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feel the realness

24 July.

Woolomooloo, Sydney.

Scented candles are burning while I digest the chilli tortillas Brock’s lovely girlfriend made us for tea, he tunes his guitar and talks about music I know nothing about.

I used to be in the navy with him and feel like I know him better since he showed me a 10 year old VHS tape of him and his mates overdubbed with classic rock and punk, skating in their home town, before his hair fell out, in baggy shorts, heavy set, landing tricks with increasing finesse as the years went by.

I experienced some recent windows of intense defeat before he took me in from sleeping in my car. Withdrawing from months of sugar binging, cold, alone, confused, looking for a way out with dramatic conclusions and trying to run in opposite directions.

I haven’t intentionally consumed any sugar for 9 days now and together with having a friend and a bed everything seems easier, fun even.

Ellie has offered her place to house sit for 2 weeks incase Brock gets sick of me (but I think he’s having a good time too,) and I remember that everything works out in the end, you just have to wait sometimes.

 

 

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Was sleeping in my car right up the end of that street. Wilson St Woolomooloo.

Was sleeping in my car right up the end of that street. Wilson St Woolomooloo.

Social Security Office – seemed like a nice guy

urban frontier

Day 6 no cake.
I should be using this time to finish writing my resume and get some work, since my friend Brock has taken me off the Woolomooloo street for a few nights.

I know I say I want to be out there living ascetically in my car, but when everyone who walks passed can see into your bedroom as you brush your teeth, it takes some adjusting to.
I wish I was happy with nothing, living under a tree, but it’s too cold and I’m hungry and oh look 360 is on the front cover of Rolling Stone Magazine.

I know a lot of my stuff is emotional and I think some readers must think I’m a lazy, attention seeking, insecure wimp and that there’s something wrong with me for having a 19 year old girlfriend, or maybe that’s just her family, who I know read this and may not be my biggest fans. I feel like saying, well you know what? I flew her over here from London and took care of her for 2 months showing her more of Australia than most of it’s citizens ever see, then I flew her home again safe and happy with that colourful experience under her wing which you tried to stop happening and you know what else? Her man hasn’t even had a drink this year, or a smoke, or a pill or an anything, big deal? YES IT IS! She might do alot worse than me!! So give me a FUCKING BREAK!!
Well I guess I did just say it.
Don’t write blogs when you’re angry.
It’s awkward knowing that certain people are reading this and I’m ambivalent about disclosing my whole life and insecurities on the internet because we are such a cruel species from the comfort of our arm chairs, me included, but I do, like a transparent emotional washing machine, so you can all watch someone face their demons and feel better about yourselves for not being perfect.
It takes hard work to realise that regardless of whether you were born disabled and walk the streets of Newtown trying to talk to people with your tongue hanging out, or you’re a dark 6’2 footballer with 3 investment properties and a side part, noone is better than anyone else, we all suck, WE ALL RULE and we all just want to be loved.
Ok, I feel better now.

 

    

 

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THAT ACTUALLY FELT GOOD.
CATHARSIS.
IM JUST SO ANGRY AT MYSELF FOR NOT BEING GOOD ENOUGH FOR PEOPLE BETTER AT THE THINGS I WANT TO DO.
IM ANGRY THAT IM NOT POETIC ENOUGH,
HOW MANY VIEWS IS ENOUGH?
I DONT KNOW WHAT TO WRITE OR DRAW,
UNLESS ITS ABOUT MY FUCKING FLAWS.
IM MOVING TO ACRYLIC,
I WANT TO DRAW.
I WANT TO PAINT.
I WANT TO TELL STORIES THROUGH THE MAJESTY OF SONG.
IM EMBARRASSED.
WHERES MY GUITAR THAT I CANT PLAY?
YOU ONLY WANTED IT FOR FAME.
YOUR SUCH A SOOK,
ALWAYS WINGING IN THIS BOOK.
LETS NOT FORGET,
THIS IS DAY 3 NO CAKE,
THERES BOUND TO BE SOME THINGS TO FACE.
THIS DOLE CAN PAY ME TO BE AN ARTIST AND ILL STUDY THE REST OF MY LIFE.
YOU WANT TO DRAW, DRAW
SING, SING.
CREATE, MEDITATE,
YOUV’E GOT IT BETTER THAN YOUR MATES.
NO RESPONSIBILITIES,
WOMAN WHO LOVES YOU,
REASSURANCE WONT DO,
YOUVE BEEN WRITING THE SAME SHIT FOR 10 YEARS.
NOTHING EVER INTERESTING,
ONLY FORGOTTEN GLIMPSES,
GUSTS OF WIND BREAK THE SURFACE OF THE WATER SWIRLING,
LIKE BAD DECISIONS.
I KNOW WHY THOSE MUSICIANS
DO WHAT THEY DO,
FUCKING ATTENTION SEEKERS,
COZ I’M ONE TOO!

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As if it’s not hard enough! LoL

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16 july 14

At least they’re reading again, but I haven’t written much in 3 months so what can I expect, people forget you and you have to get their attention again.
But that’s exactly what I wanted so I turned off and sat quietly trying to release my need for attention, get back at those who don’t give me enough and minimise societal influences running around my mind while I float through the black space eavesdropping on the truth within.
I believed that all my public expressions were obstructing my path to egolessness and the technology used to create them on (which is made from mined resources) was not conducive to the sustainability of the planet, that myself, everyone in the arts and most people fixed on achieving, were on a treadmill naively seeking validation for their own existense, like a drug masking the emptiness that can only be filled by realising that society’s boundless consumption and infinite desires are the reason the planet is dying, that we should live off the land like native aboriginals, wandering without posessions and sole importance being on earth, people and spirituality. Then I remembered that aboriginals dance and sing and paint pictures on cave walls.
 
 
There is no doubt we need to consume and want less material NOW! but how will the message get out if we all sit in corners?
 
So I’m back again realising that I still have issues and just because I’m an egomaniac, it doesn’t mean everyone else is and that there are many people creating for the benefit of the human race.
 
I’m still trying to figure out Kanye West though.

Quote in image taken from Tom Cornwall Glasgow.

As I lean out the car door sideways pissing into the pool of toothpaste I left on the road, I think of plush carpets and ocean views, that $60,000 I had in the bank 2 years ago and dinners wearing a $200 Armani shirt.
I’m registered for Job Seekers allowance now so I get $450 in 10 days from the government. I KNOW people will feel angry about my handout because they’re working their arses off to support me with their tax dollars, and all I can say is…Fool on them. How many pairs of shoes have they got? Tell me they’d keep doing what they do if they got rich, bullshit! They’d do something they love, and that’s what I’m doing (until I need a shower,) even if I am unstable. But seriously, the government have plenty of other avenues to steal money besides tax and how much of it is squandered, imbezzled and misappropriated anyway? Wouldn’t looking after our brothers and sisters be the best thing we could do with that money? People say I deserve the money because I served the country, crap! Everyone deserves it.

I have $280 in my pocket. I was going to stay in a cheap hostel for $200 until Tremaynes wedding but then I saw a picture of my friend (bless him) on the internet wearing a suit, looking business and riding high on investor confidence. I don’t want that. If I go in that hostel I’m a sheep just like everyone else, I may as well go join the navy again, secure my future and get a homeloan.
I’m living basic, I’ll make money when I’m ready, I’ll contribute to my people, there’s 2or3 hotels I can stay at for nothing with a reference from Centrelink but I choose to be here, in my sleeping bag parked on Bathurst Rd in my foggy Camry. Everything’s going to be alright. Just watch. Plus, I gave up cake today. :D

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14 July
Katoomba, Blue Mountains.

 

Lastnight alone in the darkness, on that cliff in Blackheath, I made a healthy fire and cooked potato and leek.
potato & leek

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Then drew a bullant.
ant

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

I’ve overcome my recent disenchantment with blogging. Not that they are being viewed as much as my dramatic international wanderings of 2013, but I find publishing candid glimpses into my nebulous cerebral processes, regardless of the reception, defragmenting, if only temporarily. Also preparing material for others to read forces me to improve my craft and has facilitated catalysts for others trying to articulate their own inner contemplations. I just wish I could say what I really thought, but nothing is sweeter than the sound of one’s own name, and one can be very very sensitive about it.

 
 

movement
I applied for Newstart today (jobseekers allowance) and didn’t go into the trendy looking vegetarian cafe and juice bar on the main street, incase someone tried to talk to me.
 
I haven’t meditated much since Flo left, probably because I can whenever I want. I have no responsibilities now and am free to be an emotional wreck.
 
I visited the handsome Katoomba Cultural Centre and on this occasion was happy to pay the entry fee to the art gallery.
I noted the language orientated titles of 2 pieces named, “Sanguine” and “Sanctum.” There was a projection of images onto a suspended pillow conceptualizing the Aboriginal “dreamtime,” and a painting illustrating a response to the reports of early Blue Mountains explorers Blaxland, Wentworth and Lawson, that these areas were uninhabited during their expedition. Leanne Tobin wrote “The first three explorers from a far away place did not travel through this land unnoticed.”

 
 

Unexpectedly I enjoyed the heritage museum alot. “The mountains offered them respite in their dark and uncertain days.”
Every time I see the word “dark” or other language I identify with, my senses arrest slightly, “He was a reticent and intensely private person.”
 
With the history of the regions native inhabitants, white settlement and the magnetism of creative minds, I formed romantic desires to stay and follow the multicoloured enigma hanging subtly beyond the untrained eye, uncovering the sanctums of poets and inhaling the blue eucalyptic mist of earth and artistry.

 

Photo courtesy of my mum

Photo courtesy of my mum

 

I drove around all day yesterday looking for paradise, living only off cake, combusting my few dollars between the pistons, every destination agonising me, stopping, starting, oscillating, crunching the sugar granules between my teeth, one of them aching, ignoring my conscience and growing more displaced with every bite, fearing people.

He’s a junky. Besides the initial euphoria, he becomes withdrawn and less affectionate overall. He ignores his friends then reconnects with them a month later feeling foolish. I wouldn’t do it with him if he didn’t get so damn excited about it.

Minimalistic ideals, a home without speed cameras, traffic jams, parking tickets or corporate hypnosis. Close to nature, 1 pair of shoes, letters to friends, no goals. I’m here and I’m leaving. Don’t sell my dj gear yet it’s better than working in a supermarket.

I’m coming back to Sydney.

I think.

Ill just pop into the bakery first.

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I’m back in the Blue Mountains, my girlfriend returned to London 6 days ago and I’m sleeping in my car. I have places to stay but I prefer not to talk to people, although I usually enjoy it when I do.
I need to be in Sydney for Tremayne’s wedding in 3 weeks and I’m not sure what I’ll do til then seeing as I have $350 left and no job (not that I wan’t one). I could make that last if I sat still, but I find it impossible, there’s always a reason to keep moving, keep looking – but looking for what? If I learned anything travelling it was that you only find what you’re looking for when you stop looking. But you have to look to learn to stop looking. Even when your meditating for 12 hours a day trying to be with the breath and the body in the present moment your still trying to achieve something, your not happy with what is so your still searching.
And this is the paradox of Zen.
I don’t want to be here,
I don’t want to be there,
I don’t want to be anywhere.

Blue Mountains NSW
I looked out the car window in the dark toward Steven’s van and powerful campfire. I had seen Fran walk over earlier with a chair and now sat relaxed amongst the swirling embers laughing with Steven and his girlfriend who are obscured by the vehicle.
I looked at my own tiny campfire then into my lap.
Flo caught my eye and put her arms around me.
I cooked tea and Steven came and invited us over.
Their benevolence made me feel at ease.

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I bought a $1700 Toyota Wagon and we left Perth heading North on Wanneroo Road.

camry

So were driving and jiving, it’s good to share music with someone who actually gives a shit.

We saw great dunes of sand in the distance that looked like snow juxtapositioned against green shrubland. I said Woarr that would be sick playing in that and took the next turn off which said Wedge Island.

sand

At the end of the road was a sign indicating the entrance to Wedge Island shack community. We followed the white tracks past little tin shacks through to the beach.

The sand felt like magic dust between our toes, there was a group of people with flags flying high on their 4WD’s, they were drinking beer and throwing balls to little fluffy dogs.

We swam nude in the ocean. I thought about sharks most of the time.

On the way back the group called out to us, we looked at eachother and walked over dubiously.

They are all locals and meet on the point at 4pm on sunny days.

the point

Unk took a liking to Flo.

unk flo

Chris invited us to stay at his shack for the night.

chris shack

It was sandy, messy and perfect. I sacrificed 2.5 months of vegetarianism to show my appreciation for Chris’s kindness by eating a steak dinner he cooked. We felt super lucky.

sandy messy perfect

The community started in the 60′s as a camp for crayfisherman, people started building there own shacks on the land without having to buy it.
In 1972 the ranger came along and stamped every shack with a numbered disc outlawing the building of anymore.
All the shacks are self sufficient running on solar power, generators and water from rain tanks.
We have been welcomed back anytime.
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I’ve included a new category on kilaheem.com called living in the past.
 

In the near future I will begin sharing colourful and sensitive experiences from my time growing up in Australia. They will include things like my childhood in Lockridge, teenage years in Beechboro, experimentation, my brushes with the law, becoming an honest person again, my time in the military and anything else of developmental significance.
 

Why would I want to do this? Because I like attention and I want to entertain and interact with you. You may as well look forward to these, they will be decent.
 

I Love Cake.
 
 
10th birthdays at Hungry Jacks my Bart Simpson T Shirt in black

4 April, Perth, Australia
 
My girlfriend will be here in a few days from London. It’s just in time because we’re both sick of messages and video calls. I almost wish they didn’t exist so our only option was to send letters. How much more treasured and romantic would that be? It would make it harder to send her pictures of my stiffy however.

I’m still living out of a backpack because that’s all I own. I practically gave away everything else. Besides adventure, something that keeps me wandering around is that I’m terrified of outstaying my welcome, even at mums. I also worry about looking lazy because I’m usually sat behind my laptop or staring at the wall.

I’ve been staying with my mate (was his bestman) and his family for more than a week. I was in the car with him and he asked if I was enjoying my stay. I told him I was very grateful and thanked him for his kindness. He said “Stay as long as you want, you don’t have to pay us anything, we love having you here so don’t think we want you to leave,” He looks over at me and says “Because I know your thinking it.”
I told him he was too good to me. He said “I just love you mate.” (my eyes just started to water.)

I didn’t meditate at all yesterday because I have been and I’m still confused, indecisive and binging on cake and nutrigrain.

One mindset tells me art is just seeking validation and conforming to this economy,the other says tough shit! It’s the only vocation you enjoy and if you want to survive you better do it and do it well.
 
 
 
 
2 monsters determined to destroy my laptop
 

 
 
 

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By Kilaheem

Perth, Australia.

I’ve been back 5 weeks since I visited 12 countries and I’m having trouble fitting society in…..

I’m staying at the Grand Central Backpackers on Wellington St in the City. It’s $25 per night and has bed bugs but I like it. Besides wanting solitude and the freedom to stare at the wall for a week if I choose, I can’t live with my friends. I worry too much about upsetting them and eating all their cake. Hostel’s have discretionary social responsibilities and this one is old enough and big enough to find a nook where I can go and be in my own world.

I just sold the rest of my Telstra shares to buy a van and live in because I don’t want a job and I don’t want to pay for a house that I don’t want to live in anyway. I then changed my mind about the van due to the ongoing financial commitment required.

I know better than to tell people how much money I have in the bank. I have $8800 in the bank.

I flitter between giving up photography and writing, and joining the rest of the ambitious at school to exploit “passion”. I have a hard time understanding what the point of it all is seeing as I wouldn’t do either of them if they were never to be seen by others. I am not what I say or do, and these pursuits are not important, they just feel good like new jeans. What do I want? Inner peace and that’s it because with that comes everything I need, I’ve proven it, scientifically. Most of modern living is just excess and greed. I look to indigenous cultures to see what’s important because they lived off the land, possessed only what they could carry and didn’t have jeans. Take away everything we don’t need and that’s what’s left.

A fairly sound emotional balance has been maintained the last few months as a direct result of self discipline. I think I had some beer in January and a cigarette in February but no pot or other drugs since last year. All of that is easy, it’s food that’s hard to control.

When I exert self discipline over the areas of life that hinder me, I keep strong sentinels at the psyche’s gateway, defending it from the voices of doubt. When it rains and the sentinels are not excercised they become weak and lazy allowing confusion to seethe past and spread it’s strangling thorn throughout certainty.

It takes one poor choice to step back into a habit pattern and it’s not meditation alone that will save me, but the discipline I cultivate during practice, together with the decisions I make during the day.

Self discipline is love.

A classic example that money is not success. For overseas peeps this guy is another silly person who gets to be involved in politics on financial merit.

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Toss The Wellington Street

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West View Wellington Street, Train Station overpass and constant expansion equipment in background

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tree man great jones street + high-res version

 

TREE MAN

Great Jones Street, Manhattan, NYC.

tree man great jones street

I spent alot of time wandering around this area because Jean-Michel Basquiat lived and died here.

He was discovered in bed by his girlfriend after overdosing on drugs in this apartment. There is a JMB graffitied on the mail hatch.

37560033 great jones basquait

A passer by heading out on a date took an interest in what I was doing and emailed me this photo. I have a polaroid of her somewhere.

Kila up in The Bowery NYC

“Boom, for real.”
Basquiat – The Movie.

I’ll be home in Perth on Saturday the 8th of March @ 1035pm on Cathay Pacific flight 171 from Hong Kong.

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•••••
…..
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2 weeks after breaking up with Flo I asked to see her again. She met me at Plymouth Station wearing a blue mechanics jump suit. I hugged her with tears in my eyes and her smile cut through any insecurities I had just like our first night together.

We sat on the grass up high in the Plymouth bay overlooking many wonders, the sky was brilliant blue and people were flying kites.

We didn’t kiss, hug or speak of broken hearts, we were just together quietly, grinning and looking.

I was invited to stay at her mothers house which I did for 3 nights.

We had a bath there and I touched her again under candle light.

Our age difference was brought up at the kitchen table and my motives questioned, it was confronting but expected and even harder considering our relationship is unresolved.

I became constipated during our stay probably due to my diet in Bristol consisting only of croissants. After a bloody and laborious 30 minutes with children knocking on the door and looking through the keyhole, I passed something enormous into her mothers lavatory which was too big to flush. I asked Flo to come and look at it and she had never seen anything like it. She procured a piece of bamboo from the garden which I used to remodel the structure of the refuse to parameters within the utilities flushing capacity.

I recieved a blessing from Flo’s mum and enjoyed my stay immensely.

We went on to Bristol to visit Flo’s sister who I’d heard alot about and had seen many photos of. I wasn’t sure how she’d take to me given the way I look, the age difference and wether she was aware that I’d broken up with Flo recently.

Her sister was beautiful and amazing from the introduction.

I’ve heard of some people saying “fuck Chris,” etc, and I understand exactly what it’s like being in the comfort of a drivers seat tutting and beeping my horn at a braking car like I’ve never been lost in an unfamiliar city.

I’m sorry she is hurt, I’m hurt. I don’t believe I made a mistake, I believe life had a lesson to teach.

The last 7 days have been tender and loving, perfect u could say. As we neared London lastnight on the train I could feel our vibrations changing. I didn’t have any accomodation and could see for both of us the prospect of me returning back to her uni room was causing discomfort.

She told me she didn’t know what she wanted and began to withdraw. Naturally.

So I stayed with Will nearby.

Now I’m in Brighton.

I don’t know what the future holds and I don’t even want to think about it. To concern myself with it is the source of much misery. The truth is in this present moment and it’s here I find it hard to believe the connection between us will be overcome by thought, pain or distance. Like she said to me before, “It doesn’t matter where you are.”
(We’ll always be together?)

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