Sunday, February 17, 2013

Watching my "self" - particularly re my sexuality and its expressions, and the contexts in which it comes to the foreground or recedes

This entry is an attempt to honestly watch and record my own mechanisms at work - without censoring

To expose my own contradictions, so as to see the ego patterns of the false self.

Entry 23rd January 2018

After his wife's funeral he came home, and in the small hours of the morning, when he could not sleep, he put on a pair of her panties, and masturbated into them, imagining he was having anal sex with her, to try and find some sort of comfort and relief. He wore them the next day too, as he tenderly tended to old and infirm people.

death and lust are so often jumbled up together

how it comes in waves, now that the notion of an immediate death or disability has receeded somewhat, sexuality surfaces agin, now and then; and without a doubt sexuality is polymorphous...anything can be its object, any orifice can be eroticised, any act or age or gender or even animal (although not in my case, thank G-d) can be eroticised and have projected onto it a sexual charge

Zvi even in infirmity modelled for me how to be with dignity...when his stomach released wind he would pat it and say sheket with humour and open acknowledgement. He had lost the use of his legs but gave driving lessons to other old people on the electric carts they used to get around. Ever helpful. Not too much and not too little. What a remarkable human being.

Waiting for feedback from mri scans I was debating might it be Parkinsons or MS, and wondering which would be better....sorta like that Woody Allan quote I have long enjoyed “now more than ever we stand at a crossroads. One road leads to complete disaster and the other to unthinkable horror (I paraphrase). Give us the insight to choose wisely.




inside I still feel like a young man
wanting to bed as many lovelies as he can
for the sweetness of skin
of down on the arm
and the soft apertures down there
but outside I'm ageing
I'm supposed to be settled and content with my lot
not staring at the strikingly tall blond schoolgirl
exploding out of her blouse

sweet regret


my self doubt has spread
from my head to my legs
so that I now experience difficulty
walking up narrow stairs
or running on a treadmill

May 2013

I see fraud all around me, daily acts of fraud and misrepresentation by everyone at work, so normalized that people are blind to the encrustations which obscure their light
A part of me wants to be a part of whatever is in front of me, whomever I find myself with...this part would be saying "Heil Hitler" even as they clubbed me into the cattle wagon.... so when I am with the beer drinking Manchester United supporter sort I pretend mild interest instead of abhorrence, when I am with fisherman and hunters I pretend it is normative instead of expressing abhorrence, when I am with fundamentalists I try and use pet phrases that identify me as being of, or at least familiar with, their camp (tanks G-d, G-d willing etc) ...all in the name of safety ...all in the name of keeping "my self" safe. If the gap is too wide between them and I then my standard retreat is into silence - an overt differentiation is too much.

The tall poppies syndrome within my family, perhaps more from dad than from mom. she encouraged me with guitar etc, dad more tended to see everyone as extensions of himself...zichro livracha.

My need to be safe means that I chose a (fake/pretend) togetherness over an authentic demarcation of difference. Of course there can be no real togetherness in these circumstances. I do this with everyone except my own nuclear family....with my sometimes domineering sister I talk about the things she flags as acceptable to talk about, in fact with anyone who I experience as more powerful or more impervious than I I will seek to cast myself in a mold that will be congenial to them...  but inside I believe what I believe, and value what I value. So its not that my core is so liquid, its more concern that that core is not acceptable, and the absolute conviction of my functional dependence upon the good will of others in order to survive....
my hunger is for any woman, to encounter woman stripped not just of cloths, but of any particularity other than her femaleness - her as representative of the female species and, of course, myself as representative of the male one...we encounter each as archetypes, without names or histories or futures, and we play in any and every way that is pleasurable in our meeting

Feb 2013

I seem to enjoy parenting - being a father - particularly to my male patients
This, like all times, is a time of transition, but this is a particularly big one - i am between homes, between careers, thank G-d for the bedrock of family...

November 2012

My life as a chameleon

"I don't want to unzip myself here..."
"I'll zip myself back up" - interesteing metaphors that emerged from me in Mike Reed's presence - see my notes on the Gestalt elective

October 2012

A great deal of my waking time and energy is spent trying to generate acknowledgement for myself. What is this "acknowledgement" that I crave? What is this hunger I sometimes desperately seek to feed. Can I give it to myself more, and expect it less for others? Can my own 'strokes" be as nurturing as the "strokes" of others. certainly, transposing the metaphor to the realm of the physical I have not thought so - i have told myself masturbation can never be as satisfying as a sexual interaction with a live woman. But of course, ala Byron Katie, can I know that this thoughjt is actually triue in all circumstances? I think not.

But is their an art of self-acknowlegement and if so how can I become better at it?  

what energy/attitude in the other is being sought by words like "repeated"/ acknowledged/ affirmed/ do you hold me when you respect me...or is it really more, fundamentally, about how I hold mysel???

August 2012

Walking home from Bondi Maccabi (I'd been to try out a gym there) I walked down a narrow alley between some flats and there were two rose bay teenage girls bunking school, sitting on the steps and smoking, and one oft hem was quite pretty and an overwhelming desire rose in me to proposition her and her friend to - preferably the pretty one - give me a blow job or hand job , perhaps in exchange for a generous wad of cash - (which I didn't have on me anyway and could ill afford) - I knowing only transactional relationships, so convinced of my ugliness, unattractiveness, invisibility, seeming unsuitedness to be an object of desire  - and the thought so excited me it almost felled me, the sudden intimate contact and her young smooth skin and lips and the power and all the headiness of it, but of course I said nothing, too terrified of any potential consequences, and went on my way 'til they were left behind. How to stop sexual seepage? What channels does society offer to middle aged men seeking to resolve unmet sexual "needs"?

Beginning June

Couldn't sleep so watched porn for two hours or so, a beautiful young woman made up to look as if she was a teenager, with thin arms and large breasts, having sex with a man in his late fifties. Masturbated myself into old way of (mis) managing my energy and cumulated uncleared affect (sperm?). At least "it" leaves me alone for a long while afterward - hopefully I won't look at porn again for a good while, or feel the feelings of entrapment that generally precede it

May 2012 - Sivan 5772

I dreamed I was on some kind of school outing, in a teacher or parent role - perhaps it was a concert, or a school outing of some sort, and it was at night and a 17 year old girl who I had been chatting to (not a neutral chatting, I had felt attracted to her) fell asleep next to me, half naked, her small breasts exposed and in the dream I think i was so afraid the overwhelming desire to touch her and stroke her and hug her and love and cherish her would get me into trouble, I moved myself off to the side and discreetly masturbated…and when i woke up at 6:20 my pyjama pants were wet - the first wet dream I can recall having in months, if not years. This in the context of my dad's death and probably not having had many sexual interactions in the last six weeks - perhaps I masturbated once.

Then got up at 6:20 and went off to the Emanuel morning minyan (to say kaddish for about the fourth or fifth time since my dad died , and as it turned out, to read El Malei rachamim for the last time before the end of shloshim - the 30 day mourning period  after the minyan, shmoozed with some of the 50plus professional men (and two women) who attend - my dad would have liked that and identified - he liked to shmooze around tea and cake, in a shul setting. So this one's for you Ronald, Shmuel ben Reuvayn, dad, Aba, who I knew and who I did not, who I fathered and was fathered by.

Entries April 2012

What is coming into  focus at 48 is underlying issues of self - trust, and dependency - related. I fear my dependency and act out autonomy as reaction formation, because so much of me longs to have the burden of self removed by a strong other who protcts and support me. Self trust, the fear that in 'a crunch", "the crunch" - I will fail terribly, go mad, damage myself and others,that I cannot lean on and rely on myself.....

the whole universe is supporting me at every step...

Is the desire to inluence, which chatracterises so much facebook usage, and so many Facebook users (including myself) , actually a desire for power?

As I grow older the reproductive nature of sex looms larger and larger whenever I am attracted to a woman - which happens with at least 50% of the woman I pass in the street - but it becomes less and less likely I might even attempt to act on any of these passing "infatuations" and certainly not attempt to have intercourse with any of the objects of my desire, because of the fear of the potential to create new life with every act of vaginal sex, and the fact that as a Type 4 - perhaps - I see the creation of a new life as the creation of a new receptacle for suffering....

it is not just the awesome reproductive power of woman that is scary - the blood and milk and things that cannot be airbrushed away or contained - but my own reproductive power in combination with theirs, the seed, spilled in the "wrong" place that has the power to initiate a new sequence of events over which I have no control and the death of the name and form it evokes the only thing guaranteed.

so I am afraid of their power and of mine - this is a theme that needs to be teased out as I work towards owning my power as a more authentic way of being

Since my time In the army I perhaps knew, in an unarticulated way, that I don't trust the army it was that I didn't trust myself not to go crazy in an extreme situation and damage myself, others, friends and enemies, out of fear which made me melt down (all imagined) so I did my very best to avoid such situations...."rightly" regarding myself as "unreliable" (and perhaps I was unreliable there because perhaps I had never given my word to all experiences in the army, only to those I wanted (not wanting to accumulate karmic baggage???) I avoided going out on ambushes etc. - which I was passed over for anyway, I think my unreliability communicated itself, and I did get feedback about it at times...)

But now, at 48, when I still accuse myself of being untrustworthy - how the mind likes to torture with nonsense and will o the wisps - I am better placed to prise the statement apart. For what is the task I can't be trusted with? Looking after my children if we are surrounded by Islamic Jihadists or Hells Angels bikies? (Who possibly could....?) What is the payoff for propositioning such unlikely scenarios and finding myself - in absentia - wanting? What else can I not be trusted on? And perhaps more importantly, what CAN I be trusted on. To do my work, to do my best, to be regular, stable, to keep alight a spark of joy...

My story is mine
But I am not my story
Why do I dis-regard
and dis-card
and dis-count
I will not do that even if I am afraid
to admit I am present
is to admit I have power

I frighten myself (with all kinds of unlikely scenarios) all based on the power of imagination and the split between what is and what could be, whenever what could be just is then there it and you are (if there are indeed two)

What is my payoff for bombarding myself with unlikely scenarios that have never yet happened to evoke anxiety 'til I am shellshocked...?

My relationships with woman are inextricably shaped by my relationships with fear of other men makes me crave the softeness of women, and assume that unless a women is isolated and vulnerable, she will be in the orbit of some vengeful male, a brother, father, lover, husband etc that I will be antagonising with my desire to "possess" her...i fully and subliminally buy into the patriarchal assumptions, as a non-alpha male

Entry July 2011
Why is it that I seem to be able to do more when I am doing for others (at least in my head) rather than when I am "just" doing for myself? Are we hard wired for causes?
My provided thats: I am willing to take risks provided that I have a good reason to take them. (The question then is "what constitutes a good reason?"
Entry March 2011

I've often had this fear well up that I am this liar, living this lie,
and by luck or chance have escaped detection until now, but my death
and the manner of my death will expose the length and breath
of my inadequacy for the task but upon enquiry as to what will be exposed
and to whom...
what task?
who decides? 


I find it much safer to live in the world of thought than the world of action, yet the world of thought can never give me what the world of action can

Let the healing begin!


When I awake
at 5:45 am
immediately "my" thoughts
begin to torture me:
why didn't you
why did you
replaying "failures" and moments of "humiliation"
but then I remember
that thought is just something that happens to me
and not to get involved


From mid 2010?

Much of what I have done - - and not done - has been driven by my own unexamined belief / conviction - that I am inadequate. (In other words that I am not big enough for the task at hand, which begs the question: what have I made up is the task at hand? But that is another story.) Even at 46 my responses in certain situations are conditioned by this belief, and I do not respond freely, as a free man, but merely as an automaton running down the invisible rails of this belief.

Let me give you a concrete example. I recently had some heart palpitations, and went for a stress test, where you run on a treadmill while hooked up to an ECG machine and they monitor your heart for any abnormalities. While I was being tested it emerged from our chit chat that the doctor and sonographer who supervised the process were clearly not Jewish, and that I was Jewish. Although I had known them for less than five minutes, and the chances are stacked against myself ever knowingly counter them again, I found myself "needing" to impress them once I began running on the treadmill.

I somehow appointed myself representative of all Jewry, and also decided that they probably saw Jews as weak, slobbish, unfit, lacking in courage etc. I therefore, when they asked if I had had enough and should they slow the treadmill down, nodded no, it was fine to continue, and found myself running faster and faster on this steeply sloping treadmill, until I felt I was about to keel over and faint - which I could not allow to happen at all costs - so I held on tightly to the handrails and repeated the "shema" over and over to myself, to somehow infuse life into my wobbly legs and heaving chest. They counted me down for the final minute and I somehow held on, for the greater glory of G-d and Israel...

"Well done" he or she said, as the infernal machine slowed and I hobbled over to the examination table so he could get his readings. There..... I hadn't disgraced myself or my tribe. Ridiculous, isn;t it, but seemingly inescapable.

My poetry is not dead
its jut sleeping

A travellers' prayer:
O Lord, give me the strength to get out of bed

(One of my R. D Langian knots, or rather washing-machine-of-the-mind, is as follows:

I don’t want you to see that I don’t much like or respect myself because then
you won’t like or respect me
then I will like and respect myself even less and it will confirm
I’m not worthy of like and respect so therefore I must
pretend I like and respect myself in case you see
that I don’t…)


If everyone agrees that I am valuable
does that make me valuable?
And if everyone agrees that I am not valuable
does that make me worthless?
How many people have to agree about me for me to agree with them?
And what if one lone voice holds out that I am valuable...
will that be enough to convince me
how does my mechanism of conviction work??

(Is there a conflict between doing my duty and wanting to write poetry? No)
My duty is to write poetry
I care so much for my own story
and everything I do is just for my own glory


I'd like to have another child
to make the world less inimical
by one


Entry October 2010, Sukot

As I prepare to fly over to South Africa to go and see my dad in Sandringham Gardens, the Jewish Old Aged home, I find myself looking at websites of sex workers in SA, and chooing a "juicy morsel" I can spend time with. Despite the synthetic and often sad and meaningless nature of interactions with sex workers (by and large) the illusion is still strongly seductive, and both the temporary freedom from my role as dad and husband - whoopee, I can be a boy-man,. accountable to no one,


the imagined bleakness of the interactions with my dad - who has Alzheimers and for whom, I imagine, only death face my dad is to face his death and therefore my own - or at least the end of his story and the end of mine - so I cling more to "life" and "life" has always meant idealised women - women as breast, women as milk, women as apertures into which to insert myself, women to get lost in (not women as mothers, not women as company bosses or advocates, not women as sharp tongued emasculaters) perhaps women to assert my power over - not in any cruel or violent way, but to put my penis into anywhere, to be there merely to satisfy my desires - to assert this power in the face of the obvious fact that I have no power to stay death, to ease suffering, even of those close to me, my own and others, all rises and falls by the need for the warm embrace of a bountiful body, to explore and touch and play and arrange and demand and receive - above and below and behind...all of this seem to become a place I can take refuge in for a while from the hardness of reality.

Of course, and I say this partly in response to your  - the readers - my projected super ego's -  imagined judgements, and partly as truth, I'm also looking for healthier sources of nurturance as well. Yoga clases. A reflexology massage. But not just. Of course if I could have sanctified pasionate sex (if its sex I'm even looking for, I doubt very much it is) with a vegetarian or vegan  Dakini, that would probably be first prize, but not if she wasn't compliant, not if I couldn't be lord and master for an hour, not it was accompanied by a whole lot of mumbo jumbo about the transformative nature of the tantra experience - not interested in that, just spread your arse cheeks please.

Postscript: with support from my good friend Rasada, I ended up not acting out, and felt immeasurably better and strengthened for it. I did get to the door of one ageing sex worker in Norwood, and was so saddened and turned off by her thin and ageing presence, it immediately cast aside all thoughts of the possibility of sexual pleasure and/or make believe power (are the two ever separable?) and I was ushered back to the purposes for which I had come to SA - to support my dad.

I'm like a capacitor - thoughts build up in my head and I have to discharge them by writing them down (typing them down to be more exact)

I want to grow vegetables but I also want to write about growing vegetables - must I choose, or can I do both?

I want to do good but fear makes me want to be seen to be doing good - more than the substance itself

I am not one who was born to command
but neither am I one who was born to be commanded

My real agendas are:

a) to keep myself safe
b) keep my family safe as my extended me
d) maintain control or maintain the illusion of control
e) loose control in ecstatic and blissful ways - ie. i don't want the experience of letting go to bring terrible results
f) there is nothing I would die for although I tell myself I should be prepared to die for my children, and under certain circumstances, if it was painless and managed - I would - but I hate sudden shocks. I've long had these moments where I torture myself with visions of one of the boys having - G?d forbid - fallen into black oily filthy water in a harbour, betqwen the quay and a huge ship and its a 15 metre drop and they may get crushed by the rolling ship and I have to jump in and save them and I found wanting...these kinds of fantasies can really haunt me.
(See Nira Kefir, 1981, an Israeli Adlerian therapist, who deliniated four dominant personal priorities: significance (which is mine). control, comfort and pleasing (a secondary one of mine).

I worry a lot about failing the boys, that when they get a bit bigger they'll come to see how "inadequate" I am. I worry I won't go on a roller coaster with them, that I'll be too afraid and so, instead of teaching or modelling how to step through fear, I'll model how to succumb to fear. Dockyards: for many years I tortured myself with fantasy of one of them falling into oily filthy water between a huge ship and the dock and I having to decide what to do and being paralysed...

My whole life I have criticised myself for not taking a stand on a variety of issues, while all the while a strong part of me sucks me towards "no stand", towards not standing anywhere, recognising the arbitrariness, the relativity, of almost all positions. (Long after this was written, perhaps six years on, encountered Mooji videos where he talks about the futility of the changing (agent) trying to change the ever changeful....)
while I want to blur male/female boundaries and human /animal ones, another part of me very much wants to keep them in place.
So while I often identify greatly with animals, at other times I just want to put aside this 'knowledge" and sink back into what "everyone' does - the consuming of meat as a norm, the non-problematizing of animal products and our "right" to exploit the animal kingdom in any way we want - from fishing to horse racing to meat eating to experiments on animals - all things that I feel great sorrow about or that make me deeply uneasy or disturb me deeply.
Often, my mind gets me (who is me if not the mind? me the feeler as opposed to me the thinker?) anxious about potentially failing the boys in some crisis situation. So when we go to a harbour I always have this fantasy of one of the the boys falling down into the greasy black water in the narrow space between the wharf and a huge boat, and in the fantasy I stand paralysed by fear, unable to help and be a hero even to save my own son, afraid to jump in and be mashed myself, and I watch him drown, or be swept out tpo sea, or - when the fantasy happens when we're in a train station or underground...its the tracks he's fallen onto, and I need to jump down and gt him out and again I don't or can't, and the oncoming train hits him....and this terrible fear of inadequacy haunts often I'll keep the boys away from platform edges or wharf edges - not only and not so much because I'm scared of something happening to them, but an even bigger fear that I will be found wanting should something happen to them (which will mean in my symbolic universe...?) I pray that should anything happen I will have the courage (non-thought) to hurl myself into the water below, jump onto the tracks and push D or G aside (sometimes I run through procedures in my head what to do, ok use the side spaces and shove him/me in there) the fear is I've been an onlooker so many times, passive so many times, afraid so many times even with my on son I won't be able to overcome this disconnect, this moon beam palace stuff, this learnt helplessness as my sister kindly described it, and what kind of monster/failure does that make me...and so I flagellate myself with things that, G-d willing, will never happen.

I delayed posting this post on my blog for a long time, because I am afraid wisdom figures, such as my cousin Zvi in Israel, might think badly of me, be dissapointed in me, be disgusted with me, because of my notes about my polymorphous sexuality...they become the ciphers onto which my self-condemnation is projected. So one strategy I have thought of was to wait until they are no longer in their body - deceased - so that they need never know 'the truth' about me - i assume that

a) they did not know these aspects of me
b) they would not be able to 'tolerate' them
c) they would not see beyond these aspects to the totality of my being
d) they would not be able to relate to them
e)they would condem me
f) they would be disgusted/repulsed by me....(let's unpack "disgusted")
g) the would cease to love, cherish, value, like, honour and perhaps even admire me

this attempt to maintain an idelalised (my idea of ideal!) version of myself in the eyes of others has a long history in my life, going back to perhaps early adolescence - 12, 13 years old - when I first began consciously or unconsciously trying to manipulate people into liking and accepting me....and the behaviour continues to this day. ( Six years after writing this am working hard with Byron katie's work to own and end these suffering games and dramas)

I'm a late developer?? so instead of my 30s being a decade of confusion and despair and possibility and wondering what to become, (and it was all of those things, and more) it is my forties that have been all that - the quiet isolated despair of an ageing male who is expected 'by society' to be self sufficient and self contained, in the middle of their careers and a solid citizen, husband, father, provider...instead I'm wrestling with who I'm going to be when I grow up, trying to forge a sustainable career and livelihood, and craving acknowledgement - so putting vast amounts of energy into acknowledgement generating projects (hopefully) with very little available to nurture important relationships and people - such as my wife...

And how can I be so "self-indulgent' and self deluding that at 45 I'm still imagining that my most significant years, when I'l make the "greatest impact" (and the notion begs to be deconstructed. on whom?) still lies ahead, in some imaginary future - my greatest most integrated creativity (G-d willing, let it be so!!!) my greatest contribution, my most tranquil contentment, my greatest stand, my biggest vindication of self and others, my greatest connection and can I anticipate this ahead, and not review it behind me...all that was was just the preface...

while I want to blur male/female boundaries and human /animal ones, another part of me very much wants to keep them in place.

Being something of an eco-puritan, I look with thin lipped and flinty eyed disapproval upon things that most Sydney (in)siders see as innocuous and normative - owning a dog or cat (because of their impact on indigenous animals), a drink at the pub, buying factory farmed meat and palm oil heavy products at Coles and taking them home (often in a fuel hungry vehicle designed to distance self doubt...'yes I have done well and my car proves it' ) packed in a plethora of plastic bags which are used for 10 minutes and then take 10 thousand years to partially degrade.


My reactive mind – I will not dignify it with the word “Self” and it too thinks this criticism of its own reactivity – thinks: Because the gates have not opened up for me, I am “forced” and “condemned” into a second-tier existence as a school teacher or whatever other shape and outline I can assume to pay the bills for myself and my family so that at least the appearance of human dignity and purpose is maintained. 

And my family itself - though I love them all dearly with a love that is true even if the lover is not - was a garment “I” put on to try and give my essential nothingness an outline…the gold band around my finger, the wife, the children, the house, the accumulation of stories and family history….all a weak and puny artifice to give my “self” the sense of having done something and being someone, something that exists beyond the vagaries and flimsiness of my stream of thoughts and memories and anxieties and peak feelings I take to be me. (Rereading this almost 9 or ten years on, in the light of my ex wife separating from me, and listening a lot to Byron Katie talking about how we get angry with people when they mess with our personal mythologies or our "love" is super conditional upon them playing their part in our personal myths, these notes take on a whole new significance.....)


I rail against my father’s passivity, probably because of the fear that I have inherited it



Last night spent the whole night off and on the computer, on an adult website which facilitates this, trying to get a woman to watch me masturbate on camera. Got one (I assume was woman) but then tried futilely for a second time for hours, without success, going to bed at 5:30 am or so hollow , empty and full of fear - what will become of me, (with this addiction)what do I need to renounce, to be clean, virtuous, free, powerful and so on...the mind is infintely creative in its traps and reinforcement of ego. I also had the thought that even in the make believe world of cyber sex I'm over the hill, unattractive, someone with nothing to offer the market, misssed the boat, an old man already that no one is interested in....and then a sadness and the thought "I've missed out on life..." (and this was in 2009,imagine where the mind talk could get to in 2018, rereading this...fortunately I have More To Life type clearings anjd Byron Katie's work to help me meet with, and clear up, untrue thoughts, and turn them around to the opposite)

Part of me wants to bargain with my wife...i find it titillating to commodify her, so "you give me anal sex and I'll give you a skiing holiday/ consider another child / consider moving elsewhere / consider earning a decent living - is it the power of purchasing?

When I am bonking her from behind I feel powerful - that this is how it's meant to be - the notion of being serviced and served I find very titillating....she and her mouth and vagina and breasts and anus should all be there for my pleasure, goes the thought/feeling, great titillation, "for this I was created" to stand behind woman (here a generic woman, who represents all fertile women) as per some primordial contract or ordering of the universe - and many many men feel this way, judging by the unimaginative comments littering a million websites, magobscenes, etc etc. Of course Vivien never consented to have anal sex with me throughout our life as a couple, although she did try with a boyfriend prior to our relationship, and said it was not pleasant.

I want every women to sink on her knees before my penis...but only for those moments frozen in time. Otherwise I want a thoughtful, resilient, self sufficient and wise companion, such as the one I have, Vivien. (Or had, rereading this in January 2018, as the separation Viv initiated from December 2017 takes its final shape and she begins moving out. "The unexpected is bound to happen" (Nisargadatta Maharaj)


Sometimes I want non-biological sex, with a godess who does not excrete or eat meat, who does not destroy and burp and decay, who is only fertility and nurturance without the shadow…and when I say I want sex I must mean I want the physical sensations that posesses me, but I also want something else which lies at the heart of sex...a union and surrender (again looking at this ten years on, with some of Byron Katies insights in mind, gives me perhaps some clues as to what was tugging at me, unseen)
Child like Fantasy…she (Viv) sits on the toilet, making a poo, and sucking me, and as the poo passes out and she winces with that involuntary relief, pleasure. I come in her mouth looking into her eyes. We are joined in every kind of intimacy and trust and humaness and animalness.

I’d like to begin some days with uncomplicated sex, which would then clear me for the day’s writing – sex with someone receptive, completely undemanding, who I do not interact with for anything but sex…
The idea, for me, of the virile baby is one where lots of sexual energy is trapped. To be a baby, powdered and soothed and stroked and oiled by numerous big breasted attendants, who coo and bathe me and dry me and suck me and dangle over me and insert fingers in my anus if I want while they milk me, or who ride me as I lie there helplessly, or who lick my anus while a second guides my penis into the anus of a third who is on all boundaries, no barriers, no judgements, no illegitimacy, no disaproval or repression or responsibilities or conflict or need to hide the wants that are there...this seems to me to be very sweet, freeze framed on these moments, without a before or after, withour reposnisbility or the burdens of mind/thought, just lost and found in the moment....

There are so many women I have passed in the street or shopping mall or whatever whose breasts I wanted to praise, to establish some (unasked for) connection between myself and them by commenting on their large, upright, erect, magnificent, sweet etc etc breasts - I won't use the euphemism compliment because we all know a man when he compliments is really asserting some assumed or implied relationship, some license he automatically has, and an unasked for compliment, or one made in order to "purchase" or control or extract something is no compliment at all but rather an intrusion.....but I wanted to comment, to communicate how much their breasts moved me, stirred a primal longing in me, unmanned me, unzipped me, but I didn't, hardly ever in South Africa and Israel, a few times yes, or pretended to be a photographer wanting to photograph them, and even less so in Australia where I'm terrified of some sexual molestation I just keep it in in in

Can sometimes rape be a plea for connection? A last desperate attempt to connect to life, no matter how misguided and hopeless the strategy? I can never imagine having violent forced non consensual sex, but i could conceivably have the same if somehow my mind had made up that it was not the case ("she really wants this") even if that was not so...these are murky waters muddied by much tantric teacher - a woman - is good with this stuff cos as a woman she doesn't have to justify/defend as much as me/males - and I loathe and hate aggressive male sexuality, and men hunting in packs and needing to conquer...I want to be welcomed, not conquer, taken in
I "hate" (resent?) my wife/desirable women because they don't (seem to?) need me and I need them


I hate my wife/ desirable women because she/they seems so emotionally self contained, whereas I need to be stroked and acknowledged and affirmed and given blow jobs and always ask for / initiate / sex and she never does - cancel that never - once every few years. It "makes" me believe they have all the power and I have none, that I am at the mercy of their whims, most of the time shut out in the cold, my "needs" / "wants" unmet.



I often wonder how much credit I have left......elder people theoretically have more power, but I wonder if there are more like me who battle a growing?? sense of can it be that at 45 the world already seems to be slipping away from me, when I still have small children to father and bring up...?


There is almost nothing I will not do to distance the possibility of my life serving me up "proof" that I am inadequate. So I will work to earn money so that others cannot suppose I am a failure and confirm the voice that whispers I am, I will not be a "nobody" because the further I can get away from being a "nobody" the more acceptable I become....but always the niggling doubt because the lie has not been confronted. (see diary from 1996)

And further...the more I do to stave off the thought "I'm inadequate", the more inadequate I feel.

When I change modality, or have just cum in make-believe contexts - say cybersex, then there is a sadness and heaviness for all of us trapped in these nether worlds....and then I tuck myself in, perhaps in embryo position to try and self-comfort, and  pull myself towards myself, and it allows me to go back to the the things "I need" to do. The freedom from desire is a wonderful, most cherished gift. And masturbating to porn or on the phone to a sex worker is something I've done since being an adolescent - it hasn't grown or shrunk, the habit, or become more or less stunted... (if stunted is a useful judgement. in the end it has been as it has been. Byron Katie would not lable or condemn me....she would sit with me with love and understanding )


Things mature adults can do for each other: rectal exams.


Instead of having a third child, I've decided to parent myself.

When I want to be a hypocrite
I do it in semi secret
like eating meat, or milk after meat
when I've lectured my partner on the evils of meat
or my children not to mix the two
but occasionally I'll find myself tasting some of their left over food
after a month or two
just a bite or two
and I'll think about it and do it anyway
on that day
tho a hundred times before I've turned away
this is why as katie says: all the advice we give to others
is meant for our self

if I cannot be brutallly honest, and self edit and self censor, there will be little value in this exercise... (dear diary, not so much as a confessional but rather lets see what's there, I wanna be the pathfindder to lay bare the mechanisms of self delusion and self justification and sanctimoniousness)
"You mean nothing to me" he brought out from some cold place inside himself, enjoying the power to say it and have some part that could make that statement true, and to perhaps watch them both as if from a distance, specimens on a slide under a microscope, to watch her like that. This must be how others had seen him when he was soft and vulnerable and wanting connection.
It is very important to me to be/feel/belive solid, resourced. very very of my deepest aspirations. Why do I want to be solid? Because of the deeply subscribed to belief (are all my cells subscribers) that I am not solid? That I am insubstantial? And if insubstantial? I will fail in the world, fail myself and others...let them down. I'm not reliable, when the chips are down I will betray you....these are the thoughts that must be faced (down).

because on many many occasions I have not betrayed (who or what would be "betrayed? has not been examined) and come through with the goods (i.e. conformed to my own or others arbitrary and unexamined expectations.)

In the absence of communication from anyone else, I may finally have to communicate with myself

I often do altruistic acts - and try to ensure that I am seen to be doing them - as part of a strategy to serve my deeper purpose of getting and keeping myself "safe" (what threatens me? what thoughts do other people have who feel safer?)

This perhaps opposed to ensuring my safety in order that I might do altruistic acts as an end in themself - or, seeing as there is almost nothing which is an end in itself, in order to be of service, because in being of service I am most fully alive, most fully content, because I am being true to what - in reality - I am.

Poems 2013

To a tuna 

Once you swam in the sea
then became part of my body
if one day the cemetery
will be submerged by a rising sea
perhaps your descendants will sup on me
thus favours returned


A school hat with a name in it
of a child who has long since left the school
a small photograph of a woman who
has long since left this world
a pigeon flying overhead
carrying the DNA
for a thousand future generations of pigeons
all cross my path

When bad things happen to good people
when good things happen to bad people
when bad things happen to bad people
when good things happen to good people

when good people turn out to be a bit bad
when bad people turn out to be a bit good
when the categorising mind takes a  lunch break
when most people turn out to be bad and good

when bad things turn out to be not so bad
when good things turn out to be not so good
when everything is in transition
and labels fall off like leaves in Autumn

when good people eat good animals badly raised and killed
when nameless animals eat other nameless animals
when trending to good people make judgement calls other good people judge as bad
when bad people unwhittingly or knowingly do good perhaps because
they're having  the afternoon off

when green things push up through the cracks
when the mind's circus stops whirling hither and thither
when everything begins in something else
like a great chain of clasped hands across the universe that slowly let go
'cos they've traced themselves back to the same body
when the burning question falls away


G-d made everything in two colours:
red and white
I try to keep them separate
but inconveniently
they keep on coming together again
I open the cupboard
looking for milk
but find blood

G-d made everything in 3 colours:
black, white
and red
pulsing underneath
only held in check by a layer thin
as skin

the world is full
of beauty and splendour
when you surrender

of course there is terror
along the way
but on the other side
is freedom
vast love
without fear


On the first day of school I was very frightened
my stomach hurt
I cried
I held Mrs Cunningham’s soft hand
she told me everything would be all right
and it was



The fox
went into Colesto buy a chicken
but even thoughit was wearing a scarf
and sunglasses
(it had seen Marilyn Monroe in similar get up)
the teller recognised it
and refused to ring up the sale:
"You're an introduced species", said the teller,
my hands are tied, management will kill me."
"What would you have me do"pleaded the fox,
"raid the neighbour's chook run?
then they'll call the rangers and they'll kill ME"
"Sorry" said the teller,"rules is rules."
so the fox waited outside
until a sympathetic possum 
tossed her a coin.
"I'm not looking for donations" said the fox
"I'm just trying to feed my children.
Would you be so kind as to purchase me a chicken
- preferably free range - they taste better"
The stranger agreed so that night
the foxes had supper
and the neighbours chicken was spared
but as someone once remarked
there's no such thing
as a free dinner
and what tomorrowwill bring
the foxes, chickens
and possums
isn't easy to say


note: coles is the australian equivalent of sa's pick n pay
chook= chicken in australian


I ran the city to surf alone
without a true friend, without a true home
plastic cup shards formed an angry sea
from their barbies the cows asked wistfully:

"what has all this to do with me?"


Sweet regret
inside I still feel like a young man
wanting to bed as many lovelies as he can
for the sweetness of skin
of down on the arm
and the soft apertures down there
but outside I'm ageing
I'm supposed to be settled and content with my lot
not staring at the strikingly tall blond schoolgirl
exploding out of her blouse
sweet regret

Obituary I

He paid his bills on time
he hung his washing on the line
- but to live the life he dreamed of - 
for that he had not time

Obituary II

He lived in his head
made plans on his bed
strung words on a thread
but remained unsaid


Rosh HaShanah Poem

May we be renewed

from moment to moment

instantly forgetting the 
false knowledge

we acquired yesterday

and the vain hopes

we have for tomorrow

may a divine Alzheimer's

leave us as fresh and fertile

as the ploughed field after rain

and let us say


Friends of Palestine document Israelis when they sneeze
but somehow miss dictators killing as they please


The song of the Atman tree (not latest version)

I want an inclusive poetry
a poetry of endings  as well as beginnings
fixities as well as transformations
of routine and inescapable dilemmas and same old same old
because under the rock of boredom
a great truth lies waiting
a poetry of maggots and degenerative diseases
a poetry of land fill sites and the stench of decay 
not just a poetry of rosebuds in May
a poetry of awkward uncomfortable feelings
a poetry like Parkinson's which shakes your hand
a poetry which does not lead you to a promised land
a poetry where lost amongst the discards
may still be found some beautiful shards
a poetry of melanoma
of legal disputes
which takes into cognisance a father shouting at his uncomprehending two year old who did not stop playing when called:
‘get into the fukking car’
which acknowledges post-natal depression and that we cannot assume parenthood comes naturally to everyone
that the schizophrenic and the swindler
are just labels we put
on moments gone wrong
(you can freeze the film at any frame,
it changes moment by moment)

Given that I would rather the world went up in flames and that inane insane cruelties continued
than risk being labelled eccentric and finding myself marginalised at work (or wherever we gather)by trying to brutallly punch through my colleague's defences
with naked animals skinned alive appeals for us to do something differently, something substantially inconveniently otherwise
to dent factory farming or global warming or sweat shops in Bangladesh
So I want a poetry which sees
how deep our conditioning and how,
given what we believe,
our behaviours are inevitable
until we loose our religion of me.

We have all attempted to scatter our ovaries
not to have all the eggs of our life in one basket
but rather implanted in other lives.
I too, to ensure that my story continues
sow words
hoping you will imbibe them and they will lodge in you
taking on a life of me-in-you like a McCartney-Lenon song humming itself
in a million minds, so we want ownership but we also want
decentralisation of ownership
when I arrive there
as David Fogel wrote
the palace of age 
is huge, white and empty
and no matter how many books
or lps or cds you sell
the mark of the unreal – contradiction - remains
and everything about us is unreal
except for the bliss and the suffering calling
calling on us to come home.

Yet given
that the mind
will not leave me
(or you)
of course we hanker deeply for something
that is beautiful
to come and lick away
our ugliness, having conceived of ourselves as such 
while a swirling cloud of cliches hovers around and inside us, and we traverse the lifeless landscape of value judgements:
"when bad things happen to good people" bla bla bla
and the biggest fiction we have invented
and keep on retelling each other
like a nightmarish soap opera
is the notion of agency
in a vain attempt to keep safe
what we imagine ourselves to be;
 if I pretend you could have chosen to do otherwise
then I can hold you accountable and punish you
in this way we clutch onto an illusion of control,
“because of the fear at nights.”

I want a poetics of inclusion
a poetry of illegal dumping
not of resentment and conformity and the stunted process of
political correctness
or of the low meaningless babble about unenforceable human rights which has been the backdrop
to Holocaust and various other unfathomable destructions
fashion dictates headlines and who's given media time and what is discussed
and what is hidden, behind the smiling death-masks
of newsreaders and breakfast show anchors.
No! Before we can surface
we must disgorge everything that is hidden
the opiates of share prices and sport results
Australian sex tourists buying children in Bali
The glassy eyed mantra’s of commodified relationships:
nice to meet you
have a good day
you poor sick fuck.

I want an inclusive,
socially responsible
and irresponsible
a poetry of dimly lit casinos and factory farms
because all of these nether worlds
spring up like weeds in the cracks
while our gaze is fixated elsewhere.
conspiracy theories and all acts of projection cannot survive the truth:
"we have met the enemy and he is us"

let us organise a clean up of
the land fill of the mind
Everything we have forgotten is here
in dimly lit corridors
and bars
red eyed in front of computer screens
at work late at night
telling lies

look into my eyes
watch my finger
your eyes are getting heavy
your body is relaxed
now close your eyes
and I'm going to count
down from 3 to 1
and when I reach one
I will snap my fingers
you will be asleep
and do and believe whatever I tell you:
Three, two, one...
Now you will believe
you can all drive your own cars and not have traffic jams and gridlock
you can show love and connectedness by going on a 33 hour shopping spree
that casino's can fight irresponsible gamboling and bars irresponsible drinking
that secret hungers can be legislated out of sight 
that people in Holland and Australia can resolve problems in the Congo or the rape of slaves in Saudia by reading 3 articles in The Guardian and clicking on a petition
that a brave new world can be built on ancient prejudices
that you can run infomercials about weight loss products or brain training programs or adverts about wholesome milk from the farm which omit the bobby calves sent off to the slaughter and   teach children not to lie and expect that they will believe you
that political correctness can dissolve the fear and desire that lies at the heart of bigotry and abuse
that people who are blind to their own splitting and disassociation and projection can effect harmonious change...
that you can fight cancer and environmental degradation and diabetes and sex trafficking and every other symptom whose roots you ignore with three minutes of attention and a tokenistic tick on the to do list.
isn't it clear?
the universe is created
out of habits
Language is a ritual we practice, more often than any other
we invite in the wild wolves of thought and then act surprised
when they gnaw out our wings and legs and we gradually loose the power
to walk and fly

emancipate language from the subjugation and colonisation
of commodification and media manipulation
move away from splitting and projection towards integration
leave tokenism behind, not mothers day or fathers day or cancer or earth day
but every day
like breathing, like walking, like brushing your teeth...
if you don't care about branding or being a brand ambassador
if you don't want to chat with a customer experience associate reading a script, but with a human being
if you need some kind of snorkel
to get to the air
somewhere above the tons of shit we shovel
if you don't believe the word restaurants fits with fast food outlets selling sugary, fatty, fibre less factory farmed foods 
or that news is only about conflict and violation, insanity and provocation, taking sides and polarization:
begin with a new daily ritual
check the labels
you have placed on your self as product;
maybe you’ve missed something
that begs to be seen.

I want a bounded poetry
without borders
whose insides are like their outsides
black fire on white fire
let compassion rule as the sovereign force in the universe
may it annihilate all barriers in its way
may it nudge all stunted process back into flow
acknowledging all beginning and end points are arbitrary
may it practice viveka
as in the rope from the snake
as in owning an impulse vs acting on it
as in telling benign from malign prejudice,
may It be revealed as such to me and to you

on that day
the body will exhale
our doubts will come galloping
over the hill like cavalry
each one an ugly duckling transformed
and the mind's chatter
will be a sweet serenade
letting us know
Adonai hu Elohim

Adonai hu Elohim
Adonai hu Elohim
Adonai hu Elohim
Adonai hu Elohim
Adonai hu Elohim
Adonai hu Elohim

veAni Adonai

Its as G-d as it gets
right now


There are many inter textual allusions in the poem, which I leave the reader to explore.
Viveka – Sanskrit – discrimination, the power of discrimination
Adonai hu Elohim – Hebrew – the G-d of mercy and the G-d of justice are one and the same
veAni Adonai – Hebrew - and I am That, That I am


ommited lines:

if you think disingenuous corporate vision statements and political slogans are there because we have made it unsafe to say right out what we want, being unable to distinguish

so that somehow, magically 
I get created and recreated from the outside in


sometimes making love to my wife
who is also my business partner
co-child rearer
emotional punching bag
can seem a little too
for decency

Confessions of a pornography eater

O how many smooth skinned plucked melon breasted woman have I fallen in "love" with
thrilling at their abundance and forgetting my troubles
and the hard paving of this world
and when I surface
sullied and sorrowful
for them and for me
bewildered by my reception
of what had come to be


The blessed counseller
turns suffering into connection
damage into new growth
they work with the aspect of mercy
and the aspect of justice
water and rock
then they come home
and rake up the garden leaves 
for compost. They know
"that the saint has sinned and the sinner will be sanctified"
that a little less doing
can go a long long way
and that new life bursts forth
from seeming stagnant decay


to be broke
is no joke
but don't
knot that rope
while there's life
there's hope

whether you're a Buddist or Jew
a Hindu, Moslem or Christian
on the right or left
a conservative or progressive
you're on a thought train to an
of the mind
where contrary information
is gassed and then cremated
and from the barren ashes
only more thoughts grow

doesn't matter
whether you're  Bhuddist or Hindu
Jew or Christian
Moslem or Bahai
we all come home to 2.3 kids
dealing with impenetrable call centres staffed by robots
eat the same over processed foods
we all hanker for something forbidden
all feel victimised by something or someone


zeman shehashemesh
shoka'at bemaarav
veohr vechoshech

the sirens are calling from the rocks
shave your peah's, grow your locks

the sirens are calling from the shore
don't be different any more

speak like us, think like us
eat the same, don't make a fuss

celebrate the same days, drink our booze
words as incantations
words as launching stations
words as meditations
words as calibrations 
words as maturations
words as transformations
words make conversations

I dream on my bed
Try conjure up bread
Live a lot in my head
String words on a thread
Yet remain unsaid

The wave 
used up all its energy
worrying how it could
improve the ocean

2, 4, 6, 8
leave your troubles at the gate
get your act together mate
thank you G-d for rooibos tea
for healing and for cleansing me
Sung to the tune of Queen's "This thing called love"

Crazy Little Thing Called "I"

This thing 
called I
I just
can't handle it
this thing
called I 
I must
see under it 
but I ain't ready
Crazy little thing called I

This thing (this thing)
Called I (called I)
It cries (like a baby)
for its dignity
It sulks (woo woo)
It lies (woo woo)
It makes up fibs any time of day
entertains me 
Crazy little thing called I

There goes my harmony
I lost it when I awoke
I drive me crazy
I drive me like a rental car
Then leave me in a foreign town

I gotta be cool, let go, relax
And get off my track's
Take a back seat, sit down
stop looking for something to complete my I
But am I ready?
Crazy little thing called I

Gotta stop, sol-ving, selving  
get off my grooves 
Take a back seat (ah hum), fall off (ah hum)
just let the sea dissolve my I
I yam ready (ready steady)
Crazy little thing called I

This thing called I, I just can't handle it
This thing called I, I must get around it
I ain't ready
Ooh ooh ooh ooh

Crazy little thing called I
Crazy little thing called I, yeah, yeah
Crazy little thing called I, yeah, yeah
Crazy thing I call my I , yeah, yeah
Crazy thing I call my I, yeah, yeah

My I oh my oh my
yeah yeah
O Shchinah
O Adamah
Adonai hu Elohim

(sung to the tune of)

If I could just get my death behind me I could really get on with my life

I hid in a synagogue for two years
making pamphlets and eating cake
waiting for my time to come

If I am a lettuce 
then let us

In the morning
when I struggle to rise
I say these words
familiar and comforting from long being held
like smooth sweet pebbles in the
mouth of someone
lost in a waterless desert:
modeh ani lefanecheha melech chai vekayam:
I gratitude to you, living G-d of being
that returns my separation 
great is my faith 

that we will meet today


Thanks for this glorious silence
thanks for the sun in the east
thanks for the trouble that passes
thanks for this famine and feast


I've made my bed and now I must die on it

now that I don't know who I am anymore
I'm free to be what I never was before


I grieve here
at nine

and alive home 
at one


G-d takes me for a walk
Adonai Roh-ee
I will not lack
for everything
and everyone
is in me


There's little room for complacency
as I continue my search for safety
sometime's its hard to relate
to my particular fate
but don't get me wrong
I love my song
as I drive home alone in the rain
seeking to live 
beyond pleasure or pain


O lonely masturbator
running hopelessly down
the rails of desire


when I was 13 I longed for a snowy smith skateboard 
and a bulova watch
and when I was 27 I longed to write
the perfect short story
and when I was 35
I longed to direct a profoundly moving feature film
and when I was 45 I longed for a handsome house
and family car
but always 
I longed for a woman

(These poems have nothing to do with the politics and religion of desire)
land of anti-depressants and kangaroo culls
big-car cuntry

fresh peaches
ripe pomegranates


when we judge our impulses 
rather than allowing them to come into full view
they remain subversively

a slim young women
with a diaphanous blouse
and generous breasts
walks into a funeral parlour
death makes sex 
even more urgent

(let us at least die

I ate a Mc%$@#s burger
and sank into oblivion
I bought things I didn't need
and sank into oblivion
I went off to the races
and sank into oblivion
I fiddled with the pokies
and sank into oblivion
I wrote another poem
and sank into oblivion
only problem is
oblivion doesn't last

I get hooked on a passing thought:
I get hot under the collar
I write letters
I sign petitions
I post thing to facebook
I get exhausted
I subside
I remain
your eyes are looking at something you've found
the world keeps on spinning around and around
and whether you dream of the earth or the sky
I want you to know that you're my kind of Guy

Life lends you to us, and G-d makes no mistake
so much abundance can make the heart ache
but whether I smile or there's a tear in my eye
I'd like you to know that you're my kind of Guy
For 25 years 
a bullet
has travelled  along with me
until last night
on the cliffs of Vaucluse
I threw it into the sea

I have a diary
courtesy of Walter Carter Funerals
that numbers my days


Don't be the husband or the wife
be the love between them
don't be the leader or the follower
be the love between them
don't be the parent or the child
be the love between them
don't be the owner or the dog
be the love between them
 don't be the flower or the bee
be the love between them

don't be the whale or its song
be the love between them

al pi amirah shel Sri Nisargaddata Maharaj


jagged edges
smooth as glass:
this too
shall come to pass

The kick off whistle. Playing rugby
against Highlands North
a collective puncturing
and escape of air as they slammed into us like a goyishe freight train
into brittle boned jewbirds
did this create the story or affirm it?

The big stink
said Uncle Sid
who made the big stink?
shame came early dropping in
seeping through the cracks of my
open soft skinned being

Sam bedigz

At yeshiva
I went down 
to gaze upon the two plain woman in the office
their long sleeve cuffed with lace
and for a mad crazy moment
when one entered the toilet
peeped through the keyhole 
hoping to see
the sweet stuff of life

A man known only to me as "Lemmy"
the tea boy at my father's office, Teleoptic
brought sweet sweet milky tea
around 7 or 8 times a day
chipped and stained, but china with saucers
on a tray. Well I remember
his toothy smile, not like the man whose fingers were caught in the metal stamp
and two lost. I never saw him, just heard his story
that night as my dad related rushing him off to the hospital.
This was the safe backdrop to my life, removed and comforting, 
the order of things in a known universe, 
Lemmy died. I think my dad went to the funeral.  
He and dad in the great Teleoptic in the sky.

Doggerel Day (with acknowledgements to Gus Ferguson)

now that I don't know who I am anymore
I'm free to be what I never was before

to rest in my prison
to rest in my flight
to rest in my weakness
to rest in my might

to rest on the grass
to rest on the sea
to rest inside you
to rest inside me


I've been to the west and I've been to the east 
and I'm bloated with spirit like a warm bowl of yeast
I've been to the ashram, I've been on retreat
I've sat in the silence, I've stopped eating meat
I'm so enlightened I can't find my head
perhaps it has fallen under the bed
I've been to Satsang and I've been such a whore
and yet I'm no settled than I was before

The things that I wanted to do in my prime
will when I am old(er) and then have the time

not seem so urgent, not urgent at all
the fingers will reach for the pen and withdraw

instead I'll bed virgins and sip from their cup
despite not being able to get it up

yes when I am (old)er with only one eye
I will smoke dagga and look at the sky

when you are young
wear your body
like a shoulder bag
like a pair of slip on shoes
without socks

when you are old
wear your body like
a slightly crumpled coat
on a melting, too small

with a pure faith
that you are That Love
that swallowers up lovers
clenched on their beds
that swallows up travels
to distant lands
and swallows up dreams
that swallows up prisons
and hospital beds
first days at school
and last days at work
that swallows up victory
and mangled defeat
that swallows up bodies
into the eloquent chatter
of interstellar


Like a Buddist in a butcher shop
like a lover of pristine coastlines
watching people carrying out their overpackaged shopping 
in the millions of plastic bags that will despoil them 
wrestling with the seeming turgid inevitability
of the way things seem to be right now
but knowing it is all changing
relentlessly, irresistibly
by itself

I always wanted to protect Israel
and Judaism
like a little baby
like a guiding star
by which I find
my way

In Jerusalem
time and space are contracted
the 21st century touches the 57th
Har Habayit touches El Aksa
touches Kommimiyot
North touches South
East West:

That's why there's so much friction 

Advice to the sons and daughters of Adam ve Chava

 "Al Tihiyeh Tzadik Harbei" (Kohelet) - "Don't be too righteous" (Ecclesiates)

but don't steal too much
Tell the truth
but not too much
but don't eat too much
but not too much
but not too much
but not to much
but not to much
but not too much
but not too much


My hands
my feet
my car
my old school
my bacteria
my fundamentalists
my factory farms
my global warming
my olympic gold medals
my babies
my wars
my philanthropy
my heroism
my sacrifice and discipline
my good sense
my drug lords
my coal addiction

In the land of Israel
when disater threatened
the kohanim, the priestly caste
would go to the temple
would light a fire
offer sacrifices
perform rituals
sing the psalms

later when the temple had been destroyed
and the people scattered
when disaster threatened
the kohanim and leviim
would light a fire
perform rituals
sing the psalms

still later, when the land had been taken away
the temple destroyed
the people scattered
and disaster threatened
the authorities did not allow Jews to light a fire
so all who claimed to be descendants of the kohanim and leviim
would gather in the synagogues
perform the ritual
sing the psalms
and tell the story
of how disaster was averted

and later still, when a third of his people
as in every generation
had not been saved

and disaster threatened
they could not go to the temple
or light the fire
offer sacrifices
and the rituals had changed
but they sang the psalms
and told the story
which grew  the telling
and acquired
quite apart from the things of which it spoke
a life of its own
so that those who told it
found in it a reason, a purpose, a pay-cheque

whether disaster was averted or not

Now I am writing this
Now I am writing
Now I am
Now I

One day I will be gone
One day I will be
One day I will
One day I
One day

Is it not indescribable?
Is it not?
Is it?

Now One Is

I bring Hebrew where there is none
I bring exercise where there is only slump
I bring doubt where there is complacency
I bring certainty where there is none

I bring otherness where there is only sameness
I bring depth where only surface seems safe
I bring quiteness where noise abounds
I bring connection where there's only cliche


At night I dream of you
beloved that has gone
mammals that have disappeared
each and every one

the crescent nailtail wallaby
the pig foot bandicoot
the Tasmanian tiger, the boodie
which lived near figtrees root

with you has gone some wonder
the gasp in a child's eye
who saw in them reflection
of G-d's diversity

yes Bega cheese is on the shelves
but quoll and koala were quelled 

with the introduction of cattle
and the Eucalypts that were felled

So you'll see a maccers wrapper
and you'll see a plastic bag
blowing down the street or
festooned upon some snag

but you will not see the rabbit-rat or
hear the lesser bilby's hiss
as they fell before the boot of man
and the poison in his kiss


may I borrow your crotch, my dear
may I borrow your breasts
let me take them home for a while
so that I can get some rest

your toungue, your lips, your nipple your hips
I will not take them far
to have them is to be done with them
and then I can see what else you are

thought happens to me
almost constantly
I step out of sleep into a blizzard of them
"the human condition:
lost in thought"

the toilets at work
beit mikdash me'at
my little sanctuary


the sea of cause and effect
is tangled and wide
and while one may catch a fish
one cannot catch the sea itself


Identity theft

Someone has stolen my identity
the bank will no longer take my money
someone bought a treadmill
using my name
and had it delivered to an address in Zimbabwe
my children will not
climb into the car
claiming they've been warned against strangers
the woman I've lived with
for twenty years
says she doesn't know
who I am anymore

my access card will not work at work
so I suddenly find I have time on my hands
and with nothing to do
can find out what I am
am I your son? I ask my father
am I your father? I ask my son
am I at all? I ask myself
and wait for an answer to come
in the meantime
I go for long walks on the beach
and try to maintain
a scholarly mien
I read in the papers
that I'm wanted for fraud
or, at least, a person with
the same name as me
perhaps I should try to steal it back
the accounts, the habits, the plans, the facade?
or perhaps it is better
to travel incognito
at least this way
i don't pay taxes
and feel less aggrieved
when the waves wash my footprints


The vocabulary of equinamity

Instead of harassed
 try 'the police stopped me one more time"
why bring your blood to the boil
when it could be cool
instead of abused
suck on "my father did that"
instead of unfair play with
this taught me that

Songs to the Silence

Rabeynu shel Olam
let me be less grasping


is a name
for That
from which every

and Elohim for That
which takes it all back


Making  whole

Even during peacetime
a psychologist or counsllor
is like W.H. R. Rivers
sending Sassoon back to the front
now able to cope
with the insanity
of kill or be killed
ready to hold down a job
and watch ads on television
ready to consume
whre consumption is needed
and contribute to landfill
with every council collection
to bring in the exterminators
should pests be in the kitchen
and speed the collapse of bio diversity
with every tasty bite of palm oil
to send the kids to the best schools possible
so that they too may succeed
back to a life
of props to self esteem
tummy tucks and anti ageing cream
instead of the thing itself
back to a life of work that disadvantages
as much as it benefits


"Suck on this, bitch"

The Austrlian community
and working Australians
want safer borders
the freedom to make their own choices
a strong economy
and reality tv
regular education grants
to spend on the pokies
and subsidised pain medication

I want to lie
very still
inside you
but unmoving
hardly daring to breathe
my stomach against your
back my
hands cupping your
your nipples
taut aginst my palms
with no past
or no future
I your Adam
you my Chava
waiting just a little
to explode
hands cupping