Category Archives: Perceptions and Poems

An auto-biography

As a young boy he roamed the land naked, swam in the ocean being loved by its warmth.

Carried by the air to unknown lands, a new family to live by. We climbed crumbling mountains breathing the thin sky.

Always asking questions, his mind grew strong. Too strong and afraid of ever letting go to feel the divine flow.

Provoking all people to feel the freedom of struggle. Too exhausted by contradiction he had lost his words and sight.

Born in the sickness of tradition, he suffered, alongside every other. We seek understanding, he said, and for that, we do not understand.

-Jordan Reilly Stock


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The library: a place of memorial texts and day dreams

Her lips sigh at the computer screen. Strange…

I see that she can no longer battle against the lingering murmur and glow of the florescent lights.  “The project, it’s almost due” she thinks, as anxiety churns her stomach.  The sensation breaks her concentration as she looks to me with intriguing eyes.  I make eye contact, which brings me to question my actions.  “What am I doing? Where did this feeling come from?”, I say.  My hands remain suspended in mid-air as she projects a look of discontent on me.

I like her stare.

I was previously thinking that our range of sight is shaped like an imax screen.  We are forever looking through these shapes like warped boxes inside more warped boxes.  Electric bugs buzz in and out of existence on my pixelated computer screen.

My trail of thought and action is diminished by a senior, but scared woman, beginning to raise her voice at these girls who have been exposed to far too much superficial nature in this life.  Like elite drug takers in a hedonist utopia.  Ritualistically painting faces on every pure morning.  Seemingly afraid to love nature.  Destroyers of the natural world.  She is craving playfulness. I see Sigmund Freud in the window stroking his beard and tickling himself with an ink feather.  He passes through the window from outside and writes “what have we become?” on the forehead of the druggie blonde.

After perceiving Freud my own conditioning becomes observable.  I imagine she suffers from an oral fixation, which creates this nightmarish personality who is always at-ese to her childhood over-nourishment.  Her sick and perverted reality intrigues me, but I stop myself.

Again I peer over to the anxious girl, as the druggie blonde runs behind me.  Freud’s ghost follows her up the designer wooden staircase.

Later, I peer out the window and she’s falling from the building down, down, down to the solid ground of reality.  Seven floors to heaven from La Place–a restaurant on top of the library where she was confronted by the ghost of Freud.  He manipulated her to seek a more pleasurable and everlasting space.

She ascended from the mangled frame as a figure free to embrace Freud’s conscience.  Observable only to the writer and the gulls from Freud’s window, I was the only witness to this selfless murder. A romantic end to a meaningless life.  My mind began to consider a potential display of this romance.

From beating hands on furniture, non-sense from mouths, clicking noises, and a perfect operatic melody that sounded from the corpse and drew harmony on the cries of her accomplices, I slayed this perception across the mind of the anxious one, who first caught me in the act.

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I am throwing up these disconnected lines in my mind now that I have greater purpose and understanding. The potential to develop in myself the art of performance and expression is releasing itself from the shackles of aversion.

Tonight in Saigon was a strong moment for me where I began to give back some of myself. I played a few songs at an art cafe in the city. The audience was full of travelers, musicians and Vietnamese, who took us in as their own. Together we shared each other, each listening, each willingly to paint a part of the greater picture.

I let this life is take me for a ride. I will help and trust it. Mistrusting life is a conflict of interest. You want to see where it takes you, yet you are vulnerable to it, and at times control is not a relevant concept.

Now again when my eyes are shut pictures and lyrics pass through my sensors. This state of mind is impermanent which helps me to carry on through the mundane grind where such colours become blind to me.

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It took a burst of excitement to throw me on to my skateboard again,
It gradually built up over time and I finally snapped and assembled my trucks to my board,
I was a free spirit again while tapping into untouched memories of my youth,
I ran and jumped on my board,
Flew down the driveway while pushing hard up the hill,
My brain said “go switch and keep pushing”,
Out sheer unconsciousness a switch heelflip of such beauty came into existence,
As it touched my soul both my feet captured the spinning object,
Still floating forever it seemed as I realized again that skateboarding’s a dream,
Feelings of indescribable proportion as I grew tired I watched the sunset split the sky,
No remaining question of “who am I”.

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The Shire Tea House

The Shire Teahouse

The Shire is a growing meeting place in West End, Brisbane.  It started about 3 years ago long before I knew of it, but it remains to project its spirit being a low-key alternative-community now that it is growing in size.  It’s real, so real that it makes everything else in the metropolitan world seem ‘alternative’.  It has the music, vibe, and tea, while giving you everything you will ever need.  Often I come to The Shire completely consumed in my own head. But no matter your mindset the people and the depth of conversation there balance your equilibrium.

I had an intense experience the night that I wrote this following entry.  I remember barely saying a word that night.  While I was experiencing an intensely passive state of mind I was consumed by these theatrical conversations which I gravitated to all throughout the night.  I had been demanding a lot of myself that week to answer the unanswerable questions, but rather all these questions without answers merely required a perspective.  These perspectives were expressed to me at what it seemed as such a natural time.  But what made me experience this was the power of letting go and listening.  Something which I have struggled to do in the past.

I wrote this on the way home:

The Shire Tea House: a night of unfathomable experience and timeless universal communication driven by the intuitive understanding of when to move on.

Everything fades to black,
I can finally relax,
The thought of letting go,
is so seductive.

Fuck all the self-doubt,
Just fly in spirit,
In the spirit of doing,
Doing what it is that you are meant to do.

Shut up and listen,
Only until you do this,
Will you be able to defeat judgment,
And begin to learn.

So much truth was spoken to me,
Wisdom which has no absolute context,
Wisdom inspired from the experience,
Of freedom from societal oppression.

A love so strong that it convinced me,
That our world is changing,
The spirit of greater consciousness,
The spirit of what is fun.

One must begin to listen to the dead,
Especially those who are termed as being dead from society,
The ones who have been told that they’re no good,
These ones are always the best ones.

The space you are in gives ones self the time to grow and accept your experience. Seek this experience, as you will let go and let wisdom endure a lifetime.

The strange way or state of mind that does not let things exist and be observed as how they truly are will suck you under and destroy your consciousness.

The feelings of non existence maybe so, however, the aspects that come in this fairytale can not be ignored as they are powerful and worth believing in.

All things do indeed exist but only within the greater illusion of life. We are merely finding a way within illusion.

This understanding becomes important for our own clarity and place within illusion. Letting go is the most beautiful experience and quite possibly my first true experience ever.

No more nothing
No more holding back
No more dreadful seriousness
No more false fear in illusion
More love and friendship

The Shire Tea House: a night of unfathomable experience and timeless universal communication driven by intuitive understanding of when to move on. As you should always trust your feelings for when it is time to move on. Moving on comes with consequences but living requires a strong sense of self who is able to prevail through this illusion of powerful uncertainty.

Jordan — or — Jacob the leader of the ringed ladder which one can hold on to if they desire an outcome created by society.

OR they can simply let go into the abis of self-creation.

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Canvassed Life

For the world is a piece of art,
There are many painters,
I too am a painter,
Therefore I will work my brush,
As the way to power,
Is your will to paint.

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Night animals

The Owl is a dark ball in the backdrop of night.
No it does not cry.
But it hoots to the Possum who has established his life on a powerline.

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