I will tell you about a dream. Originally this piece of writing was going to be the description of that dream, a fictional piece written according to the laws of a 'once upon time' of visual imagery which crossed my mind's night escapes from the sad- ever sadder reality which shudders my shoulders as I enter delusion of police vans and crime filled crack pavement streets, which shiver my mind and soul as they creep through the grey vomit of the town-city. Love, as it is not said; the erotic combination of flesh and heart, the truth of what I feel inside; shudders at the thought of the displacement of people so far apart and separated by grey grimy walls of evaporated dreams. Yours ever truly I wish to vent complicated thoughts in such ways as to fill even the most complacent hearts of truth, my voice entering you head's intimate trenches and perhaps whispering love whispers to lull you to a place as com- forting as the milky brown of your mother's cup of tea in your favourite mug. But awakening you to the truth the way those first rays of light crack through the mirror of dreams and the white effervescent light touches your face the way an imaginary god may touch the face of his or her creation, with love love love entering your peerless eyes and letting the steam evaporate from you awakening dreams. So to describe to you my dreams really is to capture you in my net of colours, to show you a discarded vision so you may make it a piece of your ever expanding collage of awareness. Discarded is not the accurate word, rather, growing, appalling by its truth and contrast to my life, that is what makes it writeable, sharable, full of life and imagination's pulling hooks. Could such a dream become reality? Nothing is forbidden. Okay, to start there brings to mind an image from the dream.

Walking up Crouch End high street you will find your- self in Tottenham road going up to Hornsey (forgive me if I've got the names wrong- they are not of consequence anyway) .Soon enough on your right you will come across a few green grocers who keep their groceries outside on boxes. They are surrounded by green plastic grass, but which fruit will you grab? I see myself on a beach with four others, who will I kiss? Who will I take to my heart and change to become a part of me forever..? Oh no! I am not getting across the pictures in my head...Full flowering passions the flowing of the world in the crazy revolution of the kids who want to take it over. As NEMO sang in "Piccadilly in Sepia" ..."we are naked in the underground, there are trillions". The sense of being free, hanging from a plane, totally liberated from the sense of responsibility imposed on you by your parents. Inside every heart there is an urge to be loved so fully, so completely that you forget yourself. Whose limits stop me from reaching out to my fellow boy and girl, man and woman, old lady or gentleman, black or white, Asian or westerner, Christian or Muslim, and taking them into my heart, completely changing their perspective, not understanding the barriers that appear to separate us, solemnly seeing us as one? By saying "God is a Libertine", I do not intend to imply that God exists. I have been an atheist for as long as I have been a- believer and alternating sometimes several times in a second, so there- fore, I intend the title as a symbolic force- the idea that if God did exist, the sense of cosmic consciousness or universal law, that which designates a SINGLE RULE upon all objects and physics and beings, tends to be called God. If such ~ force exists, then, it is ruled by Freedom. By Liberty, by Love. That is the meaning of the title, that is the sense in which it is meant.

(C) Maria Tidball-Binz







"soy un corazon tendido al sol"

http://www.porfolios.com/argentinebabe
http://www.intimaria.org

"Mark Westendorp" <marcovandewestendorp@hotmail.com> Add to Address Book
To: intimaria@btinternet.com
Subject: Collaberation
Date: Mon, 08 Nov 2004 02:10:58 +0000


I'm really liking the stuff you put up tonight: already in contact with
the
ten bob revolution: precisely this I feel in my blood and in my work
and
with such vitality. I thought I was the only one. Been asleep for 23
years.
Waking up to the clamouring of words/images that I must give form to -
and
to the sound of the Libertines/Peter. Have no idea of the history: can
see
it goes deep. Playin 'Tell the King' on my guitar earlier: sweet.

Been lookin at your website: 1981 a vintage year. Guess your the star
that
was born. I Jime 24th. Wish I had the freedom that I see you have with
a
brush. I mostly copy: symbolically. Really struck by your short
stories:
'God is a Libertine': both the concept and the enchanting form of
expression. Have a lot in common with this: I feel God and I feel God
as
limitless possibilty: an ultra real word that cannot help but break
down old
long abandoned frontiers (grey grimy walls of long evaperated dreams'?)
that
are there to be smashed. Also: not a matter to pinpoint at any singular
moment: 'God exists' meaningless: God to big for this: pervasive:
inherent:
hidden: speech a mere whimsy dream, a spec of dust on life, a momentary
distraction, a leaf amid a storm: Being is life, from birth to death
and
everything in betweem: love, fate, and couarge. Myth a reality truth
can
only dream of. A story can capture this: like a song or a dance: one
bar,
one step nothing without the rest.

Especially taken by intro: the idea of the story-teller as the one who
can
stir humanity to its destiny and the individual to their deadened soul.
As
you say: 'Yours ever truly I wish to vent complicated thoughts in such
ways
as to fill even the most complacent hearts of truth.' To lull: to dance
circles about old decaying beliefs: to transcend long forgotten thought
processes: ritual, habit and hearsay: to then surreptitiously expose
the
possibility of the new and unheardof, to reveal our actual potential.
This I
belive utterly about the artist: 'to capture you in my net of colours,
to
show you a disgarded vision, so you can make it a piece of your ever
expanding collage of awareness': that imagination can grant us a space
between our expression and our world and that this space is the source
of
all vitality. We do not hold to any one of our innumerbale intuitions:
they
all prevail among, within and though one another: they all play and
frolic
and wrangle together: the course of life dictates which we should
stumble
across from day to day and give form to in our work. This is the very
essence of my work: truth not as the particular but as the stream of
ideas.
Such words as Truth and God have no singular significance: they exist
to
invade all else by ebb and flow...

'Not disgarded but growing... Nothing is forbidden' - if we are to work
together - which by now I feel v.positive about - I feel that it should
be
on the basis of such notions. Let us paint it, write it and fashion it
in
anywhich way our joint conception and kindred spirits should please.
Let us
cultivate it in
these youthful times for all to breath and share alike.

Can you see this as our point of departure, our theme to flee and chase
happily ever after, the source of much creativity, granduer, glee and
laughter? Let me know how you feel. Till next time Mari, love,

Mark.

Ps. In your other stories you capture sensations I know only in the
deepest
recesses of my consciousness: you have tasted life as I have merely
dreamt
it - or you have a boundless imagination or likely both. 'The Rose' I
think
of particularly. I know my time will come - and even if I am snatched
away
before this exsquisite moment, this empty, long awaiting knowledge will
be
enough, for my passion too great to be foiled by absence. Ah, such
dogged,
wishful thinking...

Also: if you ever want out don't hesitate to say: no need of
explanation. If
there's one thing I fear its obligation. Never feel obliged. Honesty
only.
Nite...

_________________________________________________________________
Express yourself with cool new emoticons
http://www.msn.co.uk/specials/myemo
"




"soy un corazon tendido al sol"

http://www.porfolios.com/argentinebabe
http://www.intimaria.org