hipsync blog

every move is a message

a tilt is an affirmation

a lift is an invitation

the syntax of gesture is dense

I have coloured in a path

between my heart and my third eye

and it expresses itself up my arm in henna

India is taking me apart and moving through me

I am inhaling the cremated

injesting trails of kin and caste

coated in a dust that’s carrying:
this crumbing temple,
that tilled earth,
hair of camel, defecation of cow, saree sweat, spit, urine, incense, sugar, spice…

it’s all a mixing vapour, moving osmotically through me—

the holy and the horrific

the putrid and the magnificent.

the pilgrims are parading to their pooja
and I’m standing to one side
keeping clear of their faith
side-stepping the decorated corpses
dodging the difficult question—”Why not married?”

the city of Shivas up my spine
om-chanting me into submission,
beaten with bindis, roped by rakhis,
the floral garland a noose around my lonely neck
(to be thrown in the ganga or fed to a cow)

all the hippy foreigners have the sideways head nod and the namaste
a hash pipe in their pocket and the lonely planet in their backpack
my camera is my shield, bouncing back their stares
at this ghostly apparition—the single white woman

she’s striving to be a sacred text
but remains the nursery rhyme
falling off the wall
coming tumbling after
her back is a trappstegsforsen—a staircase of ordeals, sensitive to the touch

she is sitting on a bonfire
and the wives and mothers dance around its base
their hands joined in feminine rite of passage
the flames of traditional expectation lick around her
her words come out scorched, melting her resolve

she is in headstand on the top of the mountain
built on deep layers of watching, listening, teaching, learning, crafting, distilling
it is always a precarious balance
an ongoing aspiration, an individual pursuit
the wind whistles commiserations around her
and in the distance a mob of women carry their families uphill

Pregnant wolf with pink panties Birth. . ..lots of pubic hair
hiding them away, washing the floor. . .canoe journey along the river. . .
to camp in the cold
Morning birds, prey. . trying out sexuality with the other animals
transformation into human. . . . . .

oker, Lace Queen, Housewife samba, Transcendental Transition stops

Well what is the plan today? Maybe a walk on the dangerous trail or covering the baby. . .or sleeping with the baby, or hugging, rubbing, kissing the baby
Changing the decor to make it just just just just just just just so right. . ..Getting so beautiful but can’t.

Directed , in love, dependent then independent again . . .alone sometimes, free and entwined. Envy toward the sky, internally crazy, scratching the earth to adult but actually the child never ending story

What giant hairy power has she
even Santa is jealous
everybody runs when her hair wipes the floor
sailing her hairy boat
sister of the furry mermaids
the ambulance people came
wondering if she´s allright
YIDAHO she says
making way with her hairy hips

Reindeer bride ghost

the shaman called her up

she’s eating the forest

and regurgitating the people

Yoko Ono and mountain man’s love child

Heaven just fell down on her
giving divine powers
wrapped in the blue
angry with broken objects
a ceremony for the tornado that entered her crown
with thunder
Sky can wrap her
while chewing the paws of the wild

Arrival in a strange homeunsure of her footing

a nest, a womb, an island

maddening lost moments, regrets, grieving

back to business

sweeping a dirt floor

finding her true path

time for coffee