Rock 'n' Roll and Alleluya and Music Soaking in

Stefan Neville and Chris Knox with Rackets by Raewyn Alexander

Enter a decent sized room, dim the lights, switch on simply a lamp or light an array of candles. Zip open a favourite track, and dance, dancey, dance-arolla. Music makes our bodies jump, gyrate, twist and swoop, sensual or at least freer. Music overflows with tunes, lyrics, sounds as compelling as the smell of good food, or the feeling of someone's kind touch. Sounds we love (and hate) accompany and trigger memories, suggest ideas and scenes we'd never think of otherwise, and music enlivens our spirits like fresh air, good news, or a welcome holiday. 

Those who play an instrument well instantly appeal to others, are idolised, and loved. Even simply halfway good musicians receive encouragement - an audience hears the promise of better sounds suggested between off twangs and odd riffs not quite on beat, nor yet all that fine, but with something to them.

Rackets at The Experiment 2015 by Raewyn Alexander

Sociable and often gregarious themselves, aiming for other people to get along and enjoy a few hours, musician friends for many decades have assisted me to be more sociable than I'd achieve otherwise. I'm ever grateful for their talent and friendship.

Also, I'm extremely happy to see someone I am pretty sure I do not know has given my latest novel, Glam Rock Boyfriends a five star review on Amazon. Finally, a reader who gets the book, and who the story is for, someone who shared similar experiences to the main character, Athena, and who understands what she went through. The fifteen or so stories this one novel is based on were all true tales from people who worked to change their lives for the better. Anyway, I'm delighted someone read the novel and enjoyed it so much.

The rock music industry, (and any popular culture activity like writing novels), depends upon those musicians, artists, designers, crew, promoters, managers, retailers and more, deserving and receiving enormous amounts of support. In old age or when ill, some performers are not remembered as well as in their heyday, past times when fans clamoured and struggled for just a glimpse of their idols. But usually when a popular musician passes way, fans mourn them as if they were personal friends. 

Someone told me once that music was always a reliable friend. It follows then that when someone who's played this comforting, exciting, commanding stuff is gone, it can seem like the music itself also disappears.

http://www.stuff.co.nz/entertainment/music/71933429/graham-brazier-farewelled-and-remembered-by-musical-fraternity

Countless people farewelled Graham Brazier this past week. My daughter and I attended his funeral at St Mathews-in-the City. The huge place was packed, and rain sheeted down outside.

Graham had died of another heart attack in the rehabilitation centre where he'd been taken to recover from an earlier one, I gathered. But you may find out such information from various places online. What I want to write about was how much these blessed men and women of music give to the general public, and how much of their lives they dedicate to ensuring we have a great time. Graham was a good example of this generosity.

I recall seeing Graham Brazier outside a Grey Lynn cafe a while back now, say eight years or so. He mentioned just getting out of hospital after a bout of pneumonia, after I asked how he was and explained I once knew their roadie Lindsay, really well, (along with discussing other bits of this and that and the other). A fascinating hour followed in mild sunshine sitting outside Occam Cafe, listening to Graham recite fine poetry, and also explaining he was writing short stories. I hope they surface at some point.

I liked seeing him striding around with his lovely wife at the time, and their golden labrador, Graham in tight jeans and a black singlet with muscles bulging. Rock stars tend to look just exactly what they are, and often seem quite a startling, commanding sight. It was fun to have another eye-catching character so obviously in the neighbourhood, to my mind, even if some envious or dull others muttered various dumb or dismissive comments. Then we also bumped into each other at a book fair where he tended a book stall for his mother's Brazier Books. Graham had told me I could like to see what was on offer. I would guess their shop will keep on going, it's such a cool place there in Mt. Eden Rd, I do hope so.

Called Graham a few times to encourage his writing prose. (Once he saw me in the Grey Lynn Tavern, too and told the assembled crowd what a wonderful poet I was - so kind of him). 

But anyway, that cafe day Graham also said he would go back to the hospital with a poster for the nurses about a gig Hello Sailor, (I think it was) were doing that weekend, and invitations for them. 
I wondered if he couldn't just mail these materials. I was concerned about his illness. "Take it easy." 
He looked at me as if I spoke an alien language. Graham would go in there to that hospital, and make sure those nurses knew they were definitely, personally invited to this gig.
 
The best people have that extra quality. The extra mile proves to be their territory, or the extra fifty miles, the extra smile, the extra grinning even when almost ready to drop, a joke, a bank of laughs to get the show not only on the road, but on the plane, on the boat, o just onto the wherever the stage awaits. Good on them, surely? What joy so many musicians and their crews and all associated people bring to the world, let's applaud them, each and every a fabulous creature. Ahhh showbiz....

---

Then there are legends like Peter who's run the Alleluya Cafe for eons, in Karangahape Road, or K' Rd. "A star-maker," I said he was, and with all his arts-encouraging, and gorgeous young people employing, Peter did sure polish up some sparkly sights, and set alight a few sky rockets too.

I called him my foster father for years. Definitely gratifying to think Peter was in my corner. Many people would love Peter for a dad, and he commented a few regulars had adopted him like I did. (My own father had passed away). Peter, a fine merry gentleman, but serious when necessary, clever, but no show-off, fit, careful, a great conversationalist, and loved by tens of thousands or even millions it may be by now. Worked hard, knew when to take it easy, one of the first people ever to go on the internet, and o that lovely smile.

I want to ghost-write his memoir, and suggested this. 
He told me, "Make it up." laughing, what a great grin. His hand warm on my arm.

The Alleluya was sold recently. Their facebook page says no one is making Peter leave. The business was simply sold after 21 years in business. The next cafe will be just as wonderful.

Memories so race on in. An excellent gathering place for such a long time, seems like Alleluya Cafe always existed there in St Kevin's Arcade. Poetry Live called it home for a while. I enjoyed my second novel's book launch there, (Concrete, from Penguin). Did a poetry performance with Olwyn Stewart and David Lyndon Brown, too, one night at Peter's cafe, and Vivienne Plumb and I performed at Alleluya for Aotearoa NZ Poetry Day one year when she first moved to Auckland. Wonderful to hear Mary Aston-Kelsey's opera soaring through the place, too.

A fine photograph of St Kevin's Arcade here
https://www.flickr.com/photos/darren/6371441133

Only the other evening in this year of 2015, Titus Books launched three new collections of poetry, there. Excellent. An ebullient literary crowd in conversation beforehand, so convivial. They launched The Burnt Hotel by Olivia Macassey, Carbon Shapes and Dark Matter by Stephanie Christie, and Excerpts from a Natural History by Holly Painter.  http://titus.co.nz/catalogue.xhtml

I'll add some photos to this blog soon from that launch.

Heartening to hear Peter shall enjoy his retirement in a fine villa and with good company.

Do call in and enjoy Alleluya Cafe before it turns into something else. 

The developer who just bought St Kevin's Arcade is only in his 30s. Someone told me his ego seems to be getting in the way of his team's great ideas ever truly gaining ground. I hope that situation changes and the fine place we know and love as St Kevin's stays as gorgeous as it is now, overall, only a bit more lovely in places where it rather needs a schjuzz.

- - -

And myself? Ah the many splendouredness of love encourages me to keep on drawing my comic. A graphic poetry collection called Nothing and Nowhere (but Love). The pages in pencil, then black ink, then coloured pencil, (then once more over the black ink), take forever to draw. But I need to work at lecturing, and teaching, and other writing such as for the NZ Fashion Museum, to survive, plus I seem to be a bit old now, (dodder dodder), and there's the love of my life to enjoy times with, so it's slow going on the comic front. 

Black ink and coloured pencil graphic poetry by Raewyn Alexander

No grant I applied for was successful, either. It often feels like a punch or an attack of some kind when they're turned down. Each grant application takes hours or days of work, then nothing happens. But I must not dwell on disappointments, or I'd waste my valuable time.
 
A page features above, from my graphic poetry collection, in progress. What do you think?

Perhaps I should try a crowdfund campaign, so I may finish it more readily? Contributors could get a free copy and a lovely party at the launch, along with perhaps some other fine rewards? I do believe that's how this style of fundraising works.

Please comment on anything here, great to hear from you. Do also offer suggestions for ways to raise funds. Otherwise offers of editing work, are welcome, or writing or manuscript assessment work, or tutoring or lecturing re any kind of writing, also drawing or illustration projects, most gratefully received. My classes in Creative Writing start at Leisuretime Learning soon. One of the successes has his big book about Grey Lynn soon to be launched.  The cover is shown below.

To be launched in late 2015

See? Teaching and mentoring does get in. *laughing*

Zinefest Tamaki Makaurau Auckland

Curious, funny, serious, arty, wild, polished, rough, and everything-else-too zines, they appeared with attendant makers and customers, browsers and questioners. The buzz of noise in that old church hall under the Methodist place in Pitt Street was overwhelming at times, people talking.

Geneva made a folded zine based on a defaced Rupert colouring-in book, given to her as a child by her Gran. It includes amusing captions invented for some images during her growing up. 

She called it a tribute to her loss of innocence. Ruderp's adventures in irreverent-land. Complete with its own envelope.

I'd made a zine with my dear friend Chris Knox. Over about a week we patriarched-up a Schoolgirl Annual from 1962, (that was falling apart). The blonde smiler on the cover now has a crown attached to her pink headband.  The spikes are all long pieces of various machinery. Focused work that took us hours, but amusing too.

Printing proved the greatest ordeal, due to the print place needing more staff, really. Once the best print place around here, but now Warehouse Stationery St Lukes is an ordeal of waiting and waiting, then staff simply not being able to do things, or doing them incorrectly. It seems they have too much to do at once, and some lack proper training, from my expert observation. 

I suggested they get more staff, but apparently the owners only consider a new computer's needed. I wish vainly for the efficient place it used to be, that's all. It took two days, and about two hours each time, to get merely 30 odd pages printed, and stapled, and a colour cover printed, just ten copies, seems crazy time to me. I also had to go back four times due to various errors made by various staff members. They're great people and do their best but honestly, they need more staff working there.

Colouring in pages I've drawn over the last six months or so, were sold in folders, (they're above to the right of the zine Chrx and I made). Colour in then use as a poster, wrapping paper, or give to someone as a gift.

We also displayed other Waywin Craft wares, all literary crafts, some include poetry, others are notebooks and daydream books, with some pictures on the pages. 

Geneva's phone has its own rubber-encased speaker, to play tunes from the misty frequencies. No wires. Ahhh modern life.

Made friends with a young artist next to us, Abee, From Hamilton, and quite a startling talent. The Free Western Papua patches were a lovely giveaway on her table, too.

Zine makers set up all around. We also admired some excellent outfits, or stylish under-stated looks, and quite a few flamboyant creatures too.

Be great to get along there next year as well. Zinefest has a making day that's free, they also provide an opening party, and a closing party, plus the enormous market event itself. Thanks to all the organisers.

Read read read....

You're welcome to come to my house and see the merchandise shown here, I'm in Grey Lynn, email raewynalexander [at] hotmail dot com. Or find Waywin Craft on facebook, or here  http://waywincraft.blogspot.co.nz/

Good.

Glam Rock Boyfriends and True Love

 

In my writing room 2015

The film, Birdman prompted me to write a new entry here, hello. A complex, pointed, but also wondrously blurred story in that movie. A reminder of what hyped situations and confusing or emotional inner worlds artists may live with, the demands of our creative lives. How difficult our everyday can feel, as professional creative people, but we're stuck with this odd fate if we've worked hard enough, used, honed our talent, embraced the luck and wish to continue in the same vein. Somehow we must do the best we can like everyone else, but as far as our work goes we're in a specialist league. 

Ages since I've written here too, a few months, but readers have been visiting. Thanks for your support, over 22,000 hits now.

Circus people from around 1955, when my novel begins.

Quite busy, (it keeps me out of trouble, so far anyway). My third novel and fifteenth book Glam Rock Boyfriends, available as a kindle ebook, (saves trees), and also print-on-demand through Amazon, it was launched late last year, 2014. Promoting this publication has taken up some time, along with my lecturing at UNITEC, narrative writing, (individual classes available to adult students who want to be writers, just ask at the School of Communication Studies), and workshopping writing with many writers who attend my sessions at Blue Haven in Grey Lynn, (my Raewyn Alexander Writing facebook page has more). Writing write writer, wordy words wording, the page awaits, the pane is a plate, a pant is a state....

Also, I fell in love with someone quite lovely, quite a match, (after decades of extraordinary and necessary mistakes), an old friend who loves me dearly, too. O be happy for us. We've been enjoying the resulting peace and contentment, amongst other pleasures. Who knew serenity could feel so extreme? 

Xmas lights Franklin Road Tamaki Makaurau Auckland Aotearoa NZ 2014

Luckily they live nearby here in Tamaki Makaurau Auckland, so there's no issue with proximity, or culture for that matter. We've both lived here in Grey Lynn the funky multifarious swept up and over suburb near the city for more than 20 years, and originally escaped from small, repressed places in this country. We took off from our home towns as fast as we could, and we've both worked for decades as artists, in various genre. Many of my friends are delighted with this love, and so are we.  Good news, how welcome.

A miracle when true love appears isn't it? Those first few months bonding in a haze, with bells and whistles ring-a-linging and twoo-a-twooing, singing birds swooning, flowers blooming in every frame of every day, the light more vivid, music more intense....

Our advancing age and attendant health issues cause some consternation, however, along with a few minor peculiarities which may appear easily laughed away. Naturally too, some serious difficulties still arise, life is like that, but love assists with the deflation, hopefully. Intriguing to see what happens when we fall in love, with any of us, isn't it? In my case the rather quite a few I told initially who were those people I thought would be happy to hear about it, (the trusted and truly close), told me how happy they were for us. So pleased I'd found someone who suits me so well. (They know us both, and have done for years). 

Loneliness and heartache being two of my great occupations for a long time, (but I gave up those careers after quite a struggle), so I guess it's wonderful for those who know me well to see I've genuinely found joy with this man. Our ebullience gradually added to the certain contentment I'd finally managed alone. 

Then slowly, of course, others caught the news, and many varied opinions opened out. Ah, opinions bloom like so many flowers, don't they? When picking flowers, I usually only choose the ones I like, though, so it means the bouquet pleases me, then. What about you? It's the sorting through what to choose that may be arduous.

Now I see that if you find some friends or family do not support you in some success you've luckily found, then it can prove to be due to their own unhappiness, their lack of positive behaviour. They appear clouded, or weak, cannot find it in their heart to express support. We are all of us struggling with various troubles, too, naturally. It's best then not to think someone else's nay-saying has anything much to do with you, their bitterness, or sadness, or doubts, or apparent, deliberate sabotage. Be as kind as possible without allowing their negativity to grow. This is one of the obstacles to happiness, allowing others to unduly influence you to stop feeling happy, and it is most easily overcome with love. We may also use symbols or other ways to focus our energies, in order to remove or overcome difficulties.

Appealing to an outside agency, a help-line, a friend, a therapist, some religious figure, or using writing or art or music to express what you're going through, this may assist in learning how to move on in good heart. I like to have imaginary conversations with people involved in an issue, as if they are in a play with me, for instance. I also meditate and give thanks every day, or try to, but sometimes I forget. A routine of some kind, even a loose one, does assist us with maintaining good health, however, and it's as well to recall that.

https://www.sscnet.ucla.edu/southasia/Religions/Avatars/Ganesh.html

What struck me, in any case, was that in the book Glam Rock Boyfriends the main character eventually finds true love, too. It feels like I've written myself into this new reality, kind of, like the character of Patricia, (who becomes Athena) - a better standpoint, a healthier way to behave, think, feel, and trust. I'm hoping this is a good sign, because the book is, in fact, intended as a magical document to assist readers to find ways to better relationships. As Dr. Rene Harrison who launched the book says, writing is a magical act. Literature makes what is written, true. This novel is not just an invention, a mere entertainment, and never was meant to be so, hence its genre - an imaginary memoir, which I invented, especially. The expression of truth is supposed to appear more real, then. It is framed as a personal story. 

This imaginary memoir is based in part on a book I was also involved with called, The Butterfly Diaries about suicide survivors. Inspiring people to live more fulfilling, safer lives, using true life stories, and various genre to tell those. I wrote an essay in that book, which has proven to be a highly successful publication.

Glam Rock Boyfriends is based, as well, on researching a series of self-help books read years ago, when seeking to never again be in a destructive intimate relationship, with anyone. These kinds of publications often take people through various difficult scenarios, before presenting the more rewarding case studies, I noticed. This way a reader "lives" through destructive love affairs vicariously, then later "lives" the rewarding way, until they've learnt what to look for in order to have true love, self-respect, and dignity, without being idealistic. I read about twelve such books for my own good, and gathered much material from them, discarding what I did not think suited me.

Various therapists were also consulted, psycho-therapists and a cognitive behavioural therapist. Then my own training as a phone counsellor did provide some useful background as well. To improve relationships, to feel more secure, these are reasons to visit a therapist, we need not be mentally ill to go there. It is better to go along for maintenance and insights once a month, or once every six months, than to wait until things get really bad, anyway, just like we may go to a GP for a yearly physical health check-up. It was once common to see someone about such things, only 100 years ago. But the industrial revolution produced various social changes like making people think they no longer needed "outsiders" to help them, and so-called nuclear families appeared as easily moveable economic units, with all the attendant troubles that has caused.

In order to realise ourselves to our fullest potential and stay happy, we do need secure communities, good advice, and some outside viewpoints. We may create these ourselves, with our choices, reach out to others, see what eventuates.

http://homeandfamily.org.nz/about/counsellors/

My degree is in social science, International Communication, UNITEC. That training assisted me to present a novel with a communication background, conducive to assisting people to lead better lives.

Glam Rock Boyfriends is not a novel for everyone. It's not an airport book, nor easy-to-digest fiction, not a fun read with jokes about modern life to make the everyday seem easily thrown away for the next best thing promoted, there's no froth and easy flow with a bit of a punch like a good cappuccino. It's presented as a true story and scary at times, confusing at others, it drags you down to the awful depths of despair too, even if the highs are as thrilling as a drug-induced trip-a-loola-whooo, or you're in the most fabulous places luuurrrve may take you, occasionally. Patricia tells her story a little clumsily too, of course, slightly, to be authentic, she's only a beginning writer with one book published so far, this character.

This third novel took nine years to write, (and I wrote a few others beforehand which have not been published, too), it took much research, and is put together from about fifteen stories told to me by, or about, survivors of post-traumatic stress disorder, depression, and related mental or drug-addiction-related illnesses. It took a great deal out of me to write it, and it felt frightening at times, but in the end I was released, freer, more hopeful than I've ever been. I too have had my trials, and had to change to adapt and grow.

Literary writers, we write to learn something, I believe. My work is about me exploring what I think I need to know, places I want to see, human conditions which require development in myself and better understanding. If I come to some change for the better, then surely some readers could too? I also love what I write, as Ray Bradbury said, you must love what you're writing, so the reader also loves the story. Not everyone wants to learn, however, and some will already know what I've shown, sure.

Glam Rock Boyfriends is positive about love, the genuine article, and some great sex is described, and fantastic fashion for each decade, some over-the-top passages are also extremely indulgent about how fabulous and exotic some people looked but hey, the 60s, 70s, 80s were insane, for the daring few.... Don't the scattering of extraverts and stylistas and show-offs make the world just so much more varied and exciting, that little bit more pizazzy on occasion?

http://www.desiree.co.nz/

 

Vivienne Westwood - who inspired so much local fashion in Aotearoa NZ http://www.thecultureconcept.com/circle/punk-chaos-to-couture-a-dialogue-between-art-fashion

 

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Suburban-Reptiles/272719231671?fref=ts

 

Annie Bonza design

Yes, I recall those eras, no, I did not indulge in much terrible behaviour - even if some people certainly think I did, they seem to get me muddled up with themselves when I hear their explanations, or they 'heard stories' about me. Mainly I moved on and learnt better, as far as I am concerned. Seems best.

My memory was not impaired. 

I was and am what I now call a safety officer. I spent a lot of time observing others behaving badly, discussing earnestly with them why they did that, and how they could take better care of themselves. I guess taking care comes from being the oldest in my family, having to be responsible for a gaggle of neighbourhood children besides, and smart enough as a teen to realise a quick fix, or a wild, unprotected sex life, is not any remedy for changing unhappiness. 

I wasn't a saint either, sure, some of my own memories did assist with the details in this novel, all fictionalised and changed to suit Patricia, you understand. It is by making a story fiction that we best understand ourselves, Jeanette Winterson said, more or less, and it seems to me she's correct. The freedom and artistic license allows far more in-depth explorations and satisfying outcomes, in fiction.

So, the book worked for me on a psychological level, after all the writing and work and research, and editing for nine years, and I learnt how to improve my life, besides, along with Patricia, (later Athena). I went through the agonies of more editing with a fine young editor, Jamie Higgins, who also loved the book. We wrestled with the text and made it behave itself, without losing heart, muscle, shazoom, and originality. 

Now Glam Rock Boyfriends is out there in the world, getting attention, like the real boyfriends of so many girls and boys did. The story mentions some genuine rock stars too, it's historical fiction and set in Aotearoa New Zealand with various musical heroes included for authenticity, Hello Sailor, Dragon, The Scavengers, The Suburban Reptiles.... I knew some of them.

Musicians are a wonder to me, what they give us for our lives, we're so lucky to have them play and sing for us.
 
Glam Rock Boyfriends is written in the voice of a character who's an anti-heroine. Patricia behaves in such an irresponsible way, as so many with shellshock or PTSD do, she's unwittingly mentally ill, doesn't realise initially that not everyone lives a hell life, (like so many sufferers do not realise). She's covertly abused. This girl, then woman, struggles, finds life tough, and simply tells her story later after recovery, without looking for sympathy. She wants to write it down to understand herself, that's all, at times horribly honest about her own stupidity and failings. Then also she does not dwell on terrible details. 

Many people who change their lives so drastically for the better are barely able to tell their story later, they want to forget it. If they've done their therapy properly they do forget, thankfully. Patricia, who becomes Athena, is not about to drag up the dire, painful details for some readers' momentary entertainment, and awful incidents are not necessary for this tale to work as intended.

Patricia/Athena feels glad to still be alive, but it's been an ordeal. In the book, this woman eventually realises she needs therapy. It's not detailed because therapy is different for everyone, and private. The abuse is also not described precisely due to this being a possible trigger for people who suffer from PTSD, or depression, and really, if anyone wants to know what three cruel brothers could do to a small girl to make her get shellshock, I think that person needs therapy themselves, and pronto. One reviewer, (or two reviewers if the other review oddly like the first - seems plagiarised), wanted details of the abuse apparently in order to believe this character went through something terrible. It's difficult not to see that wish as creepy. I realise the modern age perhaps tends to stunt imagination, and some people simply have none to speak of, as well. Perhaps then this book is not for such people, nor for the countless others who care nothing for anyone who has suffered so horribly they do not want to relive the dreadful stories, but instead want to share how they survived, how they learnt what love meant, how they lived a full and happy life at last. 

It's worth noting here, however, that part of the problem re abuse in this country Aotearoa NZ, and world-wide, is that too many abused people are not believed. The lucky people who have escaped trauma could be kinder - that could help assist many troubled folk to recovery.

http://www.hiddenhurt.co.uk/helping_abuse_victims.html

Anyway, this blog, (which takes about seven to nine hours for each entry as long as this one, including editing, and adding the images), is partly to set the record straight about the structure of the novel, and how it works. No review considers that so far, none I have seen. 

Any piece of literary writing is a machine of words designed to do certain things, to work, to operate in the world of the mind and heart and memory. A novel is not designed to do what you wish it did, nor what most other novels you may like do, a novel is designed to do what the author makes it do, and sometimes such writings are difficult to take. That is also like plays and films and songs which transform or affect us in unusual ways. Writing which seeks to alter people's lives and take them on a genuine journey at the end of which they will never be the same again, can be quite a trip, like a real one in space and time. Such writing may also take longer to read than many other books. It was however common in the past for people to take a year or more to read a novel. Sometimes too you may find a little of this book is enough to affect you in ways that help you think about what would be best for yourself, in future. Art gives us a personal experience.

Meanwhile true love in my actual life appeared. Yes. At first there were various unsuitable people, who I managed to discourage. Then there was one stupendous experience in the guise of an impossible love, a distant love, a fantasy, an alarming affair started in real time, then in texts, then within over 1,000 emails with someone who I am unable to describe, in order to respect their privacy. In any case, it was like a practise run, possibly, co-incidentally also taking me to amrka where I learnt generally what continuous happiness felt like. 

I think I can truly say I was never truly happy for so long, until that first journey to amrka to see my writer friends there, writers who I'd known online for twelve years. That trip is documented here and it starts at the beginning of this blog. It was a dream come true.

Meanwhile, I learnt that love never goes away if you're willing to let it stay, a valuable lesson. Once we part from a lover, there is no need to stop loving them and succumb to hatred or indifference, nor even sadness that things have changed between us, eventually, after the grief is over. So I could love then all those I've loved before, and the capacity for loving recognised gave me calm, peace, a kind of knowingness in what I call the realm of nowhere and nothing, where time does not exist, only love does.

Franklin Rd Xmas Lights 2014 by Raewyn Alexander

This all came about while finishing my novel, Glam Rock Boyfriends, and partly from the extraordinary amount of work I did to get it written. Older, I also learnt to forget what I could do nothing much to change, and I decided consciously to get assistance with relationships from professionals.

Some of the chapters, by the way, have also been printed as stories, already in literary magazines like Takahe, or broadcast on Radio NZ.

Then, just as they say, and just as Patricia, who changes her name to Athena in the book discovers too, when I least expected it, love truly did appear and it grew into something fine, good, mutual, and o yes, of course, difficult. Obstacles always appear with true love, (romance is the scenario where things go rather more smoothly). 

Every time we overcome one issue, in love, we grow a little more together, and our love strengthens; I think that's what true love is for. Yes, love makes us feel good, but also, when those obstacles appear we want the feeling good to return, so we may then struggle in good spirits, or at least strongly, to find a way to diminish, sideline, or remove the obstacle, or climb over or through it, together. Good company appears to make this arduous exercise more possible and effective, somehow.

  My true love in my everyday life is not like Athena's man in my book however, and I do not live in a small place by the sea as she does. We individually make our own world, our own lives, we live each of us uniquely, and so it is we're quite human. 

Oddly enough, given the title of my novel, the man I now love is a musician, however, and quite well known - a rather amusing, even stunning, twist in this story of real life intertwined with fiction, and the work of writing a book.

So hmmm, a novel soon to be in a bookstore or library near you if you order it, do go ahead. The ISBN number is all you need. Take this to your local bookstore, or library, or order Glam Rock Boyfriends from Amazon.

Glam Rock Boyfriends ISBN: 9780473266646

A review of Glam Rock Boyfriends is here, more shall appear in time. There is also a review in NZ Books a month or so back but you need to subscribe to read it. That link is also below - 

www.takahe.org.nz/reviews/t83/T83ReviewGlamRockBoyfriends.pdf  

http://nzbooks.org.nz/2014/literature/bright-satins-razor-encrusted-leathers-nick-bollinger/

Buy on Amazon here -

http://www.amazon.com/Glam-Rock-Boyfriends-imaginary-memoir/dp/0473266644 
To wind this up, I'd like to mention the novel is also about fashion, and music, mostly rock music, and brave, hard-working, talented musicians and those who love them, who support their work. Those who make the sounds, lights, costumes, crowds, and shows happen. Music that rips open the sides as Iggy Pop kind of sang, allowing so many disaffected or simply adventurous music lovers to find some meaning and glorious feeling in a world that's too often hostile, or empty of vitality. Glam Rock Boyfriends is about a search for true love and what a good friend music may be within that possibly long journey. 

I'm going to leave you with this excellent video and song (the red link below), by Toy Love, of whom it was said by, 'Terence Hogan, the group's short-lived A&R man, also remember[ing] the excitement of this one-of-a-kind band.'

"In among the smashed watermelon and broken glass, drenched in sweat and flecked with blood, the laughs, confusion, exhilaration, there was a complexity in the experience that's all about the priceless, messy human-ness that drives great rock'n'roll."
 www.nzherald.co.nz/entertainment/news/article.cfm?c_id=1501119&objectid=10838142

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hA--zv3L5lE

A still from the Toy Love video

o

Home

Detail of applique curtains made to illustrate my first poetic journey to amrka 2012 - the wolf protects and indicates a belief in the group protecting one another, amongst other things. I see these curtains every evening, and every morning. They were made while watching Game of Thrones with my daughter, on my return to Aotearoa NZ.

 No matter where we find ourselves awake or asleep, any place may sneaky feel as if we know it well, eventually, when taken to heart.  A cat inching forwards, taking some food, allowing our hand to rub their furry cheek, slowly appears tamer. Various places or settings do rather cajole us too, and they may make us feel almost domesticated there. But are we ever quite tame?

 Everyday life grows to feel as true as a story memorised, with routine, common or garden behaviour, the known and comfortable, and how we can value this comfort. But also, the exhilaration of adventure, daring, trying something new....

Detail from applique curtains made to illustrate my first poetic journey to amrka in 2012 - the flaming sword does not allow anyone but the pure of heart to come near

New friends also gradually reveal more of themselves as they, we, grow closer, too, or simply, in time, the experience of each other changes and so do we, discovering more. Connections build, then strengthen, or they change, at the least.

Some of those close to us also may alter like they're supernatural, part-faerie, changelings, if we're fanciful about it, and this can't be easy for them. Some bizarre or ethereal friends, we love them, perhaps understanding their issues to an extent, while also knowing they're never going to be as close as we wish they were, so we could enjoy their company more fully. 

Through kindness nevertheless we open up more possibilities and our imaginings tend to appear calmer.  We need to genuinely feel and act kindly for this to bear fine results. And perhaps everyone is like a half-wild cat, with instincts alert, so we may never completely cosy up to anyone else, there are boundaries, limits, and mysteries.

There was a time years ago, too, when I felt like I possessed the ability to see into other realms, living in the past without warning, slipping backwards and sideways into strange visions, because I did that, and considered this was a sign I could be part-faerie. The things we tell ourselves when we've got post-traumatic stress, (or shellshock), and no such words to explain it at the time. 

Illustration - Gerda and the crow

www.wattpad.com/48931228-the-andersen-fairytale-the-snow-queen

Hindsight, it's as lovely as a cut diamond, and knowing such facts in retrospect may cost us plenty. Growing to know oneself as heartbroken, for instance, quite a journey. Acceptance of this is a sorrowful but strengthening experience, like recovering from a coma but missing a limb or years of existence.

This writing is about the unwriteable, so it has to be fiction. Freedom exists there. No one need feel hurt. It's not about you, these are characters.

Simply take from this story what you like, need, or think necessary. Here is where we choose the chocolate, sip some drink we like, decide for a moment we know it all.

Between a blue place and a great deal of water, words made stories, and some tales came alive. 

Two lovers turned into birds, and populated days and nights with feathery noises and loud squawks, sent messages to each other on the air. 

Then, due to daylight, because of feelings as strong as city traffic or a full orchestra playing a symphony about myths on fire, these heart-bearers showed their true selves. A glimpse, a moment, reality, blinding and true.

The man - made of glass - shattered.

The woman already fragmented, and mended, found her heart was completely broken. 

So they went on. 

Produce given to me by friends a year or two ago, from an organic garden

The man reformed from the fragments remaining the way he always did. This meant he had to forget some of the people from before, but could recall them if he felt like it, and could see them in a new light.

The woman adapted to her new disability, after a lifetime of practise. She was born hallucinating another world than the one she inhabited, and felt accustomed to living in various dreams, (she could sometimes choose them). 

Their true love for one another assisted them. Love mends and heals, smooths and swirls, makes music, creates calm, love does not mind change, love resists destruction and prevails like weather, or nothingness, or dark, or light, and all of those.

Their bunch of friends became a survival game based around how fast people could turn from oil fuel to solar, and also, still enjoyed beer and fast food, occasionally.
 
Fast. It may mean to do without... but....

Thousands of dollars were poured into planes, trains, cars, boats, trees for travel, and restaurants. People chased dreams, found disillusion, great art, fine architecture, a pedicure, endless conversations, and then, sensual delights.

That's it in a surrealist nutshell, really.

A more minimalist story could cast the entire range of characters in grey, black or white clothing, on a bare stage, each reciting lines of their most devastating poetry. The inevitable cacophony reaching a crescendo, and then silence, sudden, startling, empty. 

Each embracing the other and walking away without looking back, holding threads of each others clothing, unravelling. Taking some kind of connection, each returning to the shadows, the wings, the unknown.

No realist story exists for this. It cannot be real. It's true, which is not the same thing.

If this were as real as rhubarb, or bricks, someone would've spilled the guts of it by now, steaming, reading the resultant mess as if the future made a picture there. 

No, this is an unreality like films, close to music, nearer fragrances mixed to change your perception to belief in tomorrow and your part to play in it, easier. Night requires us to forgive ourselves the day.

Cover of a 1960s Classic Fairy Tales book

Anyone who wishes they could write this way needs to know how many tears fell in the making of this story. They'd wash along, float a boat to a cliff higher than anyone could climb. I let them go.

But o, the story, the true tale of this, it's worth the water and salt.


The internet. 

What's that worth?

None of us can exactly say what it's doing to us, not yet. 

We can't precisely define the friendships made there or because of its existence. 

What impulses are born from these screens and the information flowing forth? Material in every direction, overlapping, undercutting, some true, some half-true, some false, some unproven but probably false, all of it available all the time except when a government blocks it, or individuals remove easy access. 

But echoes, shadows, imprints exist in there somewhere, perhaps, your deleted messages too, maybe. Whispers of who we want to be, pretend to be, make ourselves look like, truly are, and yet, are also, not.

But everyone likes to feel wanted and loved, don't they?

Collage Tiny Title book cover 2011

Adapting to cyber-place. Growing wider eyes and buying tears to drop into them in case we forget to blink.

Just as we fitted into new countries, or older ages, or a move to another city, suburb, house, room, fashion sense, outfit, belief system, relationship.... We may learn to live here too.

In some ways we are the same, after all. We feel certain urges, at different times too,  Love, hate, revenge like that old song by The Avengers, ohhhh.... Broken hearts, young love, better days, wise sayings.... 

The order is all messed up but does it matter?

A broken hearted person, they may look the same as you or me. No one necessarily knows their pain. Do we ever precisely understand what each other goes through? Time to sit with pain in silence, this may assist us in acceptance, then healing. The value is in the giving of that day or week or month. Happiness results from freely giving to others, after caring for ourselves, did you know? Give and you shall receive happiness.

Ah yes but, damaged and also, still alive, the broken-hearted can seem whole, capable, amusing, helpful, however they lack the ability to trust anyone with their attention and belief beyond a certain point. Is that what grown up means? Is it why the idea of maturity is so sad?

Blurry copper pipes found in the garden, tied with string, and trees

Now, take a word picture, imagery, because these often assist us with seeing. It's like expecting a person in a wheelchair to dive into the sea, chair and all, off a wharf into deep water, to expect anyone with a broken heart to make the necessary, brave, terrifying leap into loving someone else and trusting them to care and love them back. A curious circumstance, and it feels like a war's been waged that no one else can see, ever, not even if the terrible story is described in detail. 

But the broken-hearted may love anyway, miraculous, no?

To write about this is sometimes like being inside a cupboard shouting for help believing no one can hear. Are you there?

This is home for me, here.
 
So where are the friends I knew and what say they now? Shakespeare echoes.

Enter, bring your gifts of writing, believe we're going to make it, laugh, sing, and swear, make mistakes, discuss anything you wish, and listen, is that music?

PRESS/ where the sun is bright/ the symphony volcano on the islands/ put on a disguise/ something cooled/ had strange notions/ work of the heart discovered the truth/ and went out at night/ like the ebb and flow - most famous/ the music garlands/ so find some land bordering the deep/ trees in their temple gardens/ important weather/ trying to make a long time that reaches out/ streams in the forests the instruments  

This picture is a collage using images from damaged or out-of-date books, including a map book of Aotearoa New Zealand, and words from an old encyclopedia, the volume was from Ghosts to House Plants. The poem is written also as a caption. I have a series of these in progress and hope to exhibit them soon.


Thanks for reading and please do comment, you're welcome.