Site hosted by Angelfire.com: Build your free website today!


18.11.02 Debbie Benson

She has been such an amazing person to work with. I felt a connection to her ever since she mentioned how much she adored Prince - how could I not? Debs gave me websites, concert information, burned me CD's I couldn't afford (sorry P) and took my side when Sharon was mean to me *giggle*

15.11.02 Sharon Guillespe

Ms Sharon saw it fit to call me smelly after I gave her the compliment of being a star. Shazza has been a constant source of laughs and insults which are equally funny. Without her work would have been incredebly boring. I will miss Shazza!


How can I not love my city?

More pics!

Christmas Day 2001, Bondi Beach (sky is pink because of the haze from nearby bushfires)

Wendy asked me last night at dinner what my ideal life with a partner would be. I used to be money-orientated, wanting the finer things in life and I was prepared to put in the hard yards for it. Now, after travelling and seeing the world (or parts of it), I simply want an easy, soul-enriching, peaceful life.

I would start the day waking next to a kind hearted, down to earth, nature loving man - snoring, his hair sprawled out around his head. It doesn't matter what he does in his life. I don't need a professor with a Masters degree, just a semi-introverted observer with a mind of his own. Someone that has undertaken a career that still allows him creativity. I wake him for his early morning surf and throw him a towel.

I wander over to the bright kitchen of our two bedroom apartment overlooking Bondi Beach, feed the dog(s) some leftover pizza and make a couple of banana smoothies. The place is spacious, uncluttered but artistic with various pictures, art works and other objects we have collected during our life before meeting each other.

I wear a suit to my job which would be somewhere in the UN working in Human Rights or International Treaties, or with the Government monitoring new laws to ensure they remain within the constitution. My office is in the city and I ride a bike to work.

I come home an hour or so before the sun sets, change and meet my partner and the dogs on the beach. We throw a tennis ball and watch the sun set. He tells me about his day and his dreams, what he has read in the paper that annoys him, what he feels needs to be changed and how he plans to do it - I tell him how much I will help him do it. He tells me how much he loves the water and my cooking, to which I reply it's in the kitchen, lets eat.

At night we cuddle, bellies full, watching some satirical comedy or movie, make love (or whatever tickles our fancy) until we can no longer move and sleep...

Only to wake and do it again the next day...

SIGH! The beauty of perfection - such torture sometimes...

Anyone wishing to add to this or apply for a position - feel free to do so! hahah!


I am in the process of creating a poem for my recently deceased Nana. You can check back if you want to view its progress. This is the first stage (written in some 5 minutes)


Bihac soil grasping at knees, lips locked on the face of an earth as scrunched, wrinkled and as dented as the yellow skin that adorned moja Nana's face.

Both locked in a damaged world

Wounds now scars, taint the beauty of their faces.

. . . .

Nana was not so different, I realise as I stand in Bosnia myself.

Other semi-veiled wrinkled old ladies walk without hunches

Their strong postures smoke screen their burdens

A juxtaposition.

Heavier burden - straighter back.

. . . .

Nana sat, legs apart, calloused fingers pinched nose bridges,

blood dripping as smooth as water from leaky taps.

Talking. Teaching. Telling.

Cancer spreading, spine tumors growing, mind slipping -

straighter back.

. . . .

Moja Nana

. . . .

On Bairum the last of her family passed.

Gasped her mother, gangrene spreading from bullet-wound to leg,


Age 12, family lost.

Back straighter.

. . . .

Soil as brown as the curing bruises blemishing her olive skin

betraying the muslim/catholic reuinon.

Itallians were always darker.

Shunned for a birth-gift she did not wish to recieve.

. . . .

Husband drunk.

Beat. Bashed. Bruised. Scraped. Grabbed. Scratched.

Bloodied that beautiful curse-bearing skin.

. . . .

Age 16. First still-born.

. . . .

Moja Nana

. . . .

Danced 'like gypsy' waving tea towel in vynal kitchen.

Smiled a denturned grin

teeth lost to fists.

Worshiped my blonde hair for the ease it brought.

Lifted ankle skirt higher, sang louder, praised Allah for her beautiful kitchen, fresh watermelon and abundant bread.

Kissed her diamonty Australia badge for the fortune it gave.

. . . .

4 children. 1969.

One room. Toilet - public- no doors.

Asylum, Villawood prison for poor immigrants.

Fed bread.

Family starving, still she blessed Australia for abundance of bread absent in the old country.

. . . .

Husband's pay donated to local pub in exchange for cheap vodka

the gutter his shameful bed.

Nana carried him on her back,

That straight back.

. . . .

Moja Nana.

. . . .

Wiped tears with her tea towel.

Pleaded to me Islam was not a religion of war.

Wringing calloused hands

jaundiced skin gleaming

liver giving

yellow eyes screaming.

. . . .

Moja Nana

. . . .

Proudly displays her first yellow rose in a bush of red.

Holds me in silence

Last visit. Last kiss.

Last goodbye from a Granddaughter she would miss.

Raised her as her own.

Granddaughter's blonde beauty - horror breeded out - olive skin betrays no more.

Brown eyes meet green for last time.

Death creeping. Robbing time of its gifts.

More tears.

. . .

Moja Nana


On Bairum.


27.10.02 Santorini - Greece, via email

Hi Dan...You will be very sad when you read this message...but I am sad to say that our NENA has passed away...on Friday night the 25th at 8.30PM. Exactly one month after your B-Day.We were all there to seeher of. She was in so much pain Dan...It was a kind thing that she went. I am soooooosaaadd Danno...I go in and out of fits of tears. Tina and I were there for her all the way. Nena looked so peacefull albeit a little sad...she fought the best bettle ever...oh Dan it's so sad to loose a MAAA. I cry an dI see her face and almost hear her voice saying..."nemoj biti budala...ti morash biti chvrsta.." you know the whole lot of us are doing quite well considering our vast differences. Nena's funeral will be on Monday at about 10.30am. I think 28th October. Dan I can't write anymore as I am going to cry. You know the world is a strange place...those that don't contribute very little get to enjoy from those that put in the hard work. Oh Dan...it is so hard. Dddo has been an iron pillor of support he is such a Gem. Love you heeps miss you I said good by to Nena for you although you did that in your own very loving and caring way. You knew! How telepathic/. Love you Dan. Hope tohear from you soo. So sorry abot this sad news.XXXXXXXXXOOOOOOOOMUMDADANDLEAMOOOOOOOOXXXXXX

No matter how many times you tell someone you love them in the knowledge that death will one day (soon)take that opportunity away, when the day arrives you still feel like more should have been said.

"When we are born we cry, when we die the world cries instead."

* * * * * * * * *


Rarely I come accross a person online that has a knock-the-wind-from-your-sails type soul. Here's one and I would love everyone that visits my page to have a squiz at.

Jerome's Page

If the link doesn't work let me know (honeydip99@hotmail.com) I can't be bothered with all the html anymore

Anyway anyone interested in race issues, politics, poetry and substance in general - he is the man to read. Watch that space - big things for that guy.

*kiss* J


Crisis of the heart

a stirring in the soul.

The best and the worst blessing one could have bestowed:

instead of happy mediocre

would rather be forever alone.


so my photos are kinda primitive... i know, i know... it`s just a bit of fun.

The current mood of honeydip99@hotmail.com at www.imood.com


I am losing my roots.

My grandmother, the matriach of my Bosnian family, is dieing and with her an age and a mentality some in my family would rather forget.

She represents to me a life I have lived only through their recollections, a culture my mother demands I abandon and an essential part of me I struggle to understand and can only do so when I am with her.

I went to the Bosnian Embassy today and applied for my visa to enter the country. I couldn't tell them I was of the same stock because my grandfather is a political refugee and it pained me since I already felt far removed and untruthful. I wanted to trumpet that I was 'coming home' - not that they would have cared, but I do.

Nevertheless I felt a part of myself settle when I handed over the Visa form, knowing that unless they reject my application, I will be travelling to my home country - something I have dreamt of doing during the whole of my life.

My heart flutters in anticipation. I feel my soul is as old as that country, the passionate blood runs feverishly through my viens and I feel a calling I can't even begin to explain.

Roots may pass with my grandmother, may be abandoned by my mother, but I am determined to grip onto the beauty that is in my ancestors and discard that which was ugly. Maybe I am a generation removed enough from it to do so.

I often wonder if all peoples around the world that have been displaced through war and conquering feel the same sort of calling from their homelands. I know some can never return to their homes and re-grasp the culture that has been ripped from them, I can't imagine the sort of pain that brings. I feel blessed that what I want to find, can be found. For how long that will last I don't know.


Just realised how much Erykah Badu is figuring in my writing here. How lovely is it then to go see her in concert which is what I did only last Thursday 4th July.

She was beautiful. So comfortable in her skin, her body, her clothes. So sexy and strong. So feminine and mother earth. Preached love and life's harsh lessons. Remember her standing a metre back from the microphone and belting out a scream that was high pitched but not ear-straining: 'never knew what a friendship was... never knew how to really love'. Remember her posing in that yoga stance and everyone cheering. Remember her clapping hands above her head and moving her butt along with it.

What an inspiration.

Went with Lisa, an equally beautiful but younger (my age) woman. She went to Scotland the next morning, returned 5 days later and said Erykah's concert was still on her mind. As on mine.

Go E!


Black guy came up to me yesterday, braids, wide smile, told me i was beautiful. we got to talking. he fessed that he'd never spoken to a white girl before in a casual conversation way, said he didnt know how to approach 'us'. i was taken aback. Shocked that he felt such fear talking to someone like me simply because I was white.

I told him he needn't fear offending 'white women'. That because certain women are white, he shouldnt feel the need to treat them with any more respect than the next woman. That offence is always taken and never given, and if the women he speaks to doesnt like him, worry not that it might be because he is black - it is simply because they dont want to speak to him. In other words, their reasons need not concern him so long as he is comfortable within himself.

Smiled he thanked me, we parted ways and i was numb.

I wanted to tell him his blackness was beautiful, that his smile was radiant and his heart is good. I wanted to tell him white women arent really that special, no more than any other woman anyway. That he should feel free to speak to whoever he bloody well wants and if they dont wanna speak to him then fuck them. THIER LOSS not his.

I cryed when I got home. Sat on my bed and thought about how screwed up the world was to make a man feel that his colour is STILL a bar to him speaking to people.

A 28 year old man approached me yesterday, shameful of his colour, left feeling slightly more confident that his skin was a barrier only in his own mind.

In turn he left me - my colour now shameful to myself.


stood on the edge of the platform at Angel Station. thought of the light blue square on the monopoly board and wondered why the real Angel Station wasn't blue like that (the colour for Angel is black). Closed my eyes listening to the nasal tunes of Erykah Badu, calmed my restless heart. knew i was going to a temp job in some firm and felt like crying because of the sheer hatred for the work. Erykah sang 'oooh heyyyy i trying to decide, which way to go, think i made a wrong turn back there some where....'

looked around at the selection of english blokes dotted on the platform - rush hour and not a hottie in sight, though steven would say there were about 60. tried to remember what it was like to be caressesd... once again erykah chimes in about the same moment i felt the wind of the subway train creep to me like a feather in a breeze, creping, silent though i know it is approaching... 'been such a long time, i forgot that i was fine, just kiss me on my necka nd breathe on my neck.' i lifted my jaw and tilted my neck towards the subway breeze. reminded me of the caress i missed. funny to feel that from something not human - not male....


Happy to have me draped accross your shoulders for the night (happy i was to be there) yet when a call for reciprocation was released you responded by creating a soft barrier between us. your arm tightly belted accross my body was all i could feel.

your response to attraction fought or attraction never found?

night after i slept, curled, holding myself, body to body. my mind entwined around my heart left gaping, wondering what your encripted messages mean.............. play the message on your loud speaker, 18 inch woofers - blare it to me, please - because i am deaf to your music... or your silence.

i would have danced to your rhythm had you just played it loud enough for me.


everytime i hear a police car in London i think of The Bill. and then i think of dad, coz we used to watch that show together all the time ("Poll, wots goin on Poll?") and then i think of routine and times gone by and i wonder where time is going. i wonder why it is i cant seem to appreciate the moment until it passes. why i cant seem to let people know that i love them until they are too far away to hear. why it is i wait for "omens" to present themselves, then recognise they are "omens" only to be too gutless to snatch them up. why it is i cry when i hear sad songs, or beautiful songs, or why i cry to almost every-remotely-beautiful thing these days. tears should never be so cheap.

why is it now that i have pharcyde ringing through my head "telll me whyyyyyyy, why its gotta be like that..."


Rockin! 12 days to go before im outta Sydney and off to London for a year!


I have `discovered` Jeff Buckley. An alternate Ben Harper - thank you Cary for showing me something new.

The surge is within me again. The tide had crept up and you were there with an uncanny, unspoken understanding - you knew. And you fed my soul Buckley knowing that even though I depart in 2 weeks I will carry you with me when I listen to him.

I`ll be back sooner than you know. Maybe then the time will be right. Or maybe "I`ll see you next lifetime" - Erykah Badu


There is a woman up online that has calmed my restless soul for a second. She is the epitome of femininity and beauty in all a woman`s unashamed splendour.

I am tierd of apologising for my gender or guarding my actions because of the men`s perception of me in the world. I have a long way to go before i actually do stop apologising for something i can`t nor should have to change but this queen up on the net has breathed femininity into my soul, or more awoken it from its forced slumber.

Thank you from the depths of my heart.


I love the trains. i love sitting on them and sleeping, or watching people, or reading or listening to music or just thinking. the movement lulls me into a thoughtful spell.


i need to clean my room. i know that book is around on my bed here somewhere... ahh...

"I always knew that deep down in every human heart, there was mercy and generosity. No one is born hating another person because of the colour of his skin, or his background or his religion. People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than the opposite." (749)

"It was during these long and lonely years that my hunger for the freedom of my own people became a hunger for the freedom of all people, black and white. I knew as well as I knew anything that the oppressor must be liberated just as surely as the oppressed. A man who takes away another man`s freedom is a prisoner of hatred, he is locked behind the bars of prejudice and narrow-mindedness. I am not truly free if I am taking away someone else`s freedom, just as surely as I am not free when my freedom is taken from me. The oppressed and the oppressor alike are robbed of their humanity." (751)

MANDELA "Long Walk to Freedom" (autobiography)


"I think Buddah would say ma`am that roads are for journey`s, not destinations." - Anna and the King


I dont like a quiet life. I don`t like `comfortable`. Hate routine but find myself in it anyway.

My comfort zone is change - i don`t know anything else.

Sporadic ramblings make me laugh. Emails containing streams of conciousness enlighten me and everything is accepted. So send me something, the net has gone quiet these days.

I fantasise about love. it`s the only feeling i haven`t experienced.

My word is truth. Ill get that tatooed on myself one day in sanskrit. Truth is the centre of everything, it is what i strive to be.

Definative quote: "Disbelieve if you CAN" (my father) and "Those who think their life is of some great importance is awefully close to living in a padded cell." (Clarence Steward Darrel)

Craving of the moment: mild chillies and chedder cheese. I eat an entire jar and grip my stomach for hours later groaning. but they are just so good!


I found my `maxwell` once.

he crept up on me unexpectedly.

one day silence, next day endless verbal violence.

a humbled calm you were. unaware of your light you were. you were my mellow smooth.

pizza at sunset sitting on the pier talking about direction - you provided correction. i gave inspiration, so you mentioned.

But I couldnt believe that my presence gave you ressurection.

Stood my vision of perfection-personified poised before me told me I was his peace. I. ME?

Couldn`t be.

In awe and

instead of embracing I ran.

My own insecurity killed the possibility of soul craving intimacy...

Taken little heart in the thought that

`he` does roam the world somewhere and

`he` will break the silence and when

`he` does - i won`t run.


Ben Harper



Ms Venus on Legs: KYLIE MINOGUE!

She`s bout to break the US market - go aussie!

Other musicians: Sade, Morcheeba, Erykah Badu, Guru, Pharcyde, Musiq, Jill Scott, Craig David *lick* and Macy, Aaliyah (RIP), Shakira, Black Moon (first album), Jurrasic 5, BEP, Brand Nubian, Black Sheep, Les Nubians, Eric Benet, Lenny Kravitz, Souls of Mischief, D`Ang, Amel Larrieux, MintCondition, India Arie, Rachmanenov (third piano concerto), Christine Anu, Ginuwine and Organized Konfusion - any early 90's hip hop when they knew how raw live scratching sounded and remembered hw important the DJ was, not just the MC (to name a few).

Steven: Time for a KIP Stevie-T, rock it!

Michelle: The sister i never had but was somehow blessed with.

My Mother: My lesson.

My Father: My inspiration.

My Brother: My life.

me n my 'sister' michy...

Love you Mich!