The Josh Lynott Project

Recorded: February 18th, 2024.

Location: Blairgowrie, VIC.

Sponsor: @whatasesh Running & Mindfulness retreats.

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Guest: Erika Geraerts.⁠

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Poems:

One Thousand Swords - Josh Lynott

I took one thousand swords

to my one thousand hearts

yet one kept beating

it grew bigger

as yours stopped.

What if I only had one heart?

and took one sword.

Would you have died twice?

Now, (Then)

And when I moved on?

It is not pain I crave,

or to feel twice alive

for you and for me.

It is for courage,

to be sharpened and carved.

into something the world has not seen.

I only hope they

see, what I did.

Feel, What I have.

The Mirror - Erika Geraerts

I've seen a lot of it

and it's seen a lot of me

me at my best

me at my worst

at my lowest

my highest

afraid, lost, shocked,

excited, dreaming, scheming

alone

with friends

in love

heartbroken

over years, through many tears

celebrations, contemplations

it's seen me and remained

it's seen me and stayed

it's never said much other than

I'm here

all at once I feel so big and so small

the mirror shows me it all

I've seen a lot of it

and it's seen a lot of me.

Journal Prompt:

- What do you need to change or access to be willing? (Willing to negotiate)

- "Just start, see what happens"

Recorded: February 11th, 2024.

Location: Collingwood, VIC.

Sponsor: @whatasesh Running & Mindfulness retreats.

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Guest: Oscar Bloomfield⁠

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Messy edge by Josh Lynott.

I want to mix colours, yours and mine.

Some days I'll be a mess.

You will too.

There will be days when the paint spills,

over

over

over

the edge.

You can't put spilled paint back together.

It's forever a mess.

If I fall into one thousand pieces,

let me be mosaic.

I'm scared of this place,

because I don't know who I'll be.

I'm excited for this place,

because of who I can be.

Paint with me, till the messy edge.

Recorded: February 3rd, 2024.

Location: Collingwood, VIC.

Sponsor: @whatasesh Running & Mindfulness retreats.

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Guest: Ziggy Razuki⁠

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POEM: I fell asleep next to avalanches. I fell asleep next to rivers. If the mountains judge me, let them. I probably should sleep in safer places. If the river bulges and it laughs at me, I'll try and laugh with it. I hope to be more like the mountains that chose not to judge me when I slept in precarious places. I hope to be like the rivers that did not judge me when I slept in flood-risk areas. The world is kinder on us than we are on ourselves. We, like nature, are often kinder on others actions than we are on our own. Look at your ideas, your thoughts, and actions - they may feel like avalanches.. but the mountain is not any smaller.

Recorded: January 30th, 2024.

Location: Paddington, NSW.

Sponsor: @whatasesh Running & Mindfulness retreats.

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Guest: Angus Armstrong.⁠

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Join my Instagram Channel: "One Percenters" via @joshlynott Journal Prompt: What is my relationship to spontaneity?

POEM: Make space. - Josh Lynott

You mentioned it yesterday, I booked it tonight.

The plane took off, I landed before the flight.

A squeeze on time, a leap into the wind

Time is best balanced, whilst dancing on a whim.

You're stuck in a cell, with four tiny walls.

A21, Monday, at eleven hundred you have three calls.

These people, these places, building your tower

I don't want to live here, stop taking my power.

Make a move they won't guess.

Can't guess!

Shouldn't guess.

Get under their skin

Like a game of chess.

I have time, you have time.

I use mine, and you spend yours.

This isn't a job, and you think it's a game.

I'm losing, I'm losing, I'm losing.

I'm sorry you chased fame.

Bend the rules, stop the clock.

You can't stop the clock, so why did you try?

You wanted more time. That's right.

Now you see the value,

it's so sweet and bright.

This isn't a poem, because I don't know the rules.

I was meant to be in a meeting,

but I'm writing these lines.

Will they care if I go

or miss the show?

They won't. Nobody does.

Until somebody does. So what do you do?

Make space, but don't build a cell.

Magic only enters, in a place with no spells.

Read by Angus Armstrong: https://larchhaven.blogspot.com/2021/02/one-of-my-loved-ones-remarked-today.html

Recorded: January 23rd, 2024.

Location: Katoomba, NSW.

Sponsor: @whatasesh Running & Mindfulness retreats.

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Journal Prompt: What are you going to set fire to this year?

POEM: It's not pretty, it's not easy. - Josh Lynott

It's not pretty. It's not easy.

This wire we walk. The game we talk.

Stretched thin, standing tall.

You've got it all together. Do I?

Who are you to say? Why do you say that?

You haven't woken up here.

Thinking the same thing for 6 months straight.

If you could see what I see now.

You would have stopped along time ago.

I know your type.

You play it safe, for the straight score.

You want the backboard but not the net.

You want the poems but not the knot in your throat.

I've talked to you time and time again.

You're holding onto something, but it's attached to a kite.

The trouble isn't in the sky, it's in the wire.

One day it'll snap, and you'll realise.

You missed the chance to fly.

Tell me when you're down and out.

And I'll show you there is so much more.

A step, a pivot, anything, everything.

Change the wire, change the way you walk.

If you change the wire, you change your mind.

The mind isn't you; it's the place you go to.

It's your place of safety, that's what you were told.

Then it betrayed you, you thought you lied.

But you didn't. You walked the line.

For the first time, you took fire to your heart.

Of course it hurt. It burned.

It wasn't pretty, it wasn't easy.

Tell me more of the wire you walk.

Tell me more of the fire you talk.

Tell me stretched thin, how long you have.

Tell me standing tall, that you should have.

Journal Prompt: How are you expanding or shrinking?

Recorded: January 16th, 2024.

Location: Adelaide, South Australia.

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Journal Prompt: What are you going to set fire to this year?

POEMS: Josh Lynott

"ILIVEFAST, BUTI'MBOREDOFIT"

I live fast, but I'm bored of it. I'm bored of the way it strips character out of everything. Look at cars.. vintage ones. When did we lose so much style? I've never lived in a time when hand-written letters took months to arrive.Sometimes I wish I did. Maybe, those words would mean more. All of a sudden I started to like winter. I could make soups again.Dipping bread whilst waiting for the soup to cool  down, slowed me down.Fast is fun. I get it. You can do a lot in a day. A lot in a life. But I'm sure there's a lot of time to do a lot of slow things. I want to enjoy more cut-throat shaves and talk to the barber. Or what about hand-made Gnocci? I know it will take me three hours.Isn't the inefficiency of that the most beautiful thing in the world?The irony is my muse.  We try to live fast so we're not bored. Instead, we become bored of things quicker. I'll ask some of my friends a question and they'll reply a week later.I cherish that. Think deeper. Challenge it. Test it.Planes are incredible. Yet I still feel like I'm teleporting everywhere.Have you ever cycled a really really really long way?Human power. Leg power. Power of your own heart and lungs.It's a terrific thing to try once in your life. I want to go fast when the sunset disappears.Finding my flow state down rocky trails I might fall on. Until then, I want to enjoy the hike and make tea at the top.I like the idea of being boring, but in the way you think.I want to be boring because I didn't get distracted and let my coffee go cold.I want to be boring because I have the ability to stare out the window for 3 hours.I want to be boring so I don't pick up my phone during a long game of cards.I want to have a conversation, one that's not boring. - JL

Recorded: January 9th, 2024.

Location: Melbourne, Victoria.

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Journal Prompt: What are you going to set fire to this year?

POEMS: Josh Lynott

"introduce yourself"

Call me jaguar, beachgrass, wild one - no shoes.

Call me sunflower, hairy legs, burning sun, chamomile.

That old passion fruit vine. Call me honey, home, warm sourdough, skinny, such a dreamer boy. Call me crook, selfish, stealing hands, an unfinished tea. Call me nomadic. Call me short of time, unroutined, outstanding, big brother, athletic, someone’s smile. 

Call me king of trails. Call me halcyon or moonstone.

5am, that strike of golden light. Calm and cozy, call me redwoods, Kuitpo, anything that sounds like the forest.

Call me emotional and overthinking, dahl and dazed.

Call me Wednesday to tell me you’re coming. Call me heart racing, paint stained, daydreaming.

Everyone's a brand - Louis Stenmark

Everyone’s a brand

Help me understand

A world that favours 

only those with fans

Money talks, everyone’s listening

Straight to the bank the rich list is whistling

time is money, we always want more

The things we consume are making us poor

What ever happened to attention to detail

The only attention is garnered by females

Therapist appointment booked via email

Likely replaced by spending on retail

Just name your price, Souls are for sale

A watch/chain covered in ice, The minds junk mail

So scared to be lonely

Can’t stand to be alone

Most used application

Find my iPhone

Views and follows the ultimate metric

“Don’t ever think about being originally authentic”

Perhaps one could try strange and eccentric

Lightning could strike wouldn’t that be electric

Everyone’s a brand

But no one’s brand new

How come originality is a blessing 

Only given to so few

Bicycles ride rust 

Books gather dust 

Friendships lack trust 

Tiktok/dancing/distraction a must!

Feeding one’s lust

To _____/no one’s disgust

(Essential stuffed crust)

Be yourself everyone’s taken

How come everyone suddenly stopped eating bacon 

Recorded: January 2nd, 2024.

Location: Melbourne, Victoria.

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POEMS: By Josh Lynott

Rocket fuel is what I call it.

Liquid to take me from here to space.

Rocket fuel is the reason,

I no longer forget to double-knot my lace.

Sitting amongst tall books, my pen plays today.

Whatever the task, rocket fuel encourages play.

Oh life is fast, a blur to discern.

And friends will teach you all there is to learn.

And thought is thought, it's always my turn.

But rocket fuel

always

burns.

Rocket fuels always pouring,

cos' the world won't stop the flow.

Into a glass, a mug, any container

to keep us on the go.

And it sometimes likes to comeback twice

And a little too much, a dangerous vice.

Oh, rocket fuel is clever, clever in routine.

And friends like to drink it before seven eighteen.

And thought is thought, I try to keep clean.

But rocket fuel always wanders.

Rocket Fuels as brave as volcanoes, toiling in the dark.

Rocket Fuels as brave as tsunamis, about to leave their mark.

Rocket Fuel's brave as storms. It never, ever sobs.

Except (like the rest), when they forget to pray to the gods.

Oh, Rocket Fuel is Rocket Fuel,

it's a rocket fuel kind of day.

And friends are friends, here to stay.

And thought is thought, choose your way.

But rocket fuel,alwaysconnects.

Rocket Fuel isn't bothered, but it does like to wonder.

So I have to say, what does it make you ponder?

Oh, Rocket Fuel wants a table, so could you find a napkin?

And then I know, wisdom needs something to be wrapped in.

Well, I'm very fond of Rocket Fuel, for it holds some power.

And I've very fond of friends, and those who take long showers.

And I'm often observing thought, when it wants to turn sour.

But Rocket Fuel's always Rocket Fuel,to call upon at any hour.

Journal Prompt: What are you excited for this year?

Recorded: Tuesday 26th of December, 2023

Location: Glenelg, SA

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POEMS: By Josh Lynott

Click. The sound of a shutter on an old camera.

My Dad's camera. It's looked at the world through two sets of eyes.

Click. The sound of a chef, impatient for the waiter.

My favourite restaurant. It moves the world one plate at a time.

Crackle. The sound of fire, wood burning slowly to warm my hands. A fire place. A vinyl player for the songs of trees cut down.

Crackle. The sound of sage leaves burning in a pan of hot olive oil. A new dish. A thank you to all those who make my life a home.

Softness. The sound of a shower running over skin.

An outdoor shower. A place to let your thoughts be clouds. Softness. The sound of balm moving along dried lips.

An act of care. Because lips see what the eyes don't.

Slam. The sound of a car door, a place I've never been.

Back beach. Turbulent one day, a sanctuary the next.

Slam. The sound of an airplane landing. Far away.

Distance. A medium which strengthens, choose your metric.

Silence. The sound of a stare with loud thoughts.

Eye contact. The absence of noise sings the melody of unspoken words.

Silence. The sound of evening car drives, with music blaring. Instrumental. A soundtrack to real life, actual life.

Recorded: Tuesday 19th of December, 2023

Location: Blairgowrie, VIC

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POEMS: By Josh Lynott

In Mid-December

By the fire,

in mid-December, rain soundtracks.

Crackle and patter, melting butter.

An unlikely pair, in mid-December.

It knows me, perhaps better than I?

Who is it? What is it?

Something bigger than me.

It knows slow, something I must go.

I try.

I've missed phone calls, emails,

and sent the wrong letters. It's okay.

The fire will burn, and so will I.

The drain is loud, my brain too, at this time of year.

Summer misses me,

I can't say the same.

Like droplets of truffle oil on tonight's risotto,

I will soak in.

By the fire,

in mid-December, I giggle and laugh.

My eyelids are heavy, risotto.

An unlikely pair, in mid-December.

Journal Prompt:

End of year review. Go through your camera roll and pick out photos that meant a lot, highlighted important parts of your year or made you feel something. Annotate these with shorthand notes. Complete this for the entire year.