tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1927034073216892380Mon, 07 Oct 2024 06:08:33 +0000theaobservationspleasurewritingboysfabulous friendsf**k allhorsessuggestions pleaseworkoh-no-not-a-rantstorytellingstyleyhistoryintuitionquotescorrespondencenelson nztheatreconnectionmotherhoodsoulinsomniawillowbooksfilmPotions - Lotions - Notions (...and quite a bit of stirring)http://witchescackle.blogspot.com/noreply@blogger.com (Letterarti)Blogger177125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1927034073216892380.post-2131669032586164150Wed, 03 Feb 2016 13:35:00 +00002016-02-04T02:49:02.537+13:00pleasurethea I COULD TELL you what NASA research says about them, but I reckon you can read that for yourself should you have a mind to. Plus, this Shel Silverstein poem on the topic is far more entertaining: He's pretty famous and all that apparently, but I'd never heard of Shel Silverstein until today. Maybe he was embargoed here in New Zealand or something. But I'm glad I've discovered him http://witchescackle.blogspot.com/2016/02/jumping-for-joy.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Letterarti)0Nelson Nelson-41.267339 173.27378tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1927034073216892380.post-4373484521860327052Thu, 03 Sep 2015 12:27:00 +00002016-02-04T02:49:19.045+13:00connectiontheawritingMY DEAR FRIENDS, I am here and I want to write. Of fairy stories and thrill seeking, masterbation and mystery. To relate, enthrall, excite and possibly - probably - bewilder. I want you. To let me whisk you on a jaunt from which you will never be entirely the same as you were before meeting me because a tiny crack in your skin has been rather rudely and unexpectedly tussled open and lit on fire. http://witchescackle.blogspot.com/2015/09/good-evening-and-welcome.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Letterarti)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1927034073216892380.post-5524788291614517135Sun, 24 May 2015 01:36:00 +00002015-05-24T13:36:04.532+12:00historyintuitionobservationsstorytellingtheawriting GET OUT OF bed hollow eyes, turn your corners up not down. Please don’t be sad, the day is nice. We could go out to the park, around the lake or into town …no …you just don’t feel up to it today? Uh-oh. I see the mania in your eyes. You’re excited, gushing, telling those weird pointless little lies. There’s chocolate topping to put on our dessert, you say, following a dinner dished in empty http://witchescackle.blogspot.com/2015/05/foresight.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Letterarti)2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1927034073216892380.post-4749844605150347030Sat, 23 May 2015 01:38:00 +00002015-05-24T12:06:33.765+12:00boyshistoryintuitionobservationssoulstorytellingtheawriting SOAPED UP HORSE sweat running races around the puffing blue roan gelding, sides exhausting, head hanging low. Sticky leather traces with rugged brass buckles, prior sheen now dull. A field ploughed manually, aggressively, on another parched typical Hawke’s Bay day. Age-veined vinyl upholstery in the nearby car is much like the driver of both vehicle and hoe: red, hard, crackled, weathered. The http://witchescackle.blogspot.com/2015/05/down-on-farm.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Letterarti)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1927034073216892380.post-7515453910374448064Fri, 22 May 2015 23:45:00 +00002015-05-23T12:18:58.501+12:00connectioncorrespondencefabulous friendsintuitionmotherhoodobservationstheawriting DEAR CRUNDLESTEIN, THIS TIME IT is I passing time in an airport, Christchurch, awaiting my flight home on a Friday night. It is, in a word and without sinking to profanity, COLD. I’ve been here for the day, supposedly toiling. Translated: on a paid holiday from the kid! You know, of course, I love him most dearly but nevertheless my ‘adult’ days are glorious treats. Things are not great here. http://witchescackle.blogspot.com/2015/05/navigatory-devices.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Letterarti)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1927034073216892380.post-8897565709245396467Wed, 20 May 2015 22:06:00 +00002015-05-21T10:20:05.128+12:00bookscorrespondencefabulous friendssoultheawriting DEAR CRUNDLESTEIN, “THE DARK” IS a book by Lemony Snicket which I think is rather good. I borrowed it from the library and have been forcing it down Claude’s listening devices ever since (yesterday). Oh sure, he isn’t yet fond of it in quite the way that he’s partial to Eric Carle’s ravenous caterpillar or the Reverend’s anthropomorphised locomotives of steam …no, not at all. But a wide love ofhttp://witchescackle.blogspot.com/2015/05/the-dark.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Letterarti)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1927034073216892380.post-5604873559030244768Tue, 19 May 2015 22:27:00 +00002015-05-20T10:27:06.369+12:00connectioncorrespondenceintuitionsoultheawriting I was an accident, but a nice one. You've always told me that. Brother Jeff says I’m your favourite; the apple of your eye. But the truth is I’m not much of a daughter to you, am I Mum? --YOU ARE EVERYTHING I WAS NEVER ABLE TO BE. Why didn't you baptise me like my other siblings. Daddy said no, I know, but why? Why stop short for number five? Why didn't you push the issue? Doesn't the bible http://witchescackle.blogspot.com/2015/05/discomfort.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Letterarti)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1927034073216892380.post-3978512731272409905Sat, 16 May 2015 09:05:00 +00002015-05-16T21:10:13.209+12:00correspondencef**k allfabulous friendsnelson nzpleasuretheawriting DEAR CRUNDLESTEIN, PAST THE CABBAGE tree bordering my neighbour’s back garden, further on still from the chimney pot proboscis of the next bod along, long wispy clouds flick up and about in all directions with the rampant fervency of an older man’s eyebrows against the silvery water backdrop of the boulder bank and distant Glenduan. Reorganising my backyard the other week, I have http://witchescackle.blogspot.com/2015/05/further-despatches.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Letterarti)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1927034073216892380.post-5016283240817024465Thu, 14 May 2015 03:08:00 +00002015-05-14T15:11:42.523+12:00correspondencefabulous friendsinsomniamotherhoodnelson nztheawriting DEAR CRUNDLESTEIN, SOMEONE HAS LEFT the door to the north ajar a crack this morning, just a shard of sunlight creeps into the bowl that is Nelson CBD; enough to warm my left cheek and soul and not much more. Eleven-nineteen ante meridiem. The tide is out. The ramparting hills we both know so well wear a cloak of indifference today. Not unpleasant, in fact, it rather matches autumn’s moulting http://witchescackle.blogspot.com/2015/05/a-letter-to-turkey-via-greece_14.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Letterarti)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1927034073216892380.post-557440721238023673Thu, 12 Mar 2015 17:48:00 +00002015-03-13T06:48:59.213+13:00intuitionobservationsthea IT IS CONSIDERED rude of course to deliver lines to others such as "You're boring", "You're so f***en shallow", "How insecure are you?" and other shit like that. Because, I mean, who the hell am I? Everyone, in my humble opinion, is most welcome to regale themselves with endless stories of past conquests, drunken escapades and other monologues from their glory days; times now past, http://witchescackle.blogspot.com/2015/03/radio-static.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Letterarti)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1927034073216892380.post-8161297641538849948Fri, 28 Nov 2014 20:36:00 +00002015-03-13T05:20:54.454+13:00connectionfabulous friendsthea OUR BIGGEST PORES are on the bottoms of our feet. Designed, when barefoot, to connect us with and to take up the energy of the earth. Balance, alignment, soul. Jacko makes his way back to his wife and granddaughter this weekend, so his children tell me. His final journey of this life. He too will become part of the crust beneath our feet. It's not about me, I know. Yet all of a sudden I crave http://witchescackle.blogspot.com/2014/11/connection.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Letterarti)0Nelson, New Zealand-41.2706319 173.28396529999998-41.461540899999996 172.96124179999998 -41.0797229 173.60668879999997tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1927034073216892380.post-2647879995481245567Sat, 04 Oct 2014 03:18:00 +00002014-10-04T21:04:03.105+13:00f**k allhistoryobservationstheawriting I’VE BEEN WRITING and not writing here for some eight years. That could well be a record for anything I’ve done or not done. Except breathing, and being some girl that likes horses, neat handwriting and imagining things. This began as company, when I moved my life to a new place, knowing next to no one and nada. Smoking endless reefers atop my keyboard to relieve the boredom, dreaming up http://witchescackle.blogspot.com/2014/10/along-merry-way.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Letterarti)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1927034073216892380.post-3297697074396038670Tue, 01 Apr 2014 20:13:00 +00002014-04-02T09:42:08.132+13:00intuitionmotherhoodobservationsthea THAT GIRL IN THE right-hand column there, I vaguely remember her. Upon peering at my own reflective murk these days I actually catch myself gasping momentarily, wondering whether it's the mirror that needs a bloody good clean or my eyes some form of greater assisted sight. It is neither. It's a strange thing giving yourself over to somebody else to survive from, to take from you whatever http://witchescackle.blogspot.com/2014/04/so-much-more-than-comeback.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Letterarti)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1927034073216892380.post-3863642640347156700Thu, 11 Apr 2013 03:52:00 +00002013-06-23T21:49:28.684+12:00theawriting I HAVE BEEN NEGLECTFUL some might say, but I would disagree. Being one not for feeling obligation any further than doing the things that I actually want to do – oh, and some other minor stuff that the law impresses upon me that I must do, given that I am at heart a good girl, mostly. With that lack of guilt or apology for my general communicative apatheia out of the way, now do let us continuehttp://witchescackle.blogspot.com/2013/04/absconderings.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Letterarti)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1927034073216892380.post-1316221951737477466Wed, 30 Jan 2013 21:57:00 +00002013-04-11T11:56:18.863+12:00f**k allnelson nzobservationspleasuretheawriting SYMMETRICAL DUCKS LEAVE Vs in their river wake, peace signs, fitting for this dusky subtle hour when folk, like me, launch their dogs and/or bodies about the neighbourhood. I am escaping a long day's work not yet complete, the man in my house whose primary hobby appears to be television sentry, the fact I'm so tired I want to ball, and yesterday's dishes. I ask the ducks what they're liberatinghttp://witchescackle.blogspot.com/2013/01/taking-long-way-home.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Letterarti)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1927034073216892380.post-2193316215488316170Wed, 23 Jan 2013 22:45:00 +00002013-01-24T15:38:59.631+13:00f**k allobservationsthea “What was left of her hair formed a vaporous tangle of white that seemed not so much to grow from her head as float in its vicinity.” “So perhaps the greatest worry of all was that one day you would realize that all the worries of your life amounted to one thing: the desire to just stop worrying.” LIFE HAS STEPPED BACK a chop or two, no longer lived at a thousand clicks an hour. I don’t mindhttp://witchescackle.blogspot.com/2013/01/rolling-with-it.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Letterarti)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1927034073216892380.post-8602010609001702173Thu, 15 Nov 2012 19:46:00 +00002013-01-24T15:36:03.197+13:00f**k allfabulous friendsobservationspleasurethea SHE IS A MOUSE in his trouser pocket, snuffling around. Hearing echoes of footsteps trouncing up the gangplank, overheard conversations muffled by cotton lining and big city grime. The 5pm East by West ferry is departing on time. -- "I love the way you see the world," he laughs at her once back on the telephone line. "A mouse indeed!" The same merry amusement as upon discovering she likes to http://witchescackle.blogspot.com/2012/11/imaginary-friends-bit-at-sea.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Letterarti)2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1927034073216892380.post-5699693510157146009Thu, 31 May 2012 12:00:00 +00002012-06-01T14:40:57.269+12:00f**k all WE MEET. NOT FOR the first time. I watch you considering me, wondering still, after all these years, where you begin and I might end. The lines on my face may tell a story, but the look on yours says more. Wherever you go, you are there. So am I. I am the first to avert from our reflective gaze. Because I am of age, as my face honestly purports, and wise enough now to know how we feel without http://witchescackle.blogspot.com/2012/06/semblance.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Letterarti)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1927034073216892380.post-6445413649122850555Thu, 16 Feb 2012 07:58:00 +00002012-04-05T11:06:14.835+12:00observationsstorytellingtheaI wake from another poor excuse wrestling with the padded white, and by now entirely sodden, restraints of once starched hospital-grade sheets. Hello, yes, that acrid invasion is indeed wafting from me. A staunch and sweaty stench to sucker-punch Chuck Norris and then some. How the hell anyone can slumber fitfully in this place saturated in craziness is beyond me. Yes, it’s clean as a shiny new http://witchescackle.blogspot.com/2012/02/cuckoo.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Letterarti)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1927034073216892380.post-7030478968891861164Tue, 24 Jan 2012 20:20:00 +00002012-02-12T13:51:31.782+13:00boysobservationspleasurestorytellingtheawritingRomeo has been entering by way of the window at all hours, and dare I confess to having been so encouraging of it. One should never deem to entertain thoughts of opening arms to such a creature, don't I beseech it. The obvious Lothario that he is, indeed, a professional an artiste of seduction as you could ever meet. To share or compete for an object of the male species is pure madness, it http://witchescackle.blogspot.com/2012/01/gigolo.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Letterarti)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1927034073216892380.post-7286348999140120026Wed, 04 Jan 2012 12:56:00 +00002012-01-05T02:20:37.725+13:00historypleasuretheaTomorrow painters arrive dabbing brushes, rolling awakening around my home. Builders will renovate, reconbobulate, titivate... leaving plumbers to tap into the goings on. While the garden fairies (or are they gnomes?) weed and plant evermore evergreen and flowery flourishes. Then they will come. Discussing the merits of location, and romancing themselves with thoughts of days of old, http://witchescackle.blogspot.com/2012/01/old-sweethearts.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Letterarti)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1927034073216892380.post-7318863501524131801Tue, 06 Dec 2011 10:10:00 +00002011-12-07T09:17:37.624+13:00f**k allobservationspleasurethea It rains and still it rains and then it pelts some more. Officially it’s summer, it has been for six whole days. Seemingly, no one told the weathervane, silly cock. While the atmosphere continues to spatter darkly outside my window, I don’t feel too much like grizzling of the drizzling dampening this town’s sunny reputation. Even for a girl who loves feeling the warm kiss of relaxed summer http://witchescackle.blogspot.com/2011/12/right-as-rain.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Letterarti)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1927034073216892380.post-4964697065640450348Thu, 24 Nov 2011 10:38:00 +00002011-11-24T23:44:53.715+13:00f**k allobservationspleasurethea There’s an effortless lightness. Legs swing gaily in the sunshine atop a sleeping log, scanning across tall grasses and seed heads bowing allegiance to the spring-time breeze god. Slipping nakedly into the river, into the slipstream, life becomes silk. Floating, smooth, natural, free. Flowing across skin beautifully. Alongside discarded garments strewn on the riverbank, a monkey scratches at itshttp://witchescackle.blogspot.com/2011/11/silk-worm-and-monkey.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Letterarti)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1927034073216892380.post-1198221305368806150Thu, 10 Nov 2011 23:27:00 +00002011-11-11T16:21:48.249+13:00f**k allnelson nzpleasurethea I spent mine amongst the daisies. http://witchescackle.blogspot.com/2011/11/111111-at-1111.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Letterarti)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1927034073216892380.post-355843853313390461Fri, 28 Oct 2011 07:42:00 +00002011-10-28T20:44:30.204+13:00fabulous friendsquotesthea To laugh is to risk appearing a fool To weep is to risk being called sentimental To reach out to another is to risk involvement To expose feelings is to risk showing your true self To place your ideas & dreams before the crowd is to risk being called naive To love is to risk not being loved in return To live is to risk dying To hope is to risk despair To try is to risk failure But the http://witchescackle.blogspot.com/2011/10/risky-business.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (Letterarti)0