Category Archives: ILLUSIONS

“I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of library.” ― Jorge Luis Borges

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“Fairy tales say that apples were golden only to refresh the forgotten moment when we found that they were green. They make rivers run with wine only to make us remember, for one wild moment, that they run with water.” 
― G.K. ChestertonOrthodoxy

Come on Milhouse, there’s no such thing as a soul! It’s just something they made up to scare kids, like the Boogie Man or Michael Jackson. Bart Simpson




The Wild Boogie Man


The light of day fades in the sunset
The wild child crouches in the bushes
Waiting for his childhood friend to wander into view


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I grabbed the torch one real dark night
and bolted down the yard.
The shadows stretched their long dark arms,
my heart was beating hard.

Mum said there were no boogie men
but I was not so sure.
The wind was howling through the trees
as I ran for the door.

I shone the torch across the seat
then shone it up the wall.
I’d hate to get a spider bite
or see things creep and crawl.


When I was sure that it was safe
I’d hurry up and go.
Then I was done. I’d check again
for any deadly foe.


I made the dash back to the house
the devil at my heels,
and once inside I’d slam the door.
You don’t know how that feels.

One freezing, rainy, winter night
scared, I used a bucket.
When morning came I’d empty it,
I’d just go and chuck it.

Alas, when I woke up next day
forgetting it was there,
I kicked it over spilling it
and cried out in despair.

I sure am glad that things have changed
in places we reside,
’cause I’m not frightened anymore.
The outhouse is inside.

Fairies love weathered terra cotta, Chinese jumprope, blowing bubbles, mockingbirds, and sidewalk chalk pictures.

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Ideas are like soap bubbles. They can pop or float away so easily. Then they’re gone forever.

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The Sydney Morning Herald (NSW : 1842 – 1954), Saturday 2 January 1932

1 1 1 1 1 1 The Sydney Morning Herald (NSW - 1842 - 1954), Saturday 2 January 1932



It is the only thing that knows us, all the crannies, the secret places where the caulkers have not reached, where the weevils hide; it sees all.

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I want to hide something from the humans until they are ready for it. It is the realisation that they create their own reality

Breac à linne, slat à coille is fiadh à fìreach – mèirle às nach do ghabh gàidheal riamh nàire. A fish from the river, a staff from the wood and a deer from the mountain – thefts no Gael was ever ashamed of.

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by Helen Mort

The deer my mother swears to God we never saw,
the ones who stepped between the trees
on pound-coin coloured hooves,
I brought them up each teatime in the holidays

and they were brighter every time I did;
more supple than the otters that we waited for
at Ullapool, more graceful than the kingfisher
that darned the river south of Rannoch Moor.

Then five years on, in the same house, I rose
for water in the middle of the night and watched
my mother at the window, looking out
to where the forest lapped the garden’s edge.

From where she stood, I saw them stealing
through the pines, and they must have been closer
than before, because I have no memory
of those fish-bone ribs, that ragged fur

their eyes, like hers, that flickered back
towards whatever followed them.

Winner of the Cafe Writers Open Poetry Competition 2009, Norwich

“Love conquers all,” Aphrodite promised.

“Love conquers all,” Aphrodite promised. “Look at Helen and Paris. Did they let anything come between them?”
“Didn’t they start the Trojan War and get thousands of people killed?”
“Pfft. That’s not the point. Follow your heart.” 

― Rick Riordan, The Titan’s Curse


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“Silent. So it should be. You have no place in this world, Luthiel. And there is no other.’ Zalos reached out and lifted a few strands of her hair. ‘Bright songs and the magic of hope are but a dangerous illusion. The fake comfort of witches charms.” 

― Robert Fanney

the sun you wore like a scarf on your wrist has vanished. —Sarah Holland-Batt

The Art of Disappearing


“I like the stars. It’s the illusion of permanence, I think. I mean, they’re always flaring up and caving in and going out. But from here, I can pretend…I can pretend that things last. I can pretend that lives last longer than moments. Gods come, and gods go. Mortals flicker and flash and fade. Worlds don’t last; and stars and galaxies are transient, fleeting things that twinkle like fireflies and vanish into cold and dust. But I can pretend…”

― Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Vol. 7: Brief Lives

A little Bit Of Stew For Dinner. A little bit of bread for breakfast


foto – eating at the oceanview hotel in urunga nsw 


Effervescent pink the champagne bubbles
With tinted illusions
Dinner waits
She glistens with age well carried
He listens with aged wisdom
Both drink in the possibilities

I know perfection is a chance effect Of uninflected being, that to reflect Will break the mirror that preserves your face . . .

See more at:


“Know all things to be like this:

A mirage, a cloud castle,

A dream, an apparition,

Without essence, but with qualities that can be seen.


Know all things to be like this:

As the moon in a bright sky

In some clear lake reflected,

Though to that lake the moon has never moved.


Know all things to be like this:

As an echo that derives

From music, sounds and weeping,

Yet in that echo is no melody.


Know all things to be like this:

As a magician makes illusions

Of horses, oxen, carts, and other things,

Nothing is as it appears.”

Very occasionally, if you pay really close attention, life doesn’t suck.”

― Joss Whedon

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Do not be misled by what you see around you, or be influenced by what you see. You live in a world which is a playground of illusion, full of false paths, false values and false ideals. But you are not part of that world.
Sai Baba

For ages you have run from the pain and forfeited the ecstasy. So come, return to the root of the root of your own soul.


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“I am an excitable person who only understands life lyrically, musically, in whom feelings are much stronger as reason. I am so thirsty for the marvellous that only the marvellous has power over me. Anything I can not transform into something marvellous, I let go. Reality doesn’t impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another. No more walls.
― Anaïs Nin

There Is A Voice Inside Of You That Whispers All Day Long, “I Feel That This Is Right For Me, I Know That This Is Wrong.” No Teacher, Preacher, Parent, Friend Or Wise Man Can Decide What’s Right For You- Just Listen To The Voice That Speaks Inside

Shel Silverstein

1 a collectionjohnba00gale_0049“Would you ever have thought I might choose a lie for the sake of my own happiness? The Whisperer’s version of happiness is an illusion — it doesn’t take away your fears, it only lies about them, makes you temporarily believe you don’t have them. And I know it’s a lie, but what a powerful one! Maybe I’m not who I always thought myself to be. Maybe I’m the sort of person who will do anything to hear what I want to believe…”
― Trenton Lee Stewart, The Mysterious Benedict Society

Every man contemplates an angel in his future self ― Ralph Waldo Emerson


“Everyone of us is shadowed by an illusory person: a false self..We are not very good at recognizing illusions, least of all the ones we cherish about ourselves.  Contemplation is not and cannot be a function of this external self. There is an irreducible opposition between the deep transcendent self that awakens only in contemplation, and the superficial, external self which we commonly identify with the first person singular.  Our reality, our true self, is hidden in what appears to us to be nothingness….We can rise above this unreality and recover our hidden reality…. God Himself begins to live in me not only as my Creator but as my other and true self. “

― Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation

No single event can awaken within us a stranger whose existence we had never suspected. To live is to be slowly born.

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Flight to Arras

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“Perhaps it is better to wake up after all, even to suffer, rather than to remain a dupe to illusions all one’s life.”

Kate Chopin, The Awakening, and Selected Stories

Perhaps it is better to wake up after all, even to suffer, rather than to remain a dupe to illusions all one’s life

― Kate Chopin, The Awakening, and Selected Stories


“I remember that I’m invisible and walk softly so as not awake the sleeping ones. Sometimes it is best not to awaken them; there are few things in the world as dangerous as sleepwalkers.”

Ralph Ellison Invisible Man

Tamul. — Gruel served in the house of a united family is enjoyable.

"Eastern Proverbs and Emblems Illustrating Old Truths"


With days of illusions and shattered ideas;
And sleep made restless with alcohol;
The suffering that burdens today with the taste of tomorrow;
And that turns love into a boundless river;

In your presence I have rediscovered the memory of my blood;
And necklaces of laughter hung around our days;
Days sparkling with ever new joys


(by David Diop)

foto – workers’ cottage raleigh nsw 2010