7. Maybe God is Australian

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The sun is shining, pleasing the world in my pocket. No energy left to return the smiles, energy and time to the moment but the haven on the screen is a pleasant experience.

How is it bad? Will life go by? Is it all life? Is it all good?

Heroin is probably better, but what's an addiction when we are all addicted. When happiness seems to sit there either way. Is it loneliness you're trying to avoid or yourself?

Do you need to give what you give to the screen to yourself, the moment, to pursue this dream properly?

Without saying what is already being said.

Or is it all pointless, only seeming a discipline because you don’t want to,

why don’t you want to?

Because its better on the phone, or worse without it?

Or who cares?

Can you sit still?

Can you speak to strangers?

Does your pocket lube the friction in your soul that wants to try new things?

How much more do you want?

From me,

from you,

how much can I take before letting go of everything?

What if I just want to sit and watch the cricket.

Doing something is not good,

doing nothing so good,

when nothing is something

and its all nothing.

What if I'm not running from myself,

but just leaving him be?

I've walked to all the museums. Listening to peaceful piano as I do. Kochi is the art capital of India, so they tell me. Like most museums they are filled with 75% garbage. But the remaining 25% is always worth it. The paintings, the personal spill of the sub-conscious consciously crafted onto the canvas. The rest, which is usually mustered up artefacts that I may not be smart enough to really care about, or the worst, which is usually Art students fulfilling a grant; The provocative art. In the middle of the large museum in Kochi Fort there is a green canvas tent. Signs attached to it read “YOU ARE ON STOLEN LAND’ ‘IF YOU CANT LET ME LIVE ABORIGINAL THEN WHY PREACH DEMOCRACY’

and call me white British refugee scum but I couldn’t help but think what the fuck is that going to do to help? and I do care about the indigenous, because I care about humans. But a tent in the south of India yelling at history. Commissioned by who? Australia or India? Dont they have enough to worry about? Same as the retards at home who band together with their mates and March 50,000 strong on Australia Day to change the date. Whilst in northern territory children are being raped by their fathers because the government lifted the alcohol band. I know it is nuanced. I know the atrocities of the past. I know I don’t know enough, but if everyone stopped pretending to help with shit art and Instagram stories maybe we could all work out a way to help. And to think you can help is a confession that you are better. After this, I would like to go into the roots of Australia and speak to the indigenous to get a better understanding, if anyone reading this, who disagrees with what I'm saying, my sigh at an exhibition in an Indian museum then please enlighten me on what I'm missing, I'm happy to learn. I'm happy for a free trip to another continent to put up a tent. You could argue that this thought pattern, my own dive into what I'm saying and how I could potentially miss the mark completely, is the whole idea of the provocation. Yet ill be honest and say it just seems like virtue signalling bullshit, like the rest. Like the Afl, like the Instagram stories, like the acknowledgment before a wedding or a birthday party. Its all not doing anything but furthering a divide. Carl Jung, one of the greatest minds and forefather of modern psychology spent every spare hour studying the indigenous. His fascination was because they themselves spent every spare hour on spirituality and were the only people to not use drugs to get there. But we don’t hear about that stuff, which the hippies and Zen lovers would eat up. We just see and hear rage, we just hear how we are hated and they don’t want Australia to have anything to do with them. We are refugees. And maybe that’s fair, maybe time still stands between forgiveness. The repercussions of the actions done by the white man, taking out their elders and the ones that lead the way. But I must stop there because I don’t know, and I want to know.

So what is art?

I sit and I walk, I see the expression of a mans solitude or a woman’s love. One artist that stood out for me was Rc Prakash. Oil and charcoal in the forms of humans and dogs. Colours that feel warm. As the piano plays in my ears it makes me want to cry. Because it makes me feel that every step I took to land on this one was worth it, because I got to see this art. Art is nothing but helping people feel a little less lonely in the world. Time, talent and patience.

It is easier to find something to worship here than find something to drink. At home I was becoming a bit of a god botherer, and I still nag at his white cloak from time to time. I knew this trip would take me closer to god or closer to beer. If there is a difference. One thing that has humbled my significance. On every corner there is a mosque, a synagogue, a church, or a temple. Each with their own hierarchy of man or woman to listen to. Each individual with their own relationship to their set of beliefs. To see them so enthralled by their own, as they walk amongst millions of others in a country of billions. It makes it all hard to believe. Some people are extremely inclined to worship something. Even at home, we just choose celebrities and retards on reality tv. Or football players, or cricketers. And there is something there, trust me, why do you think I'm pursuing a life on the scribble. I'm petrified at the thought ill soon just be gone. And I have my own beliefs, my own feelings, my own ego attached to what I think my soul knows. As a competitive arrogant gorgeous man, I have to do my best to keep my ego out of the spiritual path. Which, seeing all these people devoting their lives to it, it makes me feel low on the string of gods favourites. Which, in turn makes me not want to play because I cannot win. Which, in a further revolution takes the ego out and can help me throw away the bullshit. The spiritual path is like age, or wisdom, it is going to evolve no matter what. And like them, you can tap into it or leave them be, often leaving them be, helps them evolve the nicest, most naturally.

As I walk the streets, riddled with rubbish and men sleeping on the concrete. The stray dogs and goats, The hawks and ravens eating the scraps from the black creeks. I cant help to think that all the resources going into these places of worship could have been used better. That religion has separated from its roots and is now used by man; conmen and conwomen to aid their own comfort. It is sad, because I'm scared of the void, the centre of the vibrational OM, but if my observation and intellect piece something together then all I can do is take it on board. Move on and keep challenging it. I still meditate every day, I still believe in GOD. I just don’t think its something our human minds can speak into manifest, and when you hear people try, you can smile knowing why. Because we are humans, a passage for the divine, yet the torch gets grease on it through desires and our own beautiful nature. Which in itself is here for a reason.

So, I sit with my legs crossed in a Hindu temple and I meditate, and I cant help but feel a bit silly but giving it a go anyway. I don’t feel closer or further away from anything. I sit in the dark pub playing house music, on my phone getting laugh reacts in group chats. Drinking kingfishers and eating prawns. I walk home drunk, poetically sexting beautiful women from home. Listening to Watermelon on easter hay by frank Zappa, knowing my emotions are passing cars and I think God is everywhere, and he doesn’t much care for worshipping, maybe he is Australian.

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