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Wednesday, 1 August 2012
Sydney...

After a 3am wake up in Melbourne to catch a 6am flight, Orion and I arrived in Sydney full of cheer and excitement although a tad bit tired! I have decided though that Australian taxi drivers are some of the grumpiest taxi drivers in the world. Or at least the one I have travelled so far. I have yet to meet a polite one. Makes me yearn quietly for London or even American taxi drivers who, whilst at the time it may seem rather annoying, actually engage you in conversation! Aussie drivers barely look at you.  Onward.

 

Dee Stewart

 


Posted by nativevisionquest at 12:01 AM MDT
Updated: Sunday, 5 August 2012 1:17 PM MDT
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Monday, 30 July 2012
Melborne vs Perth...

No contest really.  Melborne.  From the second I set foot on Melborne territory I preferred it.  Not only is it much bigger, but it is much livelier.  The architecture is amazing – such a range of extraordinary buildings and monuments that it makes the city so diverse in its appearance.  Not that I didn’t like Perth.  I did.  But I guess it goes to show that not every city is the same!  Who knows which city I’ll be comparing Melborne to in a few days time! 

So what have we done in Melborne?  Well, the answer would be a fair bit.   The day after arriving we went to Phillips Island.  This island, connected by a bridge to the mainland, is about 2 hours from Melborne and has been made famous by the thousands of Fairy….ooops, sorry, Little Penguins that live there every night.  The penguins only come in at night, so you don’t arrive at the centre until about 8pm.  We arrived at 2pm and had run out of things to do by 2.30pm.  Being the great minds that we are, we decided to drive around and find an activity to do.  What we didn’t bank on was that EVERYTHING was closed on a Tuesday.  Sods flipping law.  Even the restaurants closed at 5.30pm, which left us sitting on the beach counting sand particles for the next 2 and a bit hours.  I must admit, that after reaching about 6billion on my sand particle scale, I was beginning to become disillusioned with seeing these penguins.  But I tell you, the wait was definately worth while.  We arrived at the beach and took our ‘seats’ (i.e. concrete steps) overlooking the beach.    These penguins have been arriving at this beach every evening for thousands of years.  The reason they only arrive in the evening is so that they can avoid their predators and, lets face it, being small there will be a lot of predators!  Unlike ‘normal’ penguins, these penguins are white and dark blue so as to make them ‘invisible.’    Before our eyes, hundreds of penguins began to emerge all along the beach from the water.  In small groups of about 20, they would stand together united, scoping out the beach and its safety.  When each group was ready, they would being their quick penguin run (funniest thing in the world), across the beach to the grassy verges on either side of us where their homes and chicks were.  Occasionally, mid run, something would spook them (usually a chinese or korean tourist standing up and taking a flash photo no doubt…) and they would all turn tail and slide down the hill back into the water. 

Whilst here in Melborne we have also driven the Great Ocean Road.  Which is exactly what it says on the tin.  A great ocean road.  It was beautiful and definately worth the day in a car.  We were extremely lucky with the weather as, as we were leaving Melborne, there were meant to be storms all along the coast.  As it stood, we appeared to have terrific sunshine the entire day, Melborne city flooded.  Go figure.  Today we went to the Dandenong to see the view out over the whole of Melborne.  Do we have to move on?

 

Dee Stewart


Posted by nativevisionquest at 12:01 AM MDT
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Monday, 18 June 2012
I hate flies...

Imagine, sitting in a confined space with a 5 year old kicking the back of your seat, the old man sitting next to is smacking his gums together, the music being played on repeat is Steps ’5,6,7,8,’ a baby is screaming, you are fed brussel sprouts as there was nothing else on the plane .  Did we imaginine it?  We did?  Good.  Now, hold that image……..because THAT image of utter annoyance is NOTHING compared to the flies in Australia.  Honestly, they make me want to rip the skin off my face and jump on it.  Extreme?  Maybe.  In Australia they are the devil incarnate.  I realise I have just written a long paragraph about flies, but I guess that merely serves to emphasise my annoyance and severe hatred!!!!!!!!!!!!  Orion is laughing as he swats the flies away from his face.

 

Dee Stewart


Posted by nativevisionquest at 12:01 AM MDT
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Thursday, 14 June 2012
In a rush...

With 1 day to go, I would have expected to have been in a state of serenity.  A state where bags are packed and ready to go.  I am not.  I have spent a majority of today writing and re-writing ‘to-do’ lists.  I swear…. it never ends.  But as I have been involved in said list writing task, it is safe to say that I have done nothing that is on said list.  My bag is not packed.  My washing is not done.  My passport and other important documents have not be photocopied.  My money is not  in the bank account that it needs to be in.  It’s a wonderful feeling.  Oh, and I’m missing a flip flop.  Just one.  It’s a mystery similar to where socks go when they enter the washing machine.  Despite my best efforts to re-discover said missing flop, I am still one down.  I have resided to ignore the lonely ‘help me’ look of the good flop that stayed where it was supposed to and carry on writing lists.  Lists are good.  Packing is not.

 

Dee Stewart


Posted by nativevisionquest at 12:01 AM MDT
Updated: Sunday, 5 August 2012 12:21 PM MDT
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Saturday, 6 August 2011
Words Of Color

Guided by color
Scarlet veins at her throat, where it falls

Syllables into words
He measures her thoughts against the length of his thumb

And when he wants to know who's been loving her he checks between the fibers
of Aphrodite's doormat

Dee Stewart 08/06/11


Posted by nativevisionquest at 8:27 AM MDT
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Sunday, 31 July 2011
A Sleeping Beauty
That whole time she slept

All those years amongst overgrowth in ivory

While her would-be lover pounded on her door
 

Slow speed of awakening moves into the unseen deadline of time like a tongue into a mouth attempting stoking language

Dee Stewart 7/31/11

Posted by nativevisionquest at 10:59 AM MDT
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Saturday, 30 July 2011
Roots Of Orchids

In 1882 the Orchid hunter Roebelin awoke to find the ladder to his tree house gone.  He lay on his back looking at flowers of Lilac and Cinnamon through the hole in his roof.

 

He comes quietly to her bed thinking he hears the gentle wisp of her eyelids opening

 

Puts his hand on the place near her stomach where he imagines forgetting starts, stops an out breath.

 

The room a dense garden of her smell

 

Soon he will have to say something

 

Soon she will reach from under the blanket for his hand

Lovers of love whisper agitato in their sleep somewhere past

 

Entwined legs of the Orchid

 

Still as one with root and nectar spur

 

Tongued by moths who won't strive to outlive themselves

 

Moon's ingress into Cancer

 

Shiva toenail against indigo with dandruff stars

 

Written by Dee Stewart 07/31/11


Posted by nativevisionquest at 1:16 PM MDT
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Sunday, 6 March 2011
Space Between Words...
If I've ever captured truth, it hasn't been in the words.  Its in the space between them. It follows that a blank page is the highest truth of all, where words go when they follow thoughts and breath out to infinity.


Writing on glass in invisible ink.  Counting minutes and heartbeats as they fall upwards in an imaginary hourglass.

As the circle of my world swallows music, spaces the roar of newborn stars, a peaceful stillness welcomes me.
I manage a slight bow and a child-like smile.
Dee Stewart - 03/06/2011

Posted by nativevisionquest at 7:49 PM MST
Updated: Sunday, 6 March 2011 8:32 PM MST
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Saturday, 5 February 2011
I Will...

She has become the hollow room of this house

Hands holding a porcelain cup

She will use this truth later, but here, this existance is done with fingers, holding keys of doors

Borrowing, I will
Borrow your hands, I will
place them on my chest, I will

be the distant dreamer, I will

witness the patient tongue of sea lapping smooth the rocks, gulping down the swimmers who can’t

Dee Stewart - 2/11


Posted by nativevisionquest at 8:08 AM MST
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Thursday, 14 October 2010
Alongside Silence...

It wasn’t her aria... or maybe yes, perhaps in the happening

She laughs out loud, the sounds spilling out whole like birth

Helping another to an abrupt ending of life, and its taken her half the day.

Resting on her stoop she imagines spare thoughts, each idea with it's own color.  As they crash into each other she calls them forgetful and clumsy, and teasing names them dreams.

Squinting, taking sun as if she could composition the sky.  Light quietly unconcealing all that's primitive and complex, like life.

 

Dee Stewart

10/2010


Posted by nativevisionquest at 7:21 PM MDT
Updated: Saturday, 5 February 2011 8:06 AM MST
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Sunday, 3 October 2010
Brief Encounter...
You knew me once
We spoke in rhythm under glowing dim lights
Drinking our drinks of magenta in cool glass
I understood about timing, you understood about touch
Talking, but saying nothing and everything, ooh and it was oh so fine
You smoked evergreen scented leaves, and shared kisses in between
It was smoky; we lost track of time
I wandered away to the sound of the music
Dee Stewart 10/03/2010

Posted by nativevisionquest at 8:13 AM MDT
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Monday, 27 September 2010
Vibrations...
In the Aunties house there was a vibration, recurrent and mysterious, like the diminishing echo of a piano chord.

This sound was unmistakable to a girl of five, though it was so faint that to this day I cannot be sure whether it was a real sensation or a memory.

My first working hypothesis about the source of the mysterious vibration was this: Ancient and decaying things, handled and knocked around by relatives since the dawn of time, absorbed the life force of these people who used and abused them. And once in a while the collection's energy, having risen to a critical level, would discharge itself into the atmosphere like a sigh of relief, wind through a ghostly wind chime, making a vibration nearly audible...

Twenty years later I understand that the vibration in my Aunties house was love. They loved, and were loved in return.  It was not my Aunties love that made the air hum in the twilight. No particular expression or impression of love caused that vibration, but love itself, ever so briefly made perceptible. True and enduring love sounds a chord now and again, this chord of intense pleasure tinged with melancholy, to remind me that all the component notes have been ringing for generations. In visual terms, if one was to notice all at once that the rainbow of colors flowing from a prism is derived from a ray of pure sunlight...
Dee Nunn Stewart
9/2010

Posted by nativevisionquest at 12:01 AM MDT
Updated: Sunday, 3 October 2010 8:13 AM MDT
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Saturday, 25 September 2010

There was an address written on her palm
that’s been smeared by yours
She can’t remember giving you the keys
You can’t remember locking up the house
You draw a concentric circle around her to see what gathers outside
Sweep up your tracks behind you, keep them in the glove box with the maps
At the appearance of the road ahead you sing her bridges of outlined plans
Knowing she is calmed by the weight of your intention

You use fuzzy words because the clear ones are all being used and you know her ears are tired of them
Over and over you look at each other
Hardly recognizing yourselves in this heat
You stop the car, lean over to kiss her in the center of her chest
 She untangles her sunburnt legs from the dashboard and smiles a distance you can’t turn back from

A billion birds perched in the clouds look down and are blinded by the radiance of that smile
Dee Sellars Stewart
9/2010

Posted by nativevisionquest at 5:42 PM MDT
Updated: Saturday, 25 September 2010 5:43 PM MDT
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Cherry Creek Spill

Denver traffic this morning roars and beeps like a cheap video game.

At Colorado and 1st, a speeding bicyclist's paper sack spills his stash of shiny bagels all over the pavement.

Heads turn.

Two dozen bagels kiss the street at crazy angles, then goofily twirl on empty centers until gravity calms them down in front of some cars at the light.

The bicyclist jerks his vehicle over to the curb while hissing inaudible words of concern.

Colorado Blvd, now suddenly set like a breakfast table, displays to the public a tasty temptation with not one taker.

Idling cars restrained before by a red light now turning green begin to roll forward towards the strewn bagels.

As if witnessing a friend's execution, the bicyclist clutches his empty sack and glares with grim indignity at the squashings.

Dee Stewart


Posted by nativevisionquest at 9:04 AM MDT
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Tuesday, 14 September 2010
Growth...
Don't look back. Break open the shell. It's harder than it looks. And it's not as hard as it seems.
Dee Sellars Stewart
09/14/2010

Posted by nativevisionquest at 6:00 PM MDT
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Monday, 13 September 2010
The Shared Truth Of Almost Someone...
Then There Is Truth
Dee Sellars-Stewart 09/13/2010
There is the truth of a bird’s wingspan to a room, the opening in the window it entered through, then lost.  The weight of a pair of hands trying to free it.  There is the lonely side of dialogue. The pieces of the map and the ground covered by your body when you fall thump.  The cleverness you trail like a comet.  The circus and the flea. Edson’s ambushed stone to the size of his mother’s love. Some giddy slippage, to all the harmonic points on a line to infinity. The curved eyeball to the keyhole of the hostage, then, the walls of the captive. Lullaby of bedrock to all it cradles. The hollow of your hand to what I would fill it with. The rose and what rose. There’s writing on both sides of the paper. The sensation of speaking in tongues. All those centered deities of blind voyeurs to the spectrum of a single note.
The other side of the river to a fish. Totems and guttered stars.  Death, ash, fire, warmth and smoke. 
A forced song of almost someone in so many breaths, there is also this:
A forced song for an almost someone...

Posted by nativevisionquest at 7:04 PM MDT
Updated: Monday, 13 September 2010 7:08 PM MDT
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Saturday, 11 September 2010
The Shape Of Words...

There is an age where a child will test everything by putting it in their mouth as if its taste held a secret.

Before the shape of words weighs down my infinite tongue I hold you in my mouth.

And read you like braille.

Dee Stewart 9/2010


Posted by nativevisionquest at 12:01 AM MDT
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Friday, 10 September 2010
Where It's Quiet
To read without breathing between these fragments of words
Find me with your lips
Here, press your finger to them now
And say     tongue
                 nipple waist
                 toe belly button earlobe
neck offered     a wrist exposed

These things we hide to discover beneath,

The laughter we seek as destinations, a drawing-
                bodies as bridges
                arched spine arm elbow thigh
warm       blood coursing below
The surface

The thoughts sent to air or paper
The perfect wisdom of bodies
creeping into our imagination... where it’s quiet
Dee Sellars-Stewart 09/2010

Posted by nativevisionquest at 12:01 AM MDT
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Tuesday, 24 August 2010
Deborah Nunn
Topic: Writings
She stops in her steps, wide-eyed, five years old, posed in a doorway. Pale hair, fair skin.  Mother danced slowly; framed by a backdrop of dazzling white tiles, a lazy ballerina twirling irregular pirouettes above a polished kitchen floor. She stops in her steps, solitary girl of fifteen, tucked into a doorway. Pale hair, fair skin, uncomfortable in her life. Her friends swayed in slow motion to the end of the last dance, framed by a backdrop of flickering strobes and stars; languid balloons waltzed indiscriminate patterns through an undulating gym floor. She stops in her steps, woman, forty-seven, nervous, tensed at a stage entrance. Pale hair, fair skin, seized in silent remembrance. She pauses at the beginning of the second act, framed by a backdrop of brilliant white floodlights; a lone dancer twirling irregular pirouettes in the dust of an empty theater floor.
Dee Stewart


Posted by nativevisionquest at 12:01 AM MDT
Updated: Monday, 13 September 2010 7:07 PM MDT
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Wednesday, 11 August 2010
The Jam
Topic: Writings
Apple tree sings to the Heart Of The Cloud for the rain to fall.

Song of the sea plays in tune with Rhythm Of The Wind.
 

Earth and Sky do the shuffle...
 
Dee Stewart

Posted by nativevisionquest at 3:05 PM MDT
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