Grace Dreamer

It is in your softness and rounded view
that I fall, scabby knees, snotty nose
for all my
m a n y
failings
stripped-bare bones
storming mind
arguments with self
you see my reaching
the straightening of my spine
the desire to find divine skies
in mediocre days
the desire to try
better
in every way
you mirror my sanity
you pat me back into my skin

You see my anger as misplaced sadness
hug the sticky-taped bits back together
union of crafted character parts
and marvel at my flashing eyes
while I feel beguiled by your wiseness,
starstruck by your compassion
Fashion myself a pocket to
keep your advice close by
steady my bashing heart
smooth out my wrinkled cells
build myself a rocket fueled on
your overview,
rise above this madness
this broken heart
close open books for a time
stitch up my sleeves
with wine-soaked twine

thank you for this lifeline.

You, dreamer, of unimaginable grace
I see all the things I wish to be
reflected in your face
I see you extend a hand
to pull me up from the stirring mud
and grateful I accept,
your soft, peaceful, global view of love.

start again

I'll dust your footprints from my shoulders
blow the fingerprints from the floorboards
kick out the cockroaches,
wash up the webs and weeds
spring freshen up this home
freshen up this heart.

The lessons fly from all ways, and here
I say to myself,
draw a line in the sand,
back yourself because
those who mind don't matter
and those who matter don't mind
Dr Seuss leading me home
from my brain's goose chase
I've roamed too long on the edges of others affections
there are eggshells between my toes,
sticky; Summer is nearly over
and I haven't washed clean these freckles once
with the waving water.

It may be true that you, blessed creature,
do not have this perspective and I do not wish you to,
it has led me to the corner of the world,
under barren skies and empty meaning
I have damn near removed myself
pon gleaning information I would rather not have
heart stabbed again and again but this farcical existence
needn't be attached to you and your curls
I have work to do,
refuse to leave my passion to the bickering of the masses
so peacefully, i remove my heart
from this tango
let the cards fall as they may
forgive myself for this wealth of difficulty
and start fresh with gleaming skin

The clouds build up in the sky again
I remember what you were to me ; friend
embody these beauties I miss from you
and promise to never do it again,
bind myself to trailing ends of expectations,
and summertime friends
nor resent their shining ignorance
to the heaviness in my veins
simply let go of associations
etched into this broken brain
start again start again start again

For you.

its easy to proselytize about what love means
and green with envy for my former self
I look to you.

Once upon a time, I lost my mojo,
admitted it freely and apologised for not being happy
for not being a golden friend
for not being, for not being, for not being,
and you, dear woman,
gave me to the ends of the earth and back in time,
your love shined more brightly than my freezing
and you presented to me,
a small bottle of silver filings, with a sticker on the side saying
'Mojo'.

I found it, you said proudly, pushing it onto me
you said you lost it, but you're just useless sometimes
and you gotta let me help you find it,
when your mind is on darker things
and i swear in that moment, I
heard the ringing of the stars,
the transfer of light to heart
the end of these tunnels into white
and your face,
Your precious face is all kinds of right.

Is it true what they say of
splintered speech and raked veins?
That friends who paddle sunny waves
will shelter themselves in the rain
while I seek cover
from a few palm fronds,
lick the falling water and forgive myself
for whatever wrongs I have committed
these sunshine friends deliver me truths
and deliver me back to you.

You and your bottle of silver linings,
when my mind is filled with thunder,
and my fists are filled with despair,
these linings on my windowsill
these pieces of chance at my door,
I grip tightly,
Acknowledge this is as it is.
Moreso, I wish for your happiness,
I will defend your right to pain,
and whatever happens, sunshine or rain,
I am committed to dancing in wet shoes
with you,
to throwing away the umbrella,
screaming 'come at me' to this
inclement weather
because you,
you are what matters.

A welcome pause.

Hello everyone,

Jessie Ray here. It's been a long and traumatic year for me and for plenty of people I know.

Sometimes I tried to party the horrible stuff away, sometimes I worked so hard I didn't have time to linger thoughts on bright, more shiny things, sometimes I just stayed in bed for the entire weekend and wished everyone would leave me be, in depressive cosy silence.

Through exhaustion and grief and a million coping mechanisms, I've come to the point where I just need to stop and sit and heal.

If you care to read some thoughts swirling in my head, please go ahead. Otherwise, thank you for your support, and I'll see you at some stage in the new year!

_________________________________________________________________________________

In just over two years, I have created upwards of 65 events including exhibitions, performance evenings, focus groups, workshops, etc. Some of those have been with a dedicated team of helpers, and some without. All the while, I have held down a full-time job, revived my own art business, and tried desperately to create some good beyond myself. I believed that I could sleep when I was dead and that there are more pressing things to be done than unwind and relax.

It has been enlightening, heart-opening and uplifting to connect with you all over the last few years and from the big shows down to the tiny, vulnerable conversations, I am grateful that you would come to me for love or hugs or advice or sillies.

I am completely burned out on an emotional and energetic level and now it's time to reboot. I have not been able to process anything that has happened in the last two years let alone the last 6 months due to the speed at which things keep happening. As a result, my health and closest relationships are suffering and I'm not willing to sacrifice them any longer.

I'm taking a break from Art Party. This both terrifies me and relieves me. In 28 months, I have had one break from Art Party, over two years ago.

Since its inception, we have had Art Party :
- in Sydney 28 times
- 10 times around the country, up and down the East Coast
- in India, Russia, Kenya, Indonesia and soon to be Canada

- We have connected with over 300 emerging performing artists in Australia and from Canada, UK, US and Indo.

- We have worked with over 15 different emerging venues/artist-run-initiatives within Australia and internationally

- we have over 2300 members in our Facebook group who are keen to connect, attend, art on and become the family we seek.

- We have had a measurable impact on the mental health and connectivity within our community, something I'm over the moon about. As the primary face of Art Party, I have heard that many stories of trauma, abuse, suicide, depression, isolation, longing, loneliness, and vulnerability. One thing that joins these stories is the person's willingness to share them, transcend them and connect once again to their art expression. Feeling safe to do so is paramount and feeling like you're among your tribe is what facilitates this healing. Though intangible, it can be felt in the repeated connections, unfolding of personalities and growing of trust, business and performance between members of our community.

- We have provided opportunities for our artists external to Art Party in radio, at festivals, other cities, other countries and continue to do so.

- We have successfully reached the point in April 2014 where all artists and contributors are paid fairly for their contribution. Woo!

I am extremely grateful to all those who have believed in this vision and who have offered their hands of help. I look forward to hopefully coming back to Art Party in 2015 with a renewed body and mind. I am confident that this community will be excited and inspired by one of my biggest inspirations, Bravo Child, as he takes over my duties for the first few months of 2015.

Please continue to support our artists, they need it and are so worth it. In ten years time when you're gagging for culture, I guarantee the ones you've supported will be the ones delivering that much-needed culture and art to life.

Peace x Love x Art x

I've always had trouble breathing,
as though it wasn't the first,
most essential aspect of my living,
each day I remind myself to inhale,
hold, exhale and empty,
like my body parts have forgotten how to on their own,
shoulders rise where belly should
and heart skips beats happy like a child,
yet lacking foresight and consequence.

You take my breath away
to foreign places twisted with accents
and warm bread,
wrinkled nose and tangled bedsheets
One hand on throat to hold my pulse
with the widest part of your hand,
I hold my lungs silent
for fear of dispersed luck,
Forget my needs momentarily and gasp,
before you pat me to calm
and back again.

You take my breath into your lungs,
one beat hung from your humming syllables
darrr-lin,
growl your rumble and rust,
let breathless lead to lusting
and let this twisted mechanism function.

Raw Women

Someone reposted one of my poems today <3

I guess if any of my words resonate with anyone who reads them, then the poem has satisfied it's own existence.

http://wp.me/p4lmXR-1Xr

River of Rose

My boat floats on a river of rosé
colouring Sunday afternoon in this here
love-boom
with the warmth of a winter wine
cloaked in summer sunshine,
still chilled by the night wind,
transparent heavens and
anticipation
part their lips
together to welcome us
part the weather like a red sea
give this sky-canvas some clarity
droplets of rain-paint
two shades lighter than my wine
camouflage themselves among my freckles
and fine lines,
I do not brush them away,
would rather revel in their shape.

My heart beats to myriad of rhythms
call me a culture-less vulture,
guilty of misappropriation
but every living thing has a beat
and every living thing has a skin
though I did not ever make a drum of hide
my hands know how to synchronize
their words,
to punctuate their falling softly,
to trance mind into matterless particle
and brain into endless vibration,
it is the most curious sensation
to admire all human cultures
as divine works of art
rather than a starting point for stealing.

My eye is drawn
by particles of shared memory
sun captured through busted lens
refracts off experiential symmetry
attracts me to shiny things
bright energy expands
through my eyelids.
Someone planted
fourteen circular rainbows
directly in front of my iris
rubbing shoulders with a dust mote
to keep my eyes in focus
showing me the spectrum
of endless possibility
my lashes sit in lotus-like
contemplation
of all I left behind me,
of the beauty now in front of me.

My memory is a masterpiece
stuck between two shelves
depending on how I see it
there's both heaven and hell in my
basket
I swing your arms and laugh,
as though direction were the key
it's neither path less travelled nor
heavily-trod
but the values inside which fuel me.