A rose unfurls

31 08 2011

In the last few weeks I’ve been growing facial hair, out of curiosity.

I was never “allowed” to do it before, either because of Mum stating that she hated beards, or my teenage inner-self feeling that somehow the act of growing a beard would be both a source of horror and deep embarrassment.

But I’ve got past it, the whiskers are growing, and not only that, there is a feeling of liberation, there’s a personal growth happening along side the hair growth.

I feel almost like I’m standing on the shore of a large lake, with a small boat which I’ve stared at for years, but never had dared to take out for a paddle.

I am frightened of change, change for me has almost always been something bad…
but now a change is coming, which I feel I’m in control of.

I’ve got into the boat and it’s taking me out into the lake, and I’m not afraid, for once, I’m not afraid… I can see the shore slipping into the distance as My boat moves across crystal clear and completely calm water into the center of the lake, which I can’t see at this point, and that’s how life is… but it’s going to be ok.

The beard is just the tip of the iceberg, there’s more going on inside, it’s calm and quiet, like I’ve figured it all out at last and have lost all reason to be nervous.

I think I once read a story about American Indian boys going out into the wilderness in their early teens, as a coming of age ceremony… and staying until they found out who they were, and then returning home with a new name.

My Dear friend Michelle would know if this is right, As the blood runs through her veins.

For such a long time I have toyed with the idea of changing My name, But I couldn’t, It felt like a disservice to my Parents, who You probably know, I love dearly, despite Death taking them from Me.

But then, This is about Me and My life, and where I find myself at this time.
And I think of the remaining years that I have to stand up and say “Yes, this is Me” and be proud of myself.

I almost lost the chance, as you know.

Up until last year I still had a Sister, who knew my Name, and Knew who gave it to me and why. She could recite the two names in the middle in Her sleep, She knew my last name, and what that meant.

But She was taken from Me by Cancer.

I don’t have much contact with family anymore, there are embers in the fireplace, but that’s about all, there’s only one who knows a smattering of my Roots and that’s My Niece.

What is left of the old Me, How many, apart from corporations requesting money for unpaid bills, know Me by that name?

Some years ago, I began calling myself Wolfie, and it worked, it was
accepted. It was only a nickname, but now it’s become a lot more than that.

Was my real name Wolfie all along?

I never spent one day in Tibet, but Ladies and Gents, I think I’ve found myself.

Now that other factor, Google Plus and their silly names policy.

People have been talking about the use of “Nyms” (the Pseudo kind), and there’s this twitch inside when I apply it to “Wolfie Rankin”, because it’s gone beyond that point.

When some say that “nyms” are nothing but worthless trolls and hoons, who make life difficult for “normal” people who have lives and jobs, and therefore are superior to anyone they wish stick the toes of their nice Italian shoes into, and they apply that
stereotype to me, then how do I feel?

I often think a twitter businessman in a clean suit and tie, is every bit as bad as that pretend sexy lady bot who pops up at times and tries to trick me into viewing a URL.

I don’t care what Google thinks, or the people who use it, But perhaps it’s the last straw.

I know I’m not a troll and you know it too… I’m Wolfie!

I want to be Myself, not what anyone else thinks I should be, and I think that time has finally come.

The boat is going further and further out into the lake.
On the seat beside me a red rose unfurls and I smell its sweet perfume.

I leave the person I was on the bank, and become myself, the one I was meant to be.
Like the Wolf inside, this is a time of Transformation, Change, and Rebirth.

Finally at long last, it’s OK to simply be Myself.

This is Me, I am Wolfie Rankin.


30 08 2011

Ask me anything http://formspring.me/WolfieRankin

Dad songs

21 08 2011

I began making my transition from kids music to pop in the late 70’s, suddenly becoming intrigued by Countdown and Sounds Unlimited.

Bands who merely played live were generally ignored for the ones who could provide a video with an interesting story to tell, and although I liked a lot of bands, my favourite was ABBA.

Of course some of the stuff I liked was criticised by my parents for being too monotonous (some of it was) or they couldn’t understand a word of it.

Early on, I thought that phrase meant that they couldn’t understand all the words being sung…. I couldn’t either, but I didn’t care.

But then I realised that what Mum meant was that she couldn’t grasp the concepts in the lyrics, and I admit, some songs do take a while to figure out, and lets face it, we’re still wondering about Knights in White Satin.

Mum and Dad liked 3AK, A Melbourne station housed at Channel Nine, which churned out “Beautiful Music” laid back versions of old and new-ish pop tunes, often played by the 3AK Orchestra.

Now music always kicks you in the teeth, and I would advise kids reading this, never to get too cosy with certain musical ideas, that some are right and others are not.

I hated country music, but found myself being cool with it when Thompson Twins released “You take me up” which featured harmonica, which up till then was never an instrument I wanted cropping up in my songs.

So My music was monotonous.

But when 3AK played the song that we thought went “One callamera, ah-dee-dah one callemera”

* We had no idea what the lyrics were, or what they meant, not being spanish, are they Spanish?

Dad would sing that to himself while in his shed, and I never realised how weird this was until now.

My songs couldn’t be understood, Yet Dad, a Full Australian with no other language apart from English was devoted to “Variety Italian Style” a mid morning “ethnic” program on one of the commercial stations, which featured tour videos and current italian songs.

Dad would also watch the Greek show which followed.

If you’re a kid, be aware of this, it happens with every generation.

and realise that your generation is not any different to any which has passed before, it just seems that way when you’re young and don’t know any better.

People are just plain weird.