Mindblown: a blog about philosophy.

I’ll admit I’m a hypocrite Tho why I must admit That To other hypocrites Is made into sin I regret judging Megan Fox Who was simply A woman doing her own thing That I judged her Makes me a hypocrite Given that I’m now labelled freak I relate To a woman I was quick to…

Fuck! What’s happened to me? Love! Humankind, so full of hate Butterflies, time, A jewel not a line Perhaps nothing disappears Over time It just depends which angle You look at the jewel Then the future Is seen too And not fixed But a hue of light That seeks thru Which side The past journeys…

I have always been angelic and beautiful, happy and sovereign My form a delight and my soul visiting from snow-falling heaven Hence – the reaction: Fir Bolg, mass of envious eyes pinned in fat, misshapen Tapeworm, laughing mouths, steal happiness for corruption Between I and they, begs the question: Why do they care who I’m…

Once again, my starting point is – me…I’m not going to TELL other women their experiences. Perhaps same, different, but all paths eventually converge. It’s usually not her fault, but humanity, and humanity as a patriarchy. Off to a good start, then. To speak of mirrors, then. It is not a cis male mirror, reflecting…

If you could make A life All messed up And recombine With her silent eyes Speaking about femininity – A softness passed through webs of time It made its way To the heart of the Green Ocean Tide which knits all, Stars, moon, earth, Together I fell in love! My fantasy moon Fantasy tide Day…

Snagged on a barb in time I espeyed a mask Out the corner of my eye From bark to bark A sparrow, a magpie, a sooty owl, Splendour of feather Paved street A hearth tucked in a wing: Fleeting eternity Cal Kalve

“I’m too happy” Plath God the creator The ineffable Sylvia’s maker Words uncomprehended Even by suicide He levelled her, Smooth where he looks And finds himself In her mirror Multiplied Mirrored Millennia For who could not be a human, except man? Answer: The flourescent leeches With dickhead flags Ripping up roots Planting self righteousness On…

(Inspired by Lorca, Poet in New York) Like the arms of the bi-clock, Tao Two cities bifurcated Southern, Northern, One sunny One winter One with sister One with brother, Melbourne,  Edinburgh The octopus has arms that reach out from the centre Into suburban dreams and homes Where toss the monsters all-a-nightmare, tucked in Waiting for…

The man on the train So full of pity Regards my misery And I, I disappear Into space I reappear same place, Like a pulse And the light In its glory, Fills me Dead or alive I’m not fussed It’s all the same, I get up again Rise and fall I know it all, And…

After what seems to me a lifetime and a crummy one at that – I walk into heaven, gliding along its smooth paths, and it’s lawns. I approach a building. No one is around but me. The building is in the centre of some grounds. It is white marble, with Greek columns and goddess statues…