15 Edition

Can you
imagine
a world
without
pain?
Empty and hollow, reluctant and tired
Pick up your passion where words and
form reign, before your eyes.
Words and type, images and form,
lines and colour all;
15
Contents
Cover Art by Kirk
Chief Editor Kristy
Graphic Design Kirk
Welcome to edition 15
Recently, we have joined forces
with mindshare. This means we
can now reach a wider audience
as well as offer our talented artists
and writers a space to showcase
a their work online if they choose.
This also means a range of new
options for publication, including
regular blogs, video and audio
now available.
As always, we are amazed by the
talent and creativity of our artists
and writers. We also encourage
you to submit your own work.
We would love to see it!
Due to the fact that carrier
pigeons are becoming harder to
procure these days, please feel
free to use one of the alternative
methods below to contact us.
View ConexOz magazine at
www.ucwpa.org.au/conexoz
15
Co
Three line poem number 29 Roger Catlyn 1
Can you imagine a world without pain? Andy Oath 1
Artwork Andy Oath 1
Three line poem Roger Catlyn 2
Artwork Barry Wilkinson 2
Together Suzanne Siebert 3
Artwork Agravaine 3
Lie to me and tell me you care Phoebe Wolf 4
Artwork Dash 4
Nonsense 1980 - 2010 By Ilmars Ringenbergs 5
Can You Decide Joel McCarthy 5
Artwork Nathan 6
I
Revelation in D minor Part 2 Red Bear 7
Toxic Linda Goels 8
Eight Year Old Ears Suzie Siebert 9
Art Damien Phillips 10
http://mindshare.org.au/about/
conexoz-magazine/
Please e-mail electronic files to:
[email protected]
Or mail to:
Conexoz
PO Box 288
Goodwood, SA, 5034
Story of Conexoz Soybean 11
Art Jacek 12
“A writer is one who communicates ideas and emotions
people want to communicate but aren’t quite sure how,
or even if, they should communicate them.”
Criss Jami, author and musician
ConexOz is a publication that aims to validate and acknowledge those
who have a lived experienced of mental illness and recognize their
determination. It also acknowledges the incredible courage it takes for
people to openly be themselves through their work.
Contents
ontents
Story Daniel 13
Angelic Mental Health Nurse Richard James Bell 14
Call for entries
Blues Avalonia Luke 15
The Old Home Town Tim Leeder 17
Art Kirk 18
Conexoz Story John 19
Diagnosis: Chocolate Shaggy Doo Beats 20
Art Sharon 20
Child Roland Chapter 1 Stuart Davidson 21
Child Roland Chapter 2 Stuart Davidson 22
Op Shop review Irma Hamm 23
Art Andrew 23
The Dark Phoenix Andrew 24
Photography group 25-26
Homeless Conexus Story Suzie Siebert 27-28
Beginning Craig 28
Life appears EDL 29
Curse Kirk 29
Three Line Poem
No. 29
This will sound cowardly
But you have to accept
Injustice
Roger Catlyn
Can you imagine
a world without pain?
Can you imagine a world without pain?
Can you imagine love without pain?
Can you see the sky above,
Can you see a world without love?
Is your heart just an organ that pumps
Blood to your brain?
Or is your grey sky simply rain?
But without rain could you ascertain,
That life is sometimes plain.
And in thows times of boredom and
Doubt is it not then I pull my pen out,
And lay down some words,
That if I did not, would never be heard?
I am no great poet,
sometimes I can ryme,
but if not for rain,
I would not have time,
to drink from the sky
Its beautiful grace.
All I wish is a smile on your face.
For if you fail to hear
My plea; or take me seriously,
then only nearer my God to thee.
I cannot explain the way I think.
But next time it rains
Pause – think – drink
Andy Oath
Artwork by Andy Oath
p1
1
Three Line Poem
No. 30
p2
Injustice is part of life
If it upsets you
You will never stop being angry
Roger Catlyn
Artwork by Barry Wilkinson
Together
p3
Take my hand; hold onto its hope, it will bring me to you
Turn around and look at me; our reflections were one in
the same
We read each other’s expression, our thoughts shared
without saying
We are kept closer together, in our knowing that only we
will always know
We are being touched by something wonderful
Away from what we can’t comprehend to an understanding that’s completely trusted
Led by something that will always carry us past all the
now’s that hadn’t lasted
Everything great will come and when it does uncertainty
will be forgotten
You are taking my hand, taking me to the place I truly
need to be
Together as it has always been
Suzanne Siebert
Artwork by Agravaine
Lie to me
and tell me you care
Can you hear the music playing
faint, the words just not quite caught
and maybe you recognise it
maybe you know it, so you thought
like you know me, but you can’t see
how the world is through my eyes
give me platitudes and comfort
but I can see through your lies
stretch your hand out, I can’t reach it
perhaps you don’t want me to
you’re just wanting me to think that
you want me like I want you
so we dance, seems like together
different songs play in our heads
moving with me but you’re thinking
you want someone else instead
falsely lay me down to kiss me
and yet I already know
behind me, reach for another
without looking back you’ll go
so while I’m left here waiting
blindly denying what’s so clear
now invisible, admitting you
don’t even see me here
Phoebe Wolf
p4
Artwork by Dash
Nonsense
1980 – 2010
In wee wee town
Lived a real Pooh Pooh
Twas the joy of him
That made his Mother give in to his every whim
She bought him an instrument made of wood
And there he sat wailing at the moon
and playing real good
Waiting for fame and fortune to smile at him
And there he sat thinking he was Tiny Tim
A fairytale figure who liked dim sims
With long locks and hooked nose
Striking a momentary pose
He looked at his feet and
disappeared between his toes
And along came the three bears
Who were not exactly squares
And left goldilocks to wonder why
She had to fly
p5
Can You Decide
Ilmars Ringenbergs
My revisit of indecision;
Continual double minded vision.
Am I able to follow just one path;
I’ll leave this thought with a laugh.
There is nothing anyone can do to help.
Now on to some revision,
To go over past decisions.
To see about where it all went wrong,
A time of a lot of songs.
There is no longer escape!
Flip the coin and see what follows;
Another chance to chose, right or wrong.
No telling for just how long.
Joel McCarthy
Meow
It is true, we shall be monsters, cut off from
all the world; but on that account we shall
be more attached to one another.
Mary Shelley, author of Frankenstein
p6
Artwork by Nathan
p7
Revelation in
D Minor
Part 2
Fill your soul with boats of
gold down by the rivers of
rock and roll.
To every morn every night some are born to the
endless night some are born to sweet delight all
your nights might turn today all your days might
turn to night some are born to sweet delight
some are born to the endless night.
Antman looked down at the blood gushing
from his leg do you have the seed Antman thats
a roger contral one I have the seed. Heres the code
Antman when Scyrus is higher than Orion open
the rainbow bridge.
Antman strapped his leg up then stumbled
into the buffalo bills burger bar for a hamburger
cooked rare. He looked around taxi drivers looked
nervous as I eyed them off as modern day meat
dispensers of the scared and living tourists
delivered to loney meat lockers and soda stills. A
trucky munched on a burger as outside hid half a
million dollars of space cooled transformer soaked
up the methane of 60 tonnes of alien squid be
trucked north to be salted and turned into
hamburger crackle.
The trucky looked nervous as i spied his gutload of parasitic organisms devouring his meal like
a nuclear cockroach sunning itself in the glory of a
post apocalyptic sunset. I looked into the porcelain
nightmare of history with a Caesar salad laid to
waste by saint chicken clocker on the stairway to
gods garden of space and unidentified dreams
and nightmares. Radio disc jockeys quivered in the
bored animal farm mentality of the soft rock that
barely holds the eyes open in the altered states
of Cold Chisel. The white lines peeled into the
northern future as truckstops shimmered in the
distant heat signs all shotgun freckled as a country
warning to the tides of change. I looked into the
dawn of kaos as the paint dried upon the future
of surfer lost on gods highway and the waves
were all bad very bad.
I hitched into the Pion shire with a bag of
homegrown and some darkened space wires.
The gingerbread man was drifting north to check
things out again. Waves rolled across the sky in
harmony with the mountain. The emergency
service was quiet here in Pion barely blowin thye
foghorns for anyone these days. Van Halen in the
wings of the night of the night as I fuelled up
on Russian Malboros and some sweet but hard
lemonade. By the look of it skinheads were
conscious of the future voids of man the machines
and Germanys distant future that was once more
being assembled in factories all over the globe.
Ataria children were adults now and were staring
to understand racial culture as a steak sandwich
and a beer at the foot. Why eart the wife I
wondered yet they did and do.
The rock collectors of the grand awakening
were long gone leaving no trail beyond the
complications of the red dustered anal lingering of
the northern sandpit of stars. I looked at my carcus
fading in the summer evening and could smell
the wholesale discoveries tied to the nipple of
unsaturated milk and the cuisines mud apples and
liquer. The presidents bandaid to part the pacific
over steel and vodka rained upon the paranoid
windscreen of Sydney gypsies looking for the right
turn into Texas. Cigarettes and caffeine bit at the
neurosis of a childhood lived in the sight of bad
drugs bad sex and nightmares. Times infinite was
meeting its conclusion surrounded by dark
shadows over an eon of the paranormal still
to come.
Memories were a cluture the future dodged
as the pseudopshic society went mad on the
shopping trolley wheels off there coconuts
bopping to the seven eleven cogs spinning on
bad science and unwritten Satanism. The scent of
spring had bought the winter gums to flower in
there own eternal way of putting some colour as
the sunlight slowly faded to grey. Si looked into the
darkening sky cyruis was entering the nether
as I twitched a nervous cigarette I whispered a
prayer for the generations of Pion to come I lay the
wax between my fingers and Antman was gone a
drifter to the virus of the machine that breathed
in him so deep.
Red Bear
p8
Eight Year Old Ears
p9
Be a good girl, the neighbor said “The children can only visit
me one at a time”
I was told that he had a big surprise of lollies “Now come
inside, let’s play a game, let’s see you try”
And in his stale rasping voice he told me what to do in
his games
He said “I will give you your lollies now, keep quiet, you
know you can’t cry”
“Don’t talk too soon when you go home or you might forget
your new lies”
So I would just stare at the picture of a girl wondering if he
played these games with her
Even then his sins were too ugly to ignore, too slow to hide,
even with my own 8 year old eyes,
Each disgusting idea there in dry deadened creases,
looking so sly
My childhood was gone; to him the hint of the lollies make
it fair, a surprise
My saying nothing afterwards was how I’d really said it
all my life
I hid all those things when a bad feeling came later I could
spell it, it was a feeling called shame
I never understood why old men played with broken rules
Then one day I remember holding myself very still yet
trying to move, but staring straight ahead
Finally this was the end
I was absolutely thrilled when my 8 year old ears heard
that he was dead
By Suzie Siebert
So what’s wrong
with my teeth
Artwork by Damien Phillips
p10
Story of Conexoz
I was a foggy winter’s morning and a young lass
wearing nothing but a toga and carrying a harp,
stumbled upon something very peculiar…..
very peculiar indeed. A secret Man’s club…. of
moustaches. The men were in a circle tweaking
their moustaches and chanting a word she
couldn’t quite make out. Over and over again
this word would be repeated. She gracefully fell
off the horse and went in closer to hear what
these men were chanting. Carefully and quietly,
she crept nearer to the men and could now hear
these magnificent words. “CO-NEX-OZ! CON-EXOZ! CO-NE-XOZ!”
The men spoke…”We the men of Moustachia,
declare our allegiance to the God CONEXOZ and
his blessings of the moustaches of all shapes
and sized. From little Hitler moustaches, to the
more in your face “adult film” styled moustache.
We revel in your glory CONEXOZ God of
moustaches. ALL HAIL CONEXOZ AND HIS
ALMIGHTY WISDOM!”
Well the girl couldn’t believe it, all her life she
had been searching for the illusive moustache
God and here in front of her eyes she had
witnessed a moustache ceremony. She was lost
in thought when all of a sudden she was spotted
by one of the men. “you there, one without as
moustache. What is your business? Why do you
watch us with judgemental eyes? We are merely
men of Moustachia a country south of France.
We wish to be left in peace.”
The girl was shocked “I simply wanted to
know more of the God of moustaches. As a
lady girl I am unable to grow a moustache.
Sure I have some circus blood in me, but
that skipped a generation and I wander the
earth with a bald upper lip, crying into my
pillow at night, never having food stuck
anywhere else, but my teeth. Teach me the
ways of Moustachia so that I may be one of
you.” The men suspiciously eye the young
girl and obliged.
The girl was put through rigorous tests
to show her loyalty to the clan. The men
constantly doubted her ability to grow a
moustache, but one foggy night…it was
quite foggy in this area…a moustache
blossomed on her top lip, more magnificent
then any moustache that ever was.
“OH THANK YOU CONEXOZ GOD OF
MOUSTACHES! I will never forget this.” The
girl went on to travel the land showing oiff
her moustache to the townspeople.
It was her great great great great great
great great great grand daughter who
started a magazine in her honour. ConexOz
a magazine for those who dare to dream.
Because every girl CAN grow a moustache
Soybean
p11
Artwork by Jacek
p12
By Daniel
p13
Angelic Mental
Health Nurse The Irish angel appears to comfort me
Wearing a gold cross necklace.
Saviour came just in time
With treatment for my mental Illness.
Devine mental healthe nurse
Halo overhead
Surrounded by a beautiful glow.
Profound advice she spreads
“God doesn’t come down to change your tyre
He gives people brains to cure illness and disease.”
One day she announced
“A little flutter of wings
A baby on the way.”
Soon after I became sick
To hospital I arrived
Voices were telling me to commit suicide.
The next day she called
“I know what happened
Cannot see you anymore
Baby soon to come.”
Never again
Did I see her celestical medicine bag
Or heard her majestic guidance.
Thank you God
For your divine intervention.
p14
The illuminated saviour you sent
I enjoyed her time
I pray that angel and baby are alright
By Richard James Bell
I deserve my shower
I deserve my coffee
I deserve my smoke
Blues Avalonia
There is no hot water
The coffee’s run out
I got no smokes
Who’s that knocking on my door?
p15
I went to the office
They said I drank all their coffee
And they got none
I tell them I got no hot water, I deserve a shower
Ring Allen is all they say
Slamming the door shut
Yeah thanks a lot
There’s a knock on my door
My head hurts, why so early
Its 10:30 the worker says, get up!
Ouch
My miserable neighbour
Ruled by the Public Trustee
Trustee is un-trustee
Slinking around out in the public
Watch out
Blues Avalonia
Where is Julian?
Where are my smokes
I deserve my shower
I deserve my coffee
I deserve my smoke
There is no hot water
The coffee’s run out
I got no smokes
By Luke
p16
The old home town
Seventy years have passed since I last went home.
The railway station, adjacent to the main street,
hasn’t changed. I remember it fondly. I can
remember my school friend, James, sitting on
that seat.
I decide to go for a stroll, for old times’ sake.
The shopping centre on the corner near the railway
station is nothing like what was there when I was
young. It was open paddocks, as I recall.
Proceeding down the main street, I notice the
newspaper office is still there. A newsagency now
sits where the corner store used to be. I can still
see old Mr Jenkins serving lollies in a bag. I walk
further down the street. The cemetery next to the
church is just as it was. It has been kept in pristine
condition with the grass freshly mowed.
I decide to walk to the church. It is just the same.
The communion table is covered by a maroon
cloth, symbolising the time of the church year.
An empty vase sits on the communion table. No
doubt, somebody will fill it with flowers before the
service on Sunday. The pews are just as they were.
Not a speck of dust on them or on the cushions
adorning them. The pulpit is the same, except for
the light.
The bakery is still in the same place. The delicious
aroma of freshly baked bread revives memories
from 70 years ago. I recall walking past the bakery
as a boy and buying bread for my lunch. I would
buy lamingtons, too. The shop seems to have sold
out of lamingtons today but I buy a bottle of juice
and sit on the bench outside. That bench has not
moved in all that time, either. The nearby white
plastic chairs and table are new, though. The bench
is still directly opposite the Institute building with
its grand Victorian façade.
I walk over and look through the window. Still the
same, it is. The floorboards and stage are just as I
remember them. If only those walls could speak?
They would have lots to tell of the happenings
of long ago. The Institute served as the council
chambers and library. King George was the
monarch in those days and his portrait hung
majestically over proceedings.
I walk down the main street, past shopfronts which
are identical in design to what I knew. However, the
shops themselves are different.
It is time to head back to the city and my seaside
unit. I do so with a heavy heart, conscious that
I might not see the old town again.
By Tim Leeder
p17
p18
Artwork by Kirk
Conexoz
Story
by John
p19
Diagnosis: Chocolate
Mental illness is like chocolate,
Tastes good but melts all over your hands…
Chocolate is like mental illness,
Prolonged use can be harmful to your health.
By Shaggy Doo Beats
p20
“Imagination is more important than knowledge”.
Albert Einstien
Artwork by Sharon
Child Roland
Chapter 1
The boy was dead, clearly the old wizard
shouldn’t have taken him hunting. A bullet
ricocheted and there he was, dead at the age
of twelve.
His father, another wizard, wouldn’t just be
angry. The old wizard shuddered. The forces of
destiny were strange, especially on this planet.
The old wizard had to face up to his
responsibilities. He gathered up the boy’s lifeless
body and placed him in the tray of the old utility
he was driving. He drew a heavy sigh as he
turned the key, started the engine and took off.
He wasn’t sure how the boy’s father, a young
wizard, would take the news. The young wizard
had a very bad temper at the best of times.
The old wizard’s name was Ors, and as he
drove up to the high tower, owned by the young
wizard, he got the feeling that a million eyes
were watching him. He knew this was a bad
omen, and he wondered whether he would face
the dead boy’s father’s wraith.
The dead boy’s father’s name was Warren
and he was a much more powerful wizard
than Ors.
Ors opened the door to the tower and began
the long, steep climb to the top. There would be
Warren, in his living quarters.
When he finally arrived at the top, breathing
hard, he knocked at the door. A powerful bass
voice answered, “come in.” The old wizard felt a
p21
chilly draft and trembled; was that a hint of fear?
He opened the door and said “I’m sorry, your boy
is dead, an accident.”
Warren turned from his crystals and glared.
It was as if his eyes were two hot coals. He
pounded his fist on the arm of his chair.
“Then I will kill you,” he screamed. He picked
up his wand and began to incant a spell. Ors
suddenly felt all his power leave him. Warren
had taken away his magic.
“I’m sorry,” cried Ors and then an abyss
opened in front of him and he fell unconscious
to the floor.
in his left hand and his wand in his right. It was
Warren who spoke first.
“So Ors, you’ve awaken. I have buried my
son, my son that you killed.”
Ors spoke in a meek voice. “It was an
accident.”
“I don’t care,” said Warren. “The boy’s dead
and you’re to blame. So as a punishment you are
going to leap from this tower.”
“I will do no such thing,” Ors said in a
strained voice.
The young wizard smiled and laughed.
“I have taken away your powers and you will
remain on the top of this tower until you jump
off.”
“I won’t do it,” said Ors.
“I know you won’t ordinarily jump, my
old friend. So I have a little scenario set up to
prompt you. I have taken away an earthling
boy’s luck. He will be having nothing but bad
luck until you jump. You can see him for yourself
because I have left you with your powers of
sight. And now I will leave you.”
Ors said nothing, but with his powers of
sight he instantly focused on the boy from earth.
And he soon found that the boy’s name was
Roland and that he had recently been diagnosed
with schizophrenia.
By Stuart Davidson
Chapter 2
Roland was a happy child, and when he took his
science degree from university, his parents were
overjoyed. But in his twentieth year on planet
earth, his behaviour began to change. He was
moody and began not sleeping. He became
delusional and thought wizards and dragons
were attacking him.
When he finally saw a psychiatrist he was
diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. So his
life was in turmoil, and it wasn’t going to get any
better. Because little did he know it, but his luck
had just been stolen by a powerful wizard from
another planet.
Chapter 3
When Ors regained consciousness he was on a
balcony at the very top of the tower. A strong
wind was blowing from the south and he was
very cold.
As he opened his eyes he saw Warren in a
bright red hooded cloak, with a goblet of wine
To be
continued...
p22
Op Shop Review
St George Op Shop – St George Place, Port Road
If you’re a sad soul like me, you’d probably
understand the sheer adrenaline rush you get
walking into an op shop you know is good, but
haven’t been to in yonks. That’s how I feel about
this ole’ place. Though small, dusty and perhaps
one giant OH&S nightmare, the hip pocket will love
you as almost everything is under $10. Even if it
means sifting through foot-high piles of blouses,
you will thank yourself later when you find the one
top you always knew you wanted. And don’t stop
there! Why not roll up them sleeves and dip your
arm into a pile of toys for that special youngling,
or sift through the pile of G-Strings to find the
one that screams “hello” to you? Because at St
George, nothing is wasted, not even the coffee
jars (10c each). Despite all the little quirks, you
can always bet you’ll find something interesting
and oh so practical at this place, or at least, have
a conversation with the friendly staff who love a
good chinwag. Fridays, the lovely ladies will even
teach you some skills in knitting for free!
*If it’s winter dress warm, and summer dress cool,
as the air conditioner at the moment acts as a wall
decoration after the remote went missing in the
shop hoard.
Got an op shop near you that you are immensely
attracted to? Why not let us all in on your hidden
secret and write us your personal review on
this place? Please send reviews in to us here
at Conexoz!
With Irma Hamm
p23
At work by Andrew
PHOTO
GRAPHY
p26
GROUP
It was a cold night, the chill was biting at my now
numbed toes hiding inside a pair of worn out boots
I’d found in the bin a few months ago. They were too
big even then, but stuffing newspaper inside made
then a more copable fit. Warmer too.
It’s about 11pm I think, no idea what day it was
though; but I always knew when it was a weekend,
my trade skyrocketed. In any case the day was over
and night had taken over the shift. I was snuggled
as best I could in my home, ‘Wheelie Bin no.9 and
Ricko’s Pizza dump bin’. My place was fully laid with
concrete throughout, the gravelish kind. My walls
were finely decorated with Street Art, graffiti that
changed as often as the parole boards did. Some
tags were quite memorable, Tilt was a good one - it
was sprayed in fresh azure blue; the kind of blue that
the sea tries to be, but hardly ever is, unless you go
to Bali.
I had been living here now for 5 years. Having
previously been married for 7, to whom is not
important, the 7 year itch kicked in and so did my
heroin habit. My fine street address in Rundle Street
was one many people could only dream about. There
was no land agent to bother me, I owned this spot
completely. I even had my own pet which required
no leash or regular walks, I wasn’t the walking type.
Bill, my loyal rat knew who was boss around here
and never nipped unless he was hungrier than I was.
The again, he had 4 legs so could scrounge about.
My 2 legs were literally on their last legs, the cold this
last few nights hadn’t improved the situation.
I am an avid collector, if I do say so myself, and it has
paid off. I have a mountain of bottles waiting to be
recycled, some pieces as much as 20 cents each, all
kept safe in my blue, white and red enlarged ‘homy
bag’. I have to admit I provide a great service to the
city council, clearing up what thoughtless people
p27
The Homeless
Conexus Story
Suzie Siebert
ditched. The weekends were always good too. If I
clambered about I could find 15 maybe 20 fag butts
with just enough puff left in them. Yes, life was good.
It was plentiful. But it was also very cold.
I wrapped a torn Salvos blanket around my shoulders;
I swear the kid who crocheted it failed their Home
Ec class in some private school that semester. Now
settled after half a soggy cheeseburger I found
in the gutter, I looked forward to my evenings
entertainment. Feet. Yes, feet. All sorts and kinds of
feet, passing me by quite regularly. This was way
better than TV, the shows were always different, no
repeats. And there were never any damn ads that
interrupted my viewing pleasure. Then again, after a
bunch of teenagers high on testosterone passed me
by, I did get the Adidas, Converse and the odd Nike
walk by, I consider that was advertising, but at least it
wasn’t demanding kind, that I join a funeral insurance
plan every second commercial on a TV. This was my
entertainment and it was fascinating! And the voices
that belonged to these feet told the most incredible
stories. Tonight someone dumped someone else by
text message, another got a new handbag on sale,
3 guys were slurring how good the bachelors party
was and how good the chicks were in the club. It was
amazing how much I learned about the world by
listening to feet. Feet always had good stories, but
also sad ones a times.
The chill had really got to me now. It was about
3am, at least thats what the taxi drivers feet said as
he lit a smoke to kill some time; God what I would
have given for a full fag, just one full fag. I could
beg, I could also deck him if it weren’t for my frozen
limbs holding me hostage in my comfortable street
lined, concrete layed place of residence. Wheelie
Bin no. 9 was due to be tipped tomorrow. I’m glad
I thought of that then, it took my mind off the fag I
woudn’t get.
My one saving grace was in Wheelie Bin no.9, in a
plastic bag. I lifted it out carefully, nearly everything
edible in it was gone now, and the rest reeked
of damp. But as I undid my plastic bag, my worn
out, dog-eared mag was dry as a bone. The cover
was torn, a bit faded but I could still make out
the title, Conexoz. I treasured this find, it cost me
nothing and took me to places I would never see,
or experience things I could probably escape to, or
from. Every night when the feet petered out, only
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every now and again did a half conversation from
feet pass by, and that was in a hurry so it didn’t say
a lot. I cozied in as much as I could and that wasn’t
much, and read 7 sentences, every night. Just 7.
Savouring each one, reading as slowly as I could, and
then added my own endings to the stories. Others I
had to read through because they were so good. It
gave me hope, reading. It gave me a sense of pride
to own a mag full of stories, about real peope and
imaginary ones. I could imagine anything from this
mag, be anything, and know how tough life could be
for someone. And this is exactly what you are doing
now, reading my story.
Beginning
Craig
I remember reading a Christian book when I was about 20 years old and it took me about 6 hours to read
it and I read it through without stopping once at all. I thought to myself, this is the first book I’ve read in
my entire life, straight through. It was a very spiritual book and as I walked from my mother’s rumpus room
into my bedroom, I placed the book down between the gap in the wardrobe. As I went to turn, a voice was
thrown over me and my whole body shook, my bones rattled and the voice said, “so shall my people be in
thou, as they are in me”. Then about 2 months later I was coming from her rumpus room, walking along and I
stood still all of a sudden and the spirit of God whispered beside my left ear and said, “as my spirit is with me,
so shall it be with you”. As most Christian people know, you have to draw blood to water to break the blood
covenant.
After the Lord manifested thorugh me in early 2005, about 1 month later, or so, He gently and quietly spoke
through me, out on the verandah of my flat and said “Oh Israel, you can either give birth to life or death, you
see, you have an everlasting spirit within you. Oh Israel, you can either give birth to life or death, you shall
give birth to life. So be it says the Lord.”
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Curse
Empty and hollow,
Reluctant and tired;
Pick up your passion,
Where words and form reign,
Before your eye.
Word and type,
Image and form;
Line colours all;
Keen of eye,
Greedily you eat,
Ne’er satisfied.
Passion aside;
Mind still sees,
Word rain,
Pictures afloat,
Line and length,
Shape and form,
Colours Swirl,
A sensual dance;
Of meaning.
Stop,
Stop,
Mind awhirl,
Faster and faster,
Ideas unfurl.
Grasping straws,
Feathers fall,
Time your enemy,
A deadline calls;
Paper and ink,
Toil complete.
Ideas remain,
Ne’er toil finished;
Minds eye still sees,
Ideas ne’er recede,
Mind ne’er rests
That page unfinished,
Left bereft.
By Kirk