the Great

A friend of mine told me this story today.

This is a story about Alexander the Great.

Before his death, Alexander the Great asked his friends to place him in his casket with his hands by his sides, but his palms open, facing up, bare and showing.
His friends were confused at his request and asked him why he wanted his hands to be so exposed.

To which Alexander replied: "My friends, people from around the world will travel to see me before I am buried. I want them all to see that this is the man who owns the world, and yet he leaves with two empty hands."

(PS, I don't care whether this is true or not. Do not care.)
My friend went on to say, that this is how it is. All of this is borrowed. Throughout our lives, the houses, the cars, the everything. It's all borrowed. Because at the end of it all, we give it all back and then leave with two empty hands.
Even the man who had the entire world at his feet.

So don't sign your life away for a job you don't like, or values that are not yours, or to a whole life-time of doing things that do nothing for your soul.
Because at the end of it all, you cannot take any of this with you.

So why spend a lifetime chasing someone else's unicorns.

Yours truly.
M.

START OF THE TOUR

Hello, awesome souls!
I hope you had a nice mid-week.

Today, it's official - I've started the summer tour.
We had our first gig, of 22.
It was outdoors, we had plenty of people, and it's a random Wednesday night.
It went so so well, the audience was absolutely a-mazing.



So currently I'm so grateful, at all of it.
Really, all of it.

And also, after I'd finished my first song, this super-lovely human being lady came to the stage, with this flower garland, and just put it on my head - with 100% consent, of course.

I would rate that as one of the best things to have happened to me during my singing/stage life, which is almost as long as my life on the whole, on this planet.
Just, the symbol of it.
Fertility, and abundance, and giving, and Mother Earth, and the fruitful season, and just OH MY GOD. So many things that are so important to me and so close to my heart.

It is the most perfect way to start the month and start this tour.
Start telling your stories and singing the songs.



And then there was a box of strawberries after the gig.
I don't usually like strawberries if I'm honest, but these ones were SO RIPE, and tasted just simple amazing, so I had about a thousand. Accompanied with the red/pink hands post-eating, with my garland.



I'm just getting some rest now and I plan to sleep completely alarm-free tonight.
Fresh peppermint tea, and Gordon Ramsay shouting at some people.

It's a good feeling, going to sleep, knowing that I have actually shared something tonight, and that other souls really received what we were doing tonight.
You can always tell.

Sing songs.
M.

if you really love a writer

“Everyone wants to give a writer the perfect notebook. Over the years
I’ve acquired stacks: one is leather, a rope of Rapunzel’s hair braids its
spine. Another is tree-friendly, its paper reincarnated from diaries of
poets now graying in cubicles. One is small and black as a funeral dress,
its pages lined like the hands of a widow. There’s even a furry blue one
that looks like a shag rug or a monster that would hide beneath it—and
I wonder why? For every blown-out candle, every Mazel Tov, every
turn of the tassel, we are handed what a writer dreads most: blank
pages. It’s never a notebook we need. If we have a story to tell, an idea
carbonating past the brim of us, we will write it on our arms, thighs,
any bare meadow of skin. In the absence of pens, we repeat our lines
deliriously like the telephone number of a parting stranger until we
become the craziest one on the subway. If you really love a writer, fuck
her on a coffee table. Find a gravestone of someone who shares her
name and take her to it. When her door is plastered with an eviction
notice, do not offer your home. Say I Love You, then call her the wrong
name. If you really love a writer, bury her in all your awful and watch
as she scrawls her way out.”

—	If you really love a writer; Megan Falley

This is spectacular.
The idea, the writing.

Spectacular.
M.

granny

The granny I'm absolutely going to become.
This is me just before my 100th birthday.
Which is also when I decided to die.
After the birthday, that is.
100 and then, c ya!
It gives such good structure I feel.

Granny with a cigar.
I'd sooooo tell the BEST stories.
The LIVING best.

Here's to hardcore Grannys.
M.

interesting

Interesting things are interesting.

Muriel Rukeyser, "The universe is made of stories, not of atoms." 

http://www.dailydot.com/culture/wirrow-tiny-stories-art-influences-interview/

Tell stories. 
M. 

stories

Telling stories.

It's so important.
There's something so simple and so powerful at the same time about telling stories.
About deciding to share that little part of you or share that little bit of imagination, or fact, or whatever with someone else.
Deciding they are worth your special story, or deciding you like them enough to really tell them a story.
Or finding someone who respects you enough to really listen to your story.
So simple it's just crazy, so basic.
But in this basic-ness there's just something absolutely magical.
I don't trust people who underestimate telling stories, or listening to stories.
And I don't only mean fairytales. I mean, what happened to you yesterday, or something your little brother once did, or something your grandfather told you, or something you read, or some lyrics to your favourite song.
This sort of sharing, all of this, is storytelling.

And it is important.
I think that's why I like blogging. It doesn't have a word-limit, and I can just tell my stories.
And sometimes the stories are so good I have to re-tell them to my friends in person, message them, or anything. It's the easiest way of sharing and the easiest way to really get under someone's skin. Sharing your stories.
Your adventures
Your likes, and dislikes
Your favourite animals and colours
Your patterns and structures
Your dreams and schemes

Share.
It is scary but it makes life so much more fun. So much more excitement to find someone who is into the exact same dried autumnal leaf shape. Or like, someone who pairs their socks the same way. Or changes octaves when singing along to a song exactly when you do. Or someone who has the same favourite Monet. Or someone who folds their linen the same. Or someone who holds their fork the same way. Or someone who has the same dreams. Or laughs the same way.

Tell stories, because we base ourselves in this context. The giving storytellers give a little bit of themselves to each story and really root and ground themselves. It's nice to belong to stories because they can't shift and change. If you tell them, they are the way they are. The next one will be different.

So therefore.
Tell
dem
stories
M.

stories

Tell stories.
M.