I don't like letting boys or weather toy with my emotions but I can't help it. It continues to happen and while I try my best to avoid matching my mood to the darkness of the clouds in the sky, I am not immune to the winter blues. I was born on a tropical island and brought up on the west coast of Australia - I was built for sunshine. And thank fuck it's finally Spring. Not that it matters between today and yesterday, as the weather was pretty much the same. And I'm sure within a week there will be a miserable day thrown in, because it's Melbourne and she's a fucking psycho.
Nonetheless, it is 'officially' Spring and I am geed. The promise of sunny summertime adventures is just around the corner and it is going to be glorious. In the meantime, I will work on my tan (and booty) during Spring when I can and eagerly await the days when the median temperature is 30 degrees.
This summer will feature a lot of love, laughter and midriff. I can't fucking wait.
Two days ago, 26 happened. I didn't want to make it a 'thing'. And then I did. And then I didn't. But I did. Birthdays can be fantastic. A day where you can command the presence and attention and love from your inner (and extended) circle, be showered with gifts and food and drinks and get to purchase and wear a bangin' outfit especially for the occasion. It's like a yearly wedding, without the formality, clergymen and life-long contract to another person. I am, however, a relatively anxious and self-conscious person, despite all my talk of 'chilling the fuck out' and just looking indifferent. As a result, birthdays - specifically my own - are often a source of intense stress and general up-tightness. If you do something, there is so much pressure to put on a good show. Will people like the venue, will they like the music, will they like each other, will they even fucking show up? It can get a little overwhelming. As it turned out, I didn't need to worry. It was fantastic because my friends are fantastic and that's pretty much all it comes down to. I felt very lucky to be living in a city that spoils me, surrounded by people that I love individually for various and sometimes strange reasons; who have come into my life for various and sometimes strange reasons. As always there were notable absences, mostly due to geography, but overall, I felt relaxed and loved and very birthday-y. In the end, if you're still worried or stressed or pissed about the superficial appearance of your birthday, you are probably yet to find peace in the presence of your loved ones. Or you're just a lame selfish prick that needs to get over yourself and stop whinging about your stupid first world problems. I think every time your birthday rolls around, a stocktake of your life occurs. What have I done, who do I know, where have I been - all because you have to face the quantification of your time on earth. But to quote my homegirl Aaliyah (RIP, incidentally)...
Some of us don't find ourselves where we planned to be by a certain age. My eight year old self had decided my life would be settled by the time I was 25. Husband, kids, house, cars - apparently a career in there somewhere but the details of what and how fulfilling it was remain sketchy to this day. Eight year old K was a blunt-fringed cutie who could write a mean short story, kick ass in art projects and be seen frequenting Marioland in her free time. She was also, obviously, clueless as shit. But that's ok. I know now that you can't control life. You can plan and hope and dream, you can put into place the steps that are required to get to your goal, you can save money, you can work your ass off. But in the end, it might not mean shit. Life is the best in the game at fucking all your shit up. But that's ok too. It doesn't have to mean nothing in the sense that it might as well have not happened. Even plans that go awry are learning experiences, and unless you're completely socially retarded, I'm sure you will learn from them. And if you actually have conviction, you will continue to pursue your dreams with more maturity, wisdom and determination. I've talked a lot about how different my life is compared to a lot of my peers. On the surface, it does look like I'm still living the life of a teenager. Aimless, varied, little routine, no titles - I'm a parttime everything. I have no mortgage, no husband, no fulltime job, seemingly no stability and I used to scoff at the thought of having any of those things at 'my age'. I don't scoff so much anymore. I still don't foresee any of those things in my near future but I have no reason to judge anyone who does or already has. If that's what you want, and you've been working towards it and working on it everyday, then good for you. I have no authority to gauge or even assume anybody's level of happiness. If you honestly are, then I respect that and am happy for you. What I don't agree with is standing still. Not like, "taking a breather 'cause I've been working my ass off", standing still. Like, "Oh woe is me, life is too hard, the universe hates me, I'm not gonna put any effort into it, the world owes me all the good things in life". Fuck you. In this instance, the reason why you're not where you want to be is because you don't actually give a shit enough about your own life and situation to change it. It's not an easy task, I should know. It's actually probably the hardest thing to do, to be able to identify all the gaps in your life and plan and work to fill them to be happy. Nobody is entitled to anything in this world. Whatever you put out there, with sincere intent, you will get back, sooner or later. I truly believe that. And you will get those opportunities because you deserve them and you will appreciate them and make the most of them. It is still a constant (yet manageable) struggle between what I feel like doing (sometimes nothing), what I want done (everything) and what other people want me to do (everything different to what I want). What is getting easier is understanding who I am and what my motivations are. I have been given enough opportunities to be able to congratulate myself but only enough to whet my appetite for success. My faults are many and need rectifying but at least they have been identified. I can see the path that I'm walking is a little less gravel and a little more bitumen. It's not as windy anymore but it is still on a slight incline. And that's ok. This is exactly where I want to be. K.x
He loved music, football and ganja and I loved him.
Ever since I was a foetus, Bob Marley's music has been infiltrating my psyche. Exodus was the soundtrack to my childhood and red, yellow and green was everywhere. So I was obviously geed to learn of the making of the Marley movie and that we didn't have to wait a million years for it to be distributed in Australia. It was only fitting that I attended a screening with the man that passed on his passion for the Rastafari; my papa.
Directed by Kevin Macdonald, Marley basically takes you along Bob's life journey. From his clean-shaven youth, through his meteoric rise and the heartbreaking end. Scored throughout by his many classic songs, and featuring interviews with family members, musicians and politicians, this film offers a comprehensive look at the Legend's career and influence on popular and political culture.
Having said that, it still wasn't comprehensive enough for me. Like any Marley fiend, I wanted more; even though, for some, it might already be too much. The film goes for over two hours and I'm sure fans won't mind that running time but it can get a little tedious. I never realised the weight of his influence on the Jamaican social and political environments and the film did a lot to educate me on that. I mean, you're a certified Big Deal if you're a nation's only defence against political unrest.
But we all know what the audience really wants...personal drama.
I tend to stay away from drama in my actual life as much as possible. I am, however, more than happy to witness other people's drama play out on a big (or small) screen. They touched briefly on Bob's popularity with the ladies - and had quite frank interviews with his wife Rita and simultaneous girlfriend Cindy. But with family-run Tuff Gong Productions at the helm, the private life of the notoriously shy Bob was decidedly capped.
Ziggy and Cedella Marley were the only children featured in the film and it was heartwarming (and heartbreaking) to hear some of their accounts and memories of their father. Though with 11 kids in the Marley lineage, some of which are notable musicians in their own right and personal favourites of mine (hello, Damian!), I would have liked to have seen more of his seeds featured. It is, after all, through them that the Marley name lives on as strong as it does today.
But now I'm just being a finicky bitch. There's no pleasing a fanatic.
But if you have any interest in reggae music or Bob Marley at all, you need to watch this film. To see and hear the man at work is mesmerising. And despite his obvious character flaws, the fondness in the faces of his peers and loved ones is a testament to how inspiring he really was.
Brilliant. Revolutionary. Legend.
Marley is showing now, in selected cinemas.
K.x
One of my favourite videos ever of the man. Stir it up.
It is both irritating and fascinating to know what can force me to scribe productively. My latest source of inspiration? Four hours alone on a budget airline with RUSSH magazine, Kahlil Gibran's The Prophet and a fresh notepad.
Having recently watched a documentary chronicling Woody Allen's career, I have decided to adopt his (and Nike's) approach to writing and creating. Just do it. Just put it all on paper whenever and wherever it comes to you; whether it be a word, a phrase or a whole motherfucking novel. Bring it into physical existence before it gets lost in your stupid analysis and self-consciousness and then look at it all at another time. Things make much more sense in hindsight.
The man. He's a little bit cuckoo but a lot of genius. If I'm going to spend my life being a struggling creative then I might as well pretend I'm Woody Allen. Granted I probably won't be shacking up with my lover's adopted child.
But if you love and a must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.'
I would normally read a passage like this and be like, "Pfft, that shit's for lil bitches." Except now I know it to be true. So maybe I am a lil bitch. And what?
