Social Agenda

My radical social agenda is to have no agenda.

I live life influenced by reason, intuition, and my own conscience. I indulge in whatever activity, hobby, fashion, style, paradigm, or philosophy that stimulates my body and/or mind, regardless of arbitrary gender assignments. I neither embrace nor reject rebellion or conformity. I focus on authenticity, accept the consequences — positive or negative — for my choices/behavior, and respect the right of others to do the same. 
My essence is not defined by parameters such as sex, gender, race, or nationality… or any other group to which I internally identify with or have externally been assigned to.
Because at my core, I am a singular consciousness intelligent enough to strive for autonomy. Though I recognize the value of affiliations, make alliances and/or sympathize/empathize with various groups, and try to be mindful of how I affect others around me…
I am first and foremost an individual.


2014

 

May 2014 will brings me more motivation to write 

Brings me more joy, happiness and lots of love 

Happy New Year 2014

Choices

We live in a world filled with hard choices. Also filled with easy choices and hard consequences. With complex choices that mean that some of us will be denied something, often necessary. That some of us will sacrifice and suffer and a few of us will get more than our fair share of comfort and gain. We live in a world where everything we have is paid for by the misfortune or “have nots" of others. We can hate the world. We can resent each other. We can feel guilty, but above all, I try to remember to be grateful for what I do have. For the fights we win. For the joys, comforts, and wonderful things that I got and someone else didn’t. I’ll never be content with the state of the world. I try to remind myself not to be complacent. But, I really can’t hate the world. There’s not always a balance between the good and the bad, but the good is so good. It’s easy to forget that when you’re wading neck deep in shit. The world is an ugly place, but it’s also where we store all our hopes and dreams. Our loves. Our passions. Our potential to be better than we were yesterday and today. Our strides for a better tomorrow.

The Artist and The Scientist

Holding hands, the artist and the scientist stood together at the edge of the gallery.

The artist stepped forward, contemplating the prints on the wall. She was absorbed by the contrasts, the composition, the ability to make something out of nothing. She felt truly inspired and sketched down thoughts and ideas in her notebook. This was photography; this was art.
The scientist was drawn to an installation in the corner of the room. Blinking LEDs creating cascades of colour across the wall. Images of circuitry and formulae filled his brain and sent electricity throughout his body. This was physics; this was science.

On the walk home they paused at the window of a department store.
The artist had been stopped in her tracks by the kaleidoscope of colour that confronted her. Shoes, dresses, and handbags all competing for the attention of a fashion connoisseur. She let her imagination briefly sweep her away into a world where Vogue and Elle were pleading for her to be their cover girl. This was fashion; this was art.
The scientist, meanwhile, was gazing at the outdoor clothing. He admired the wind and water-proof jackets, the high-tech training shoes, and the camouflaged outfits that were hidden amongst the fake greenery of the window display. He pictured himself soldiering through the undergrowth, defeating all opponents, aided by his superior equipment. This was technology; this was science.

As soon as they returned home the artist hurried to the kitchen whilst the scientist smiled from the bedroom, listening to her rummage through the pots and pans.
The artist worked in a chaotic blur – pouring, mixing, and crafting, without so much as recipe books nor measuring scales. The oven filled the air with the scent of sweet temptation, and after, she delicately worked her magic to ice her edible masterpieces. These were cupcakes; this was art.
The scientist finished his drink – 250ml of coke with 100ml of Jack Daniels – and crept out of the bedroom. He found the artist asleep, draped across the sofa, and he pulled a blanket up over her to keep the cold, night chill at bay. Back in the kitchen he admired her creations and lightly traced his finger around the complex shapes of icing that had flowed from her mind. This was geometry; this was science.



© Nick Milnes, 2012

The Owl and The Pussycat

The Pussycat tattoo is coming soon.
The Owl and the Pussycat set out to sea in a pea green boat with honey and "plenty of money" wrapped in a five pound note. The Owl serenades the Pussycat while gazing at the stars and strumming on a small guitar. He describes her as beautiful. The Pussycat responds by describing the Owl as an "elegant fowl" and compliments him on his singing. She urges they marry but they don't have a ring. They sail away for a year and a day to a land where Bong trees grow and discover a pig with a ring in his nose in a wood. They buy the ring for a shilling and are married the next day by a turkey. They dine on mince and quince using a "runcible spoon", then dance hand-in-hand on the sand in the moonlight.

 Edward Lear

Art and about

Art is a voice. A powerful, beautiful voice in which our souls can soar in perfect melodic expression. Just as the universe is chaos orchestrated into a perfect tune of balance, we can use Art to transform darkness into beauty. Perhaps Art; in all its forms; is the only hope we have left. 

Art can be found in everything. Our planet itself is an artistic creation so beautiful.. Nature, the stars, our anatomy and the miracle of producing life. It is through Art that the beauty of mankind is realized. Music, paintings, sculptures and writing.. all bear testimony to the great things we are capable of as human beings. Art is our light in such a world as this. I find inspiration in those that are inspired; despite how dark and sad this world truly is. And in the heart of the poet that still loves ..even though it is broken. 

Like the rays of the sun, Art and words can reach out and touch the masses. And surely it is through Art that we can breathe love into this world? Everywhere I turn people are suffering… Withering long before they are due to die. Yes our bodies are dying everyday.. but each of us, in our own way, are dying internally in some way with every breath. The innocence of childhood snatched away from us by a world that can be immensely cruel. Is it not through art that our purest inner soul can be true to itself? What society weighs down with chains; breathes freely in art, doesn’t it? Shouldn’t it?

There is truth in art. Expression unmasked and fearless. In a world of media induced lies and the enslavement of our minds, Art is a channel for the beauty in our hearts. I do not believe in fighting violence with violence, so how do you change the world? Through love? Through inspiration and beauty? Am I mad to believe it is possible? 

We all have a heart.. we all know what is right.. we all have a choice… and these hands are capable of creating immense beauty…

I'm sorry

Sometimes, you think you know what you can give someone, you think that your words will have this healing power, that you will be able to give them what they've searched for years. You can list all the way you'd touch them, caress them, savour them in a hurried breath.
You know exactly what you would do to make them happy, because that's all you really want to do, make them happy. But sometimes, probing words and truthful sentences hurt more than they heal. sometimes, exposing their wounds to the world and offering to do stitched for them is more embarrassing than loving.
I am sorry, this was wrong, I have only ever wanted you to be happy, And I keep wanting you to be happy.

Her own Wonderland

Her mind wanders around, always. Whenever she watches a movie or read book, the character come alive in her head and they live forever after. Whenever she sees a photograph of a beautiful place somewhere on this earth or not, she lives there for a substantial amount of time in her mind. Sometimes there places are energetic, filled with interesting people from all walks of life and full of adventures. She lived in London, Tokyo, New York City even, and Amsterdam. Sometimes, however, they are peaceful, quite, tranquil, like Rome's St Peter square at night, or the lake of Geneva in early dawn. The top of the Alps, a small island in the Atlantic. She moves from one place to another in just a split second, with a look at a photograph. I wonder where she lives these days. Her body seated in the park under a tree, her mind might be living in a tiny, dirty apartment somewhere in Moscow with all the characters from Carroll's "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland". I would love to come over for dinner sometimes.

Redefine


She is an artist. A performance artist. Sometimes the people she talks to don’t know whether the conversations they have with her are real or a performance, an act. Her ability to feel shame or embarrassment is limited, other people’s embarrassment means nothing to her. In her world, in the world she has created, piece by piece, around herself, reality is non existent. All she wants to do is push people’s boundaries. She wants to see how far she can go, how far she can take people. How far away from the norm, from the boredom of everyday life. She wants to make people redefine themselves and the world. She wants to make people redefine good and bad, male and female, right and wrong, weird and normal, success and failure. She wants to make people be who they are.

WHEN A PAINTER MEETS A WRITER



At first your breath on my neck feels foreign, and in half sleep i am threatened. It takes a second to remember to not be afraid. I pull your arm tighter around my waist and drift off. And i am not afraid.