In This Room - A Poem

In this room a council met,
They discussed matters of great import.
One by one they would consult,
The disembodied heads of long dead sages.

In this room a spirit sat,
Waiting to be asked a question.
Ignored it still sat patiently,
Hoping to be noticed in the midst of words.

In this room a man waited,
Hoping for a decision.
Counting the minutes,
His breathing drowned beneath the babble.

In this room a rule was made,
For who and why could not be said.
The council smiled, the spirit wept,
And the man died.

The People in My Head: Bram Hartford

Bram Hartford had extremely waxy ears. He would regularly go to the doctor to have them syringed. But not enough that a large waxy buildup did not begin to form on his mobile phone. The radiation from the phone slowly mutated the residue of Bram's ear and fused it to the electronics of the phone, creating a non-sentient cyborg device.

What was its purpose? Unable to think, it never pondered the question. But the vocalised thoughts of others passed through it, attenuating it to the unspoken frequencies of the mind, the non-verbal meaning of things. In short, it became a mind-reading device, stripping away the niceties of language and presenting meaning in its unmediated and unvarnished glory.

Bram was at first disturbed to discover that some of his closest friends secretly hated him. His social circle was broken by this knowledge, but sick things die. Next he discovered that some who he thought had always opposed him did, in fact, like him a lot. His superficiality was stripped away as the understanding of all people infused his consciousness and gave him compassion.

Unfortunately, Bram believed that all this was the result of some latent power within himself. So when the contract on his mobile phone plan expired he picked the brightest, shiniest, most advanced phone he could get on his new plan. And unaware that anything had changed, his depth and compassion was replaced once more with a superficiality that was all the worse for his mistaken belief that he saw others clearly.

But his ears were still waxy, and he never cleaned his phone.

The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada

Read my review of this excellent film here.

The Hollow Prophet

The inflatable mattress stood upright in the corner. In the evening light it took on the countenance of a sage. The light caught the rippled surface to give it three dozen eyes. A flat ridge running across its width was a contemplative mouth, silently judging all it saw. Brand new, yet with a look of aged wisdom, it looked in all directions forward across the cluttered room. Filled with breath that allowed it to fulfill its purpose, but never speak, its wisdom was a reflection of the imaginations of those around it. A silent fool.

The Face of God

At the end of the film 24 Hour Party People, God appears to Tony Wilson (Steve Coogan) and tells him he did a good job, pity he didn't sign The Smiths. (God has excellent taste in music.) Someone asks Tony what God looked like. He answers, "He looked like me." The explanation being that since we're all made in the image of God, how he looks depends on who he appears to.

It's a good thing to remember, that idea. We are all created in the image of God, and God is so big we cannot ever imagine we could encompass him in our mind. All the people of the world is a good reminder of that fact. They are all the face of God, as are you and I. The world is filled with reminders of God's presence. Thomas Merton called them "seeds of contemplation", but observed that we are often too preoccupied with ourselves to notice them.

We can easily forget the presence of the divine in our lives. Disappointment with God, pressures of the day, an over-intellectualisation of faith, all manner of things can take us from our quest for more of God. Sometimes we can even believe that we have God sussed out, and that's especially dangerous, for a God we can understand is likely an idol of our own making. After all, God said "For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways." (Isaiah 55:8) But throughout creation we have continual reminders of His Glory, His Power, His Immensity and His Love of us.

I remember in Sunday School being told about Rainbows. Sure they're pretty, but how often do we think of them now as God's covenant with us? Does it matter if you believe in the Flood or not? Maybe, I don't know. I don't know how much I believe in the Flood, but I do know that when I see a Rainbow I am reminded that God is powerful, and that He loves me.

When I see all the faces in the world, I am reminded that I can never understand God. Because if we all bear the face of God, and I know there's no way I'll ever know or understand everyone in the world, how much more difficult would it be to understand God Himself? He is too big, too varied and too different from me to be understood. I struggle to understand myself half the time, let alone try and nail down God into some kind of safe little package I can hold like a talisman over the life I would choose to lead. Instead, I try to think of the world as his temple, peopled with his image, and though I'm left with no answers, I feel my faith is stronger for that. Faith in something defined requires no faith at all. You already know the answer. But to trust God in his unknowable power, there is faith.

As the Bonnie 'Prince' Billy song goes, "And then I see a darkness". God is unknowable, and the darkness is him. It is terrifying, but God loves us, so no matter what, I trust. I cannot see, cannot understand. Every step taken is a step of trust, hoping I'm doing the right thing, believing that if I'm not he can make right my mistakes, always growing stronger in faith in him by walking in that darkness. And always around me are the signs of his presence, reassuring me that he is there.

As it says in Proverbs 3:5, "Trust in the Lord with all thine heart, and lean not unto thine own understanding."

Rorschach - A Concrete Poem

Inkblots
Stain
The page and
Tell me I
See
Differently to other
People

The People in My Head: Damien Beauforde

Damien Beauforde was twelve when his father, his real father, visited him at home. Unaware that he had been a foster child since the womb, he was disturbed to discover that his father was Satan. It is a difficult thing for a twelve-year-old to accept that you are the Antichrist, the son of Satan, destined to lead the world into fire and chaos. He took it well, all things considered.

The next few years were fun for Damien. With all the power of Hell at his command he could deal with bullies, bad grades and insufficient pocket money easily. The bodycount wasn't particularly high, but the number of emotional scars were sufficient to start several small wars. But when Damien turned sixteen he discovered teenage rebellion and began to question his life.

Subjects like philosophy and psychology gave him an understanding of the workings of good and evil, transference and parents living through their children. As he came to understand he was ultimately just an avatar for his unholy father's desire for universal spiritual and corporeal domination, he asked himself who he really was. Was he an individual capable of making his own claims on his life, pursuing his own interests? Or was he nothing more than a mechanistic automaton, destined from birth to cause the apocalypse?

Damien was bothered by these questions of determinism and free will. They obsessed him until he felt himself losing his mind. He decided that he had to assert his freedom somehow, to prove that he could act independently of his father's will. By virtue of his father's teaching, he was fully convinced of the existence of God. So he became a Christian.

Sometimes children like to spite their parents.

The People in My Head: Joe Parker

Joe Parker was a bit of a shut in. He lived in a small apartment with only his computer for company. He had a lot of friends he had never met; they existed as voices in his head. He heard them as he read the words they wrote to him on his computer. Chat programs, massively multiplayer online role playing games, discussion boards, this was where he lived. His body was less important to him than his mind, he fed it, clothed it, washed it and when the caffeine stopped working he would let it sleep. When other needs came up his computer would become a woman for him as well. But slowly that lack of flesh and blood to keep him company began to feed into his consciousness and he realised maybe he might be lonely. He rationalised that a woman around would not be an inconvenience, as she could cook and clean and look after him. So he turned to his computer once more, discovered a Russian Bride website and over the course of two weeks he established what he was looking for, placed his resume and photo on the site, interviewed and found a wife. Two months of legal wrangling later and she was moved into his apartment.

At first Fiveia seemed happy to be in a new country, in a new home, filled with every modern convenience and brimming with opportunity. But soon she began to feel trapped. Joe never went out, never had people over, never did anything except sit on his computer and type. When she asked him where the money to keep feeding them came from, he showed her the online auction sites. He played multiple characters in various online games, gathered up money, special objects, rare weapons. Then he sold the imaginary items to the highest bidder for actual money. He also acted as a middleman in some dodgy bank transactions, probably the result of identity theft, taking a percentage in return for the illusion of anonymous communication. He didn't worry over the morality of the action, the world was as it was. The money he earned was not enough to make him rich, but he played and traded obsessively enough that it was enough to keep himself and his wife and have enough left over to save for a future together. When she saw how easy it was for him to do this, she understood why he did not leave the apartment. But still she longed for a life of her own.

Joe slowly became conscious of this fact, but his solution was more conformist than kenotic. The new PC arrived with a gentle knock on the door, and after he had signed to take delivery, it was set up next to his own in the study. Now she could join him in his life online, participate in his adventures, fight the same demons he fought, and profit the same way he did.

Fiveia took to it as you would expect from someone who met her husband online. Soon they were one of the most famous teams online, a legendary husband and wife duo, fearless in battle and wise in the workings of the game world. Few people would emerge from their engagements unscathed, they were nearly unstoppable. And the money flowed in, the dual income increasing their wealth considerably. They considered their savings, now modestly large, and bought a small house in an out-of-the-way suburb. They had no need of other people, only a high speed internet connection and to be within the delivery circle of the nearest supermarket. The mortgage, small as it was, still took two years to pay off, but with the dual income and the rental money now freed up, it was not hard.

Joe found himself becoming more and more attached to Fiveia, and the pleasures of the imaginary worlds they travelled together became less interesting to him than her life back in Russia, all the things she had left behind but never spoke of. It may have been nothing more than curiosity, but he wanted to know more about her. She wouldn't speak about it, as if it was too painful to acknowledge. Russia held nothing for her anymore, and she insisted she did not want to revisit a past she had left behind.

As she slept, Joe began to research her background, anything he could find out about her. Translation tools and easily available hacking tools meant he could access government sites, discover her home town, learn that her parents had died when she was five, that she had a twin brother, and that he was still alive. It was all there on his screen, and it gave him the idea for a gift.

It wasn't as hard as he imagined to contact the brother. He was surprised but happy to discover his sister was living in another country. They had not seen each other in years, and yes, he would be very happy to come and visit them. There were many obstacles to getting a visitors visa for a person viewed as being at high risk of overstaying, but Joe traded some favours with a gamer who worked in the immigration department and soon the brother was on a plane.

To keep it a surprise, Joe stayed at home with Fiveia while a taxi picked her brother up from the airport and delivered him to their doorstep. As the taxi pulled away there came the knock on the door that signalled his arrival. In seeming curiosity, Fiveia joined Joe at the front door. When Joe opened the door he paused for a moment in shock. There in front of him stood himself. He was not identical, but so closely did they match that Joe felt like reaching out to touch the mirror he felt he was staring at. Instead he felt a sharp pain in his back and an explosion in his chest. The last thing he saw was his own face fading into darkness.

The immigration officials came by several months later. Joe didn't say anything. Fiveia spoke for him, as he was too upset by the whole matter. They apologised for the investigation, but they had to do their job. Fiveia was understanding, her brother was no good, dishonest, and she hoped they found him. He just wanted a new life, but he had gone about it the wrong way. Joe just stood around looking distraught. When they left Joe smiled, took his wife by the hand, kissed her and together they returned to their wonderful adopted life.

The People in My Head: Susan Seagrave

Susan Seagrave was a very sad girl. She never talked to men much, never said much to anyone, just kept to herself and looked miserable. You see, she was terrified of the powers of her mind. Her father had told her, as a small girl, that she was very very special. She loved her father so much, and believed and trusted him so much, that when strange things would happen around her, she would understand them through what he said. He said she was unique, a very special girl...

Once, long ago, she fell in love. They were at the same school, and hung out together in their lunchbreaks. Neither had many friends, but they had each other. One day she brought him home to meet her father. He seemed to like him and she was so happy and then her boyfriend's head exploded. Her father took the body and hid it away, telling her it was because of her "specialness" that it had happened. She had to learn to control her feelings. He wouldn't say more about it, but that he loved her and he wouldn't tell anyone what happened. No one ever found the body. People talked for a bit, asked a few questions of Susan at school. Rumours spread. Someone claimed they'd bought a lot of things from Myers on approval and were being chased to pay up. Debt collectors were alleged to be hunting them down. Someone said they'd done this in two other states. No one knew how anyone knew this; it was just common knowledge. For the rest of her school days she remained alone.

Soon, it all passed into myth and Susan went to University. She met a nice young law student, a rarity for sure, and they started going out. She was afraid of being happy, so she became withdrawn and evasive. The law student thought she didn't really like him. He started to sleep around and do things to provoke Susan into demonstrating her feelings for him. She kept control of herself though, and became miserable. One day they had a big fight, kissed and made up, and began to be happy with each other.

She brought him home to meet her father. Once more he was happy for his daughter and she was so glad her father liked the law student that she was filled with joy and as she smiled at her boyfriend his head exploded. Her father took the body and told Susan to be more careful. She was special; she had to learn to control her feelings more.

Susan graduated and moved interstate. She got a job at an insurance firm investigating fraudulent claims. Nobody much liked her because she never seemed happy. No one wanted to get involved with someone who was so depressing to be around. She was truly miserable, hanging around in seedy bars drinking, fobbing off sleazy men who tried to pick her up. She became known as an ice queen.

One day, a miserable man sat next to her. He didn't try to pick her up, just drank and ignored her. They sat together in silence at the bar. For no good reason she bought him a drink. Then he bought her one. They started talking. They went home together to her place. The next morning his body was on the floor. His head had exploded. She called her father but he didn't answer his phone. She tried his mobile. He asked what happened and agreed to come over and clean up. It was only a few hours later that he arrived. He took care of the body and told her to be more careful. She was a very special girl and she needed to control herself. Then he left her alone.

Unable to love for fear of exploding heads. It had happened to her mother too. She'd smile at men and their heads would explode all the time. Her father had to keep hiding the bodies, but he never complained. He loved his wife too much for that. They moved states several times to avoid investigation. Her father always said it was her mother's fault for liking too many people, but he never blamed her, just asked her to be more careful who she smiled at. Susan loved her father, and believed everything he said. Even when her mother's head exploded while trying to leave the house. Susan's father told her it was her fault. She had smiled at her mother when she said goodbye.

Happiness is best found at home, he had said. She had hated him for that, at the time, but no matter how much she loved her father, she could never make his head explode.

The People in My Head: Jonah

Jonah wanted to die. It was a simple desire, but he did not want to die forgotten. He wanted to be remembered. So despite his own innate hatred of himself and his depression and desire to be rid of himself, he persevered in life to insure he would be remembered in death.

To this end, he first looked to amassing a large sum of money. Death held a fear for him now, as he needed control of his death in order to give his life meaning. Bank robbing was immediately discarded as being too risky, as was burglary and the other associated trades of gaining large sums of money by illicit means. He needed something quick and legal, so he went into business for himself.

It took him three years to amass the basic capital to start his company. Firmly grounded, he demonstrated a keen eye for a good business proposition, and within two years he was a multi-millionaire. Throughout the long nights of despair and agony, he reminded himself of what he was doing. He was creating a false counterpart to himself, a happy person, filled with the love of life and wanting to share his joy with others. Someone who would be missed.

Having made his fortune, he sold the company and left a rich man. It wasn't easy, the life of a businessman had begun to appeal to him, but he was so busy during the day he scarcely had time to contemplate the final form of his death. Jonah was not a foolish or easily distracted man however, he would not shirk from the task he had set himself, he would finish it. But business held its appeal. While in control of so many other lives, he had found he could stop people from making the horrible choices he had made. He decided that was how he would spend his money.

Jonah was amused at the terrible irony of it all, a self-funded charity to save those in despair started by a suicidal man determined to make his mark to justify his death. He began the charity by presenting a large novelty cheque to his appointed administrator and made a speech about how he came to make something of himself from his own humble beginnings. From next to nothing he had built a small empire for himself, and nothing now would stop him from creating something to pass on his own sense of drive and worth to others. His charity would help set up the homeless and the helpless in businesses whose capital would be supplied by the charity. The businesses would exist under the umbrella of the charity, repaying their debt as they became more successful. Those who failed would have their failure absorbed by the Jonah Foundation. There was no risk to it, only a chance to shine in an otherwise dim world.

Hundreds and thousands flocked to appeal for money for foolish ventures, and the administration of the foundation spent their time weeding out the frauds and the foolhardy. Jonah himself took an active part in the selection of proposals, it was his skill, and he shared it willingly. He awarded money to worthy schemes, and assigned work to those without vision. It was a wonderful time, and the world praised Jonah for his efforts.

Next, Jonah had to plan the method of his death. He realised that he could not make his suicide obvious anymore, that would jeopardise his legacy and cast doubt on his motives. He needed an obscure manner of death, something transcendent and untraceable. He could not die from natural causes, nor could he die from anything clearly self-inflicted. He settled upon a steady increase in the taking of a certain drug. Beyond a certain level the body would react and die, below a certain level nothing would happen. The drug had to be administered in slowly rising doses until the killing dose took effect and ended his life while he slept. Soon after, the drug would dissipate into his flesh, vanishing as he died. It was a very certain drug, certain to succeed, with exact certainty required.

It took Jonah three years to develop the drug, because nothing like it existed. He assigned various elements of its construction to four companies under the umbrella of the Jonah Foundation. Each participated willingly, unaware of what the final cocktail would produce. His death would be a drawn-out test of his own determination, because he feared he might have changed. Each day would be a trial to him, a challenge to take the next escalation in dosage, to step closer to death.

When the drug was prepared at last, he took the doses in slowly increasing volumes until the day came when the final dose was ready. He consumed it without a single thought.

That day he arranged his affairs, made sure the foundation was making money for itself and helping people make the best of themselves. He even visited a few of the companies he had helped to start. Each employee personally greeted him with thanks, and the few who received advance warning bore flowers and chocolates. His legacy was grand indeed, and he was very proud of them all.

That night, he settled down on his bed, knowing that the final moment was near. He read three chapters of a book by a man named E.R. Eddison, then placed it beside him on the bedstead and turned out the light.

The next morning he woke to a bright light, and wondered if he was in heaven. The phone rang, which told him otherwise. Jonah answered the phone unwillingly, puzzling over what had happened. It was his administrator calling to tell him that all the managers of the companies the Jonah Foundation had started wished to give him a party. From those who had achieved full independence to those just beginning, they all wanted to share their joy with him.

Jonah just wanted to die.

As he dressed in his suit before the mirror, he looked at the healthy face before him. He wanted to strangle it. As he shaved himself, he tried to slit his wrists, he didn't care about his great plans anymore, he wanted to die.

He didn't.

On his way to the party, he drove his car into a wall. The metal crushed and the plastic snapped, bricks and mortar gave unwillingly, and dust settled on a sculpture of psychosis.

He survived.

Signalling a taxi to reach the ballroom the Jonah Foundation had hired to honour him, he stepped into the path of three oncoming cars. Two swerved and avoided him, one hit him just as a gust of wind lifted him from behind. He was flung into the air and landed heavily on his feet, none the worse for the experience. The driver recognised him, and still in shock, offered to drive him to his party. Shocked himself, Jonah accepted.

When he reached the party, he looked out across the ballroom to see thousands of faces, managers and employees of companies he had helped into existence. Beneficiaries of a legacy he could not leave. They applauded him, they loved him. They could not imagine life without him, without their benefactor. No Jonah would mean no focus to the Jonah Foundation. He was the man with the drive, he was the man who had made it happen. His was the philosophy that lay at the core of every company represented in that immense room. They stood before him in adulation, the worship of a self-made deity written in their eyes.

Jonah wanted to die.

The People in My Head: Violet Jennings

Violet Jennings lived off goodwill and happy thoughts. Put another way, she lived on the streets in a fantasy world of her own creation. A car accident left her permanently brain-damaged, but the damage was such that she was the envy of the world. Endorphins constantly pumped through her brain, pain became a foreign concept. The world around her, filtered by her damaged brain, transformed from an industrial nightmare into an edenic paradise. Skyscrapers became mountains of flowers and grass. Cars became horses, cattle and mules. Lamp posts were trees of eternal fire, gleaming in the night and never burning down. The crowds of joyless people, thronging their way to and from the mountains, they were worshippers of some strange god. She never understood their devotion to the high places, because so much beauty and joy was to be had wherever she stood.

Food was not a problem for Violet. Large open troughs filled with feasts of strange design kept her from starvation. It was as if the world had been designed purely to keep her sustained and joyful. Whenever one of the strange cultists saw her eating, they would give a look of disgust, or chase her away. She could not understand why they would not join her in the banquet.

Occasionally eagles, giant dragonflies or winged serpents would pass overhead. She never hid from them, because they would smile down on her as they flew past. The whole world was in love with Violet Jennings, and she felt so privileged and wonderful that she could do nothing but smile and love the world back.

When the glowing white men came and took her to the strange chapel, she did not resist.. When they showed her to the cell that would be her home, she was not afraid. She looked at windows filled with colour, a room full of life and a bed full of rest. Filled with devotion, she gave thanks for her life and spent the rest of her days in joyful contemplation of all that she had received.

She was, as has been said, the envy of the world.

Fear of what, exactly?

Why are so many people afraid of expressing themselves? What holds us back from giving full reign to the talents and creativity that God has placed inside us? Fear is a simple explanation, but why are we so afraid of failure? Of the opinions of others? Why does it even matter?

Our lives are an offering, an act of worship, to God. Consider the poor woman who gave her last two coins to the temple, to God. She was left with nothing but total dependence on God – True Faith. So it is with us. Nothing we do is unworthy of God, so long as it done with all of our being, in worship of him. We can do things grandly, and there’s no reason we shouldn’t, but when we do it for the approval of other people, for our own ego or our own selfish desires, we open ourselves to the fear of rejection, or humiliation, or possibly even worse, success. But none of this matters if we do what we do for God. When our actions are nothing but an expression of our love for God, why should we care what anyone else thinks of what we do? After all, God created us, gave us the talents and skills we work with, and no matter how insignificant those talents may be, if they’re used to praise him why would he not like it?

To take an existentialist approach, to be anything other than who you know yourself to be is Bad Faith, a denial of self. I love that existentialism should use a word like Faith to describe identity, since it’s very appropriate I think. True Faith, on the other hand, is life without fear, life where we give full expression to ourselves. As the New Order song of the same name opens:

I feel so extraordinary,
Something’s got a hold of me,
I get this feeling I’m in motion,
A certain sense of liberty.

When we let go and give ourselves the permission to be who we were created to be, the sense of liberty is incredible, transcendent. It is the peace that passes understanding.

God wants our best, and nothing less. But more to the point, he wants us to be ourselves, to be complete, as he created us to be. We will never feel totally at ease until we give full reign to the true self inside us, the identity God places in us. And part of that means giving up the fear and giving full expression to ourselves in Him. No matter how rich or poor our talents are, he gave them to us, and all we can do is offer them back to him in thanks.

So Beautiful

This is a very old music video I did for Tofa. Before Seashanty, maybe a year or so before, I can't remember. The great story about this one is that the opening shot, which is a mirror smashing apart, can barely be seen and almost nobody registers what it is, but we still had to spend several hours afterwards picking up all the shards of glass. And the band lineup in the clip is no more, but now Tof's got a new Bass player, Keith (who was, from memory, his original Bass player many years ago) and he's just added a Viola to the mix, played by Jocelyn. Pretty cool. As before, you wanna hear more of him, go to his website: tofa.com.au

The Greatest Christian film ever made

Recently, Christianity Today ran an article listing the top ten films about Jesus. Like all such things, it's purely a matter of taste and opinion, but there was one notable exclusion from the list. No prizes for guessing what they left out. The Last Temptation of Christ is hardly the sort of film conservative evangelicals are going to flock to. Jesus as played by Willem Dafoe is a man wracked by doubts, fallible, confused, tormented by God as much as beloved by him. It's blasphemy, and the screenwriter, Paul Schrader, is quite candid about it. In the DVD commentary he acknowledges the film as blasphemous, because it uses the figure of Christ as the symbol of man's struggle with God, with faith. And because of this it is the greatest Christian story told in cinema.

This Jesus struggles to understand God's purpose for him on Earth. He takes on the mission, but then repeatedly changes his mind about what God wants of him. Is he a good teacher, a man of love, a man of war, a sacrifice for mankind? He's never sure, but in his constant struggles he tries his best to follow what he believes God wants of him. Is there any better description of how a life of faith is led? Blind and groping, trusting in the unseen, hoping that God will make right any mistakes made in pursuit of his will.

In his final temptation, Jesus is led down off the cross believing that God is satisfied and will leave him be. He has done enough, he can now fulfil his desire for a normal life. He marries, has children, grows old. But then he is confronted by Judas, his best friend, the man he persuaded to betray him to the authorities. Judas accuses Jesus of betraying him, of turning his back on God. When he realises that he has been duped, Jesus stumbles back to Golgotha and begs God to take him back. The prayer he prays is, for me, the purest expression of the problem of faith. It's easy to convince ourselves that the desires of our own hearts are God's desires too, and it is very hard to admit when we are mistaken. This prayer sums up so much of it.

Abba, father, will you still listen
to me? Are you still there? Will you
listen to a selfish, unfaithful son?
I fought you when you called. I
resisted. I thought I knew more. I
didn't want to be your son. Can you
forgive me? I didn't fight hard
enough. I want to take your hand; I
want to save my fellow men. Father,
take me back. Make a feast. Welcome
me home. I want to be your son. I
want to pay the price. I want to be
crucified and rise again. I want to
be the Messiah.

The laughter and relief as Jesus finds himself back on the cross are as powerful an image as I can imagine. When he cries with exultation "It is accomplished!" he speaks for all of us. He is all of us. The Jesus of The Last Temptation may not be the Jesus of the Bible, but he isn't meant to be. He is a reflection on our own struggles, our conflicting desires between God and ourselves. Because of this, The Last Temptation of Christ will never be the greatest film about Jesus. But it is hard to imagine it will ever be anything less than the greatest film about Faith, about Ourselves, ever made.

Physics of Achievement - A Poem

Gleaming spires made of glass,
Babel's children come at last.
Mountains built for empty need,
Idols to a faithless creed.

Souls in chains and bodies too,
Running no one knows where to.
Mass of men like syringe plunged,
Forced up the tube, compressed to one.

Constant motion cannot stop,
Ejected from the building top.
One by one each man must fall,
To Earth, to dust, to one and all.

All things that pass will pass away,
All things that last are here today.

Who Are We? - A Poem

Who are we?
In those secret places,
The gaps between our many selves,
Papered over with found objects,
To let us think that we are whole.

Who are we?
Beneath constructed lies,
In the emptiness of our souls,
In the false duties of service,
In being what we think,
Instead of what we know.

Who are we?
Without a light to guide our way,
Without a compass to steer us true,
With no fixed point of reference.

Who are you?
If not these things,
Then what else can you be?
All things to all men,
Because you are, I am.

The People in My Head: Vincent X

Vincent had a problem, he didn't like his name. But he didn't like any other name either. When people would ask him his name he would say he was never given one. His father had always called him Boy, and his mother had always called him Son. Everyone else called him "Hey You". This was not too far from the truth, as there are limited ways of getting the attention of a man who refuses to give out his name. He couldn't explain why he didn't like his name, it just violated his sense of identity. He didn't feel like a Vincent, but no other name felt like it fit him either. So he chose to be nameless, a person undefined by a word.

He never did find a name. Some things defy categorisation.

Seashanty

This is a music video I did for local Melbourne artist Tofa. It was, put simply, hell. We shot using an improvised green screen (a big bedsheet) with Tofa, Mike and Lizanne. Poor Mike nearly did his back lifting Lizanne up for repeated takes of the "crossing the threshold" shot, and everyone ended up blinded at some point by the lights. But after the shoot my friend Avril took a bunch of thumbnail sketches of mine and transformed them into all the art that you see. The twinkling star shot was done by my friend Vicky, and I got the wonderful task of animating all the characters and keying all the scenes. The animation didn't take more than a few weekends of work, and it was really fun to boot. However the keying took the equivalent of over a solid month of work (spread out over the better part of a year). Since the greenscreen didn't really work, I had to manually draw and animate masks around everyone when I couldn't pull a decent key. When they call something painstaking, remember that pain is the first part of the word. But the end result is here to see, and I've gotta say, I'm really proud of it. If you like the song, more can be found at Tofa's website: tofa.com.au

The People in My Head: Michael Ditch

Michael Ditch was a sad man who drove a tractor for a living. Every day he would go outside and plough the farm where he lived. When his own farm was ploughed he would drive his tractor to his neighbour’s farms and plough their paddocks too. Someone else would come after him and plant seedlings in the ground. He would have liked to do that, but when asked why he didn't he would always give the same answer.

"I'm just the ploughman."

The People in My Head: Walter Fitch

Walter Fitch is a man around whom the entire world revolves. Sadly, he does not know this. As he walks past this row of houses, entire lives unfold purely to set in motion events that will impact his life. In the third house down, a child is conceived who will become his son-in-law. The couple living next door will soon give birth to a girl who will be his son-in-law’s childhood crush. That she becomes a lesbian and breaks his heart is not as important as the fact that Walter’s own daughter Violet will bear a strong resemblance to her. These things occur purely to fulfil Walter’s unspoken desire to be a grandfather. Sadly for Walter, this will also result in heartbreak. A direct corollary of his ambition towards a happy grandfatherhood will be Violet becoming a nymphomaniac who has five children by seven fathers. The heartbreak this results in will be offset by the joy of his grandchildren. But this joy will be shortlived. Violet will suicide after becoming aware that somehow her actions are linked to her father’s desire for grandchildren, creating in her a strange sense of violation, as she loses her desire for men because she sees her father in them all. The trauma of it all sends her over the edge and results in Walter being left to care for a clutch of traumatised children. Having no great desire to be a father again, he does a poor job of raising them and they grow up resentful of him, destroying his dreams of a happy dotage in which his loving children and grandchildren visit him in an idealised vision of family relations.

Walter Fitch has no idea how his dreams and desires shape the world around him. Or that the world, preoccupied with his wellbeing, determines that his hopes and desires cannot be fulfilled. Better that great dreams exist in his imagination rather than come to life and destroy his illusions.

This is why, as he steps out onto the street, he fails to notice the speeding car turning the corner.

The People in My Head: Daniel Wallace

Daniel Wallace was a man of great will and determination. Nothing could stop him. For a man of less than comely appearance he exuded a confidence that distorted the perception of all around him. Supremely confident of his own ability he could enter a room and get exactly what he wanted. The most beautiful girl at school, also the smartest, was no match for the sharp focus of his desire. They married the year after they graduated. She became a successful bio-ethicist and he went on to build a business empire of modest but manageable means. He knew he could have grown bigger, but while confident he was never filled with any hubris. He had modest ambitions, but nothing would ever stop him from achieving them. Time passed as their lives were filled with the bliss that comes from success and contentment, until finally they felt ready for the next step. And then the wheels fell off...

Unable to conceive a child, Daniel Wallace's confidence was shaken. Doctors could not find anything wrong, there was no explanation. The sperm was healthy, so were the eggs. Chromosome tests could not give any indication to why nothing seemed to work. All known medical science was brought to bear upon the problem, but still they remained childless.

Daniel began to seek other explanations. He would have a child, and it would be one had of himself and his wife. Adoption was automatically rejected as an option, it was an admission of defeat. So he kept on looking, searching for any reason why such a thing could happen to him. Finally he came upon an idea that gave him a solution. He and his wife were simply the victim of a lack of reincarnated souls. Medical science was preserving life, trapping souls who were crying out for death in bodies that were trying to rot away, only to be pumped full of drugs to keep them going beyond the point of reasonable expectation. The less developed nations of the world had high birth rates matched with high mortality rates. But here and now, there was a low mortality rate and a low birth rate. And with that knowledge, he set forth to do what had to be done.

Hospitals were hard to invade, and harder to murder in. He knew he could do it though, and his persistence paid off as he learned the routines of the hospitals nearby under the guise of being a chaplain. He brought care and compassion to the terminally ill, and when nobody was looking he neatly assisted in their end. Each night after he had ensured a few extra souls were free to be reborn, he would return home and engage his wife in a loving yet mechanical act to attempt to fulfil their dreams.

As they continued to fail to conceive despair began to set in. The stress on the marriage began to take its toll, and several months into Daniel's program of murder and maternity his wife left him. She could see a change in him as he became obsessed, and it scared her away.

The next night two plainclothes detectives came by to arrest him. And slowly it dawned on him that reincarnation was bound up with karma, and that he had never had a chance. At that moment he let go, and as his soul released itself into the next life he prayed that his sacrifice might give his ex-wife the child he could never provide.