This I Knead

 I'm allergic to nuts. What does that have to do with the picture or the title, or even bread as a whole? I don't know; well, I didn't know when I chose to use that simple sentence to lead in to this blog post but I hope I'll make some sense very soon. It's been a ridiculous span of time since I posted anything, and that's not because I haven't been writing (on the contrary, I just finished producing a short play festival that I am really quite proud of.) I've been away because I lost focus of the reason I started this blog. I need this as a space to create and hash out literary conquests and dilemmas. My dilemma, that I am faced with now, is being a parcel. I'm allergic to nuts. Gone from being a cog in the machine a part, now I sit apart fallen like a nickel through an aperture  a cast iron grid a fake smile a passing hello.  Gone from being a cog in a machine operating in/outside of my own will feeling yet filling a space...

  Fear. This one word has come to craft a space for itself in my life as a constant theme. I don't know why I am now afraid at the age of 26. I think it might have something to do with the fact that though I may tell myself that I am Okay without responsibilities and the normative expectations of success, I am going against the grain and I do not want to fail. I do not want to be that example of "that's what happens when you try things that we are not used to." 2014 has been a great year so far and so many wonderful things are coming my way. I am happy that I get to do so much but the worry comes in knowing that I am not selling ideas but crafting realities. So here I sit with an oxidised crust. The moistness within fueled by dreams and possibilities is being trapped. I have trapped it in because to be exposed to the elements is to allow yourself to suffer against uncontrollable things. If you could just stay within, stay within the bounds of dried up...

 I don't know about you but I sure do know about me;  I've caught a case of fearful hope. It's not like I'd planned it. It simply occurred to me -  that is to say, it came rather surprisingly. With tinges of colour. With flurries of shade. I'd caught a case of fearful hope. Yet, searching for salvation or attempting to run free did nothing but bring it all closer to me. I don't know about you but I know about me; I've caught a case of fearful hope. So, now that you know, now; now, I'd beg you to help, now;  save for deafening you as I frantically yelp! NOW! I've said it all don't think me a dope. I've caught a case of fearful hope. Of all the things in life I need, This I Knead. Share With Me.

 Today is the first day that I am working with the creative team from RLabs . This marks my beginnings on a journey to become a beacon of trust and hope for my community. To take it into the lingo of my blog, this is me adding the yeast to my dough. Why yeast? Well, like most things that are good for you, yeast is not particularly great tasting on its own but it joins a confection of ingredients to make for a beauty filled symphony of taste. This experience with RLabs is not going to be surface value fun, it will be tough, I know this, I expect this, I want this. I know that I am going to be challenged to think in different ways and see things with a different set of tinted glasses, but I am no way intimidated by this. The yeast to this recipe- I think I'm making some pizzas- is the thing that will not be known when my friends are all feasting. I know that after all of this, no one will look at me and say: "My gosh! Brent   and Christine did a great job training ...

When a friend of mine, Lame, chose to ask for the most precious gift for her birthday, I was inspired to make this. I am a spiritually visual person and I believe that more than what we taste, feel or hear, the greatest impacts on our lives are made by what we see. As one of her poet friends, I sent this through as part of what will become her poetry anthology. Of all the things in life I need, This I Knead. Share With Me.

No way out, but in. (It's a pun.) Is your promiscuity getting you all knotted up?  Whether it's with humans, food, or with your words, most of your promiscuity is a survival trait of lonely souls. There are elements of life that we tend to feel are too much to handle so we find securities. For some that security comes in the form of bulky arms or a heaving breast. For some this security comes in wolfing down and inhaling the formula to indigestion, heartburn and obesity. For some this security comes from filling the world with words. The latter tend to be the most popular and we veil ourselves as poets, politicians, artists, but never as lonely liars. I happen to be one of these promiscuous people, I whore myself through language. My linguistic freedom may be misconstrued as informedness, intelligence, aptitude or being articulate, but in it's truest form it is the child of loneliness. Loneliness is not the evil here, it is a fundamental part of the human conditi...

Much like anyone who is trying to develop a new habit, a new recipe you could say, I approached this process with the wrong mentality. When your batch of croissants loses its fluffiness and sweetness quickly, you don't simply make a new one, you examine your recipe and see where you can improve it. It's all well and good to want to do things differently but if you just want to lessen your procrastination time rather than improving your productivity levels, you are in for a big surprise. I could have hopped on my proverbial high horse and lied saying I have changed my ways, but this is not what I need. i have fallen off the wagon a bit. The ideas still keep flooding in and some are developed enough for me to actualise this very moment, but I have ultimately run into my first hurdle. as I nurse my aching gums, I invite you to indulge in a story in progress "Venom".  What I am going for with Venom  is to get back into the swing of telling stories but finding...