send to david large oh i sound just like my mum who would happily collage just like samuel beckett just like laurie lee oh



from the 1950's kitchen of bootle when in st monicas avemue a house stood in a field in a cottge of serepair and i realise i am not alone as i blog on the internet but stil


the house we were in faced a field and there were two relativly modest bridges both still there one is a humpedback bridge which sound like an izzy pop possiibility for a stroy

thios lmorning here in thei world of west kirby it is cold and wet outside and the fan heater is blowing warm dryness yet there is a breeze of chilll in the same curretn on the top of my left knee and only self portrait me and god's compassionate word through others are singing with thes nuns the fact of me in this bedroom i smell toast and wonder if sandra is alone in greasby if alison is heading off to wales or sleeping and i do not really think of those who are not thinking of me though i have no evidence that any one is i like alittle momentary audience on my drawing and i was almost reproached my brian's truth from the altar that if he were to surround himself with creative objects and i think in my defence of the crafts lady who was brought back to life by peter

then he would be arrogant and that we would think so too yet when god does the word arrogant is inapprorpriate for all of existence is the creative joy bubbling from god and back to god and i think of love and how the expression of gods love can be enjoyed and delighted in and i think of when god loved adam and enjoyed his delight in playing in eden but now we are to censor that joy with the 'knowldge; the sin of knowing that god found it to be good and we found ourselves naked

what as dylan says in the devil can it all possibly mean



but soem meaning comes from just enjoying joy is a fruit of the spirit and my currency just flow lik in psalm one i am a tree and i am planted by the water and i will both allow myself to be 'artist' as julia says that is really the child me that is the one god wants me to be as neslon mandela said so where are we all going and what does it all mean and am i in a mood or jsy satisfying ed;s observation or is this word mood come to be an onstacel will ed play only at hoime or will he come out to play and can we all be unblicked and life coached and unshelled?

i will make toast and jam and i might try phoniong sandra and perhaps go for a walk with her?