The Dark Side of Unconditional Love

Posted in Observation with tags , on April 8, 2021 by Jarrod Boyle

Anyone who has been abused by a family member, or a partner, understands unconditional love.

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You Embarrass the Roses

Posted in poetry on March 22, 2021 by Jarrod Boyle

You embarrass the roses

I see them leaning together, whispering, looking,

Murmuring in spiteful, jealous consensus

As you pass by

The authority of your stride moving through your skirt

with the subtlety of a breeze

You’re wearing your Mona Lisa smile

And I know

That the secret that fills the vortex

at their centre is darkness, emptiness –

Their petals shamefully shroud this painful secret

Until time undoes the strings of their bodice

and they are dissolute

The roses know

That your eyes, your centre, is filled with liquid electricity

that is ever lustrous

That liquidity, that electricity

Is the current that animates your animal grace

So potent that, at forty-four,

It’s begun to scorch the filaments of your jet-black hair

And the roses know I ache for you,

and they also know

that your light

and my ache

are the same.

Flannery O’Connor Hates You

Posted in Observation, Pretensions toward cultural theory with tags , , , , , , on March 20, 2021 by Jarrod Boyle

I’d never read Flannery O’Connor until lockdown. I’d seen her listed as one of the outstanding writers of the twentieth century, specifically in terms of her short stories. I had time on my hands, so I bought her collected works.

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Happy 60th Birthday, Henry Rollins

Posted in Pretensions toward cultural theory, Real Men, resistance training with tags , , , , , , , , , on February 28, 2021 by Jarrod Boyle

The first disturbing event of first-year university was the day I went to meet a childhood friend of mine when he was discharged from the insane asylum.

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Why I Don’t Believe in the Patriarchy (But Still Consider Myself a Feminist)

Posted in Pretensions toward cultural theory with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 19, 2021 by Jarrod Boyle

2.

When Lisa Wilkinson explained on ‘The Project’ television program that Eurydice Dixon was murdered by a man who was the pointy end of a patriarchal culture which is driven to murder women as it sexualises them, I was outraged.

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Why I Don’t Believe in the Patriarchy (But Still Consider Myself A Feminist).

Posted in Pretensions toward cultural theory with tags , , , , , , , , , on February 16, 2021 by Jarrod Boyle

1.

The patriarchy is like Satan, the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus. Sure, there’s some kind of cause and effect involved, but the figure itself is bought into being by those wanting to explain more subtle and complex phenomena, but are happy to settle for an easy answer with a face on it.

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‘Ashes in Your Mouth’: Spending Time in Giovanni’s Room.

Posted in Pretensions toward cultural theory, Reading on February 7, 2021 by Jarrod Boyle

“You think,” [Jacques] persisted, “That my life is shameful because my encounters are. And they are. But you should ask yourself why they are.”

“Why are they – shameful?”

“Because there is no affection in them, and no joy. It’s like putting an electric plug in a dead socket. Touch, but no contact. All touch, but no contact and no light.”

“I asked him, ‘Why?”

“That you must ask yourself,” he told me, “And perhaps one day this morning will not be ashes in your mouth.”

– James Baldwin, Giovanni’s Room,

P. 49

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Surgery

Posted in Surgery with tags , , , , on January 24, 2021 by Jarrod Boyle

I act nonchalant and brush off people’s demonstrations of care and concern, but the truth is, I fear hospital like your dog fears the vet.

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Guard Dog in the Temple of the Goddess

Posted in sonnet with tags , , on December 25, 2020 by Jarrod Boyle

The Goddess stirs within the temple deep

Candles flicker on the sun-burnished gong

Waked by the rasping of her naked feet

I observe the enigma of the throne

With their robes and candles, their cymbals and bells

Priests conform to scripture, and its motions

Down through the dark universe of her smell

I track along instinct and devotion

Attendant and vigilant to her needs

Obedient to her hands and what they hold

Faithful to her heart and what she loves

My beating heart and her unsandalled feet

The separate, susurrant, resonant poles

That span these sun-warmed, midnight temple stones.

‘Art With Values’.

Posted in Pretensions toward cultural theory, Reading, Real Men, trauma with tags , , , , , , , , , , on December 22, 2020 by Jarrod Boyle

There’s a friend of mine, a very successful artist, who I admire very much. I met him twenty years ago when we were working together in a dirty nightclub in South Melbourne; he was collecting glasses and I was bouncing. We both aspired to art, and he hit critical pay-dirt much earlier than I (who am I fooling – I still haven’t got there).

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