Authentic ~ The Strix

The next topic for collaboration by The Strix is “Authentic.” Lots of ways to go with this one, as you will see below.  Enjoy the mix.



~ The Only You ~

Give me your bold truth

show me your whole face

reveal me your entire heart

peel back your camouflaged layers

tell me your past, your past’s past

feed me your version of facts

open up your naked soul raw

read me no narratives false

underneath the molded mask

lifetimes of crevices and cracks

tears left miles of salty marks

but so did smiles with their spark

creased by giggles, laced with love

every line I kiss, every line adored

authentically you

the only


I want

~ Emily C.

~ from PoetGirlEm


~ Das eigene Haus – Your Own Home; street photography Berlin, 2016 ~ 

The meaning of art is slightly different in art than for instance what it means in philosophy. Everything I do is authentic, because it was me who did it. Therefore, all I create is authentic. The photograph I choose for this topic reflects what is, to me, authentic in society nowadays.

I took this photo last summer and it has disturbed me ever since. It shows an impromptu homeless camp under a bridge. The thing is, as sad as it is, that´s not what disturbed me. What did, was the poster that had been recently been added to the wall, although this is a well-known place for the homeless since it´s in good area in the city and thus a bit safer than others. 

The poster titles: “Das eigene Haus” – “Your own Home” – an advertisement for an exhibition about housebuilding. I´m still speechless at the thoughtlessness that made those men put it up there… That´s how society is nowadays: the poor and the rich side by side, with the latter mocking the former. That´s what is authentic in society in my mind…

~ Sarah

~ from Art Expedition


~ False Or Copy ~

“False or copied?”


“Fake or floppy?”


“Genuine and real?”


“Came from the original seal?”


Authentic antique, my soul is,

Supported by unquestionable evidence,

That is how it goes, that is how it is,

The soul does not lie, it is full of elegance.

I…….it represents its own nature,

A belief that can only be comprehended by me.

To show virtue is to see a little feature

Of what is like to be me.

So you continue asking:

“False or copied, floppy or fake?”

And all I say is “NO, NO and NO” till you see me in my casket.

I almost break,

Just to be like everyone else, but now…….now I just remember the ache.

So I say “Yes to genuine,

Yes to real and yes to my authenticity”

That’s the sign for me to shine,

Indeed, complexity full of simplicity.

~ M. O.

~ from EmotionsOfLife


In a world, in which even leaders are turning to manufactured evidence and try to sell that to us for the truth and/or try to convince us the truth is fake, I really feel we should address the importance of authenticity.

Why is it, we feel we can’t be ourselves any longer; we became scared to be authentic?

The color of your skin, your gender, your sexual preference, being rich or poor should not hold you back in being you. Whatever may have happened to you in the past, or has been inflicted upon you; don’t let it hold you back either, to pursue your dreams. Don’t let anyone convince you, you are unworthy: we ALL matter.

The journey you take usually is more important than the goal you try to achieve, however sometimes the goal itself outshines the path we walk on.

Please, don’t turn away from news-stories, because you are sick of hearing the painful truth about what is happening in our world. It is your world too. Maybe you think what happens for instance in the USA or in Africa doesn’t affect you directly: think again. The world just seems big, it really isn’t.

Reach out to, stand tall together with, support, fight in a non-violent way with, your neighbor at this earth. Listen to each other’s stories, help when asked for, so we all can feel whole again.

As soon as we stop being authentic, stop telling and sharing our real stories and true feelings, authenticity will be lost in shallowness.

~ Patty W.

~ from Mimosa Pudica



Expressions Crossing Continents



Topic by Patty
Featured Image by Sarah
Logo by AlpeJohn 



One Reality

The murder awoke me.

It awoke me from the dream of the secret room with alabaster dancers, hidden behind mahogany doors that parted open upon their world. There, with no audience, they dance, separately, like statues adorning the pillars flanking the left, the right. There was no music, oddly…just motion and a bluish stage light casting a glow over scarred hardwoods.

Another room to the right of the entrance held more dancers. The women wore gauze of white that did not hide their form, their nakedness bared, the fabric only an afterthought. As the women rose, the men descended, like waves fluctuating to the silent sound of dead music of the past that only they could hear.

Mesmerized, I stayed, hoping that this was not a dream. Wondering who brought me here, and why.

The murder awoke me. The throaty cackles swarmed overhead. Disoriented, I searched for their location. Naked, I rose. Blinds lifted, drapes drawn, uncaring of being observed.

The crows staged themselves in the pines in the yard. They talked at length as they dove and soared from one power line to the pine and back again. One crow was missing a large section of wing, backlit by the milky white clouds that dropped steady rain. Unaffected by it, they held their convention, marked only with an interruption here or there by a robin in the holly tree where he defiantly held his position bathing in raindrops that fell from the red berries.

I wondered who brought them here and why.

Dozens of crows. Dozens of dancers.

One pair of green eyes, one pair of ears.

One dream, one reality.

~ E

***My morning. A true story. I even recorded the crows and rain for you…



drowning in salty sea

of tears shed from eyes of me


far from where I launched

from shore afar in distant land


in desperate vain attempts

to understand what’s happened


why it went the way it did

who I am and how I failed


saline rivers that merge

in ocean of pasts partly submerged


my dizzy head up and down

waves spinning me round and round


on water sinking my lungs

aspirating it deep, soaking like sponge


for understanding from you

lost in the rip tide of blackened view


to bottom like a rock in a pond

daylight above shrinking to naught


my last breath of captured air

goodbye to the world

fair or unfair

~ Emily Clapper


“Adrift” ~ AUDIO voice recording on SoundCloud

(Photo: Emily Clapper, Carkeek Beach, Seattle, WA 5/16)


Pixie Dust

where is my mind?
it dives and winds
around thoughts clear
of images near me
of you and I
once upon a time
in Neverlands afar
with Peter Pan’s star
above our heads
flying, pixie dusted
to hidden realms
of joy and sounds
of laughter ricocheting
coves and caverns, playing
like eternal youth
smiles so unearthly large
they inhale the stars
that twinkle stories
in our hearts’ quarries
of diamond love
unbreakable us
in untraceable land
no one can find
our private hiding
spot, we will spy
the next adventure
our souls are sure
to forever stay
in land far away
un-aged in ways
we cannot say
for if you find out
the magic of it

our world

will cease

to exist

~ Emily Clapper



The Girl Who Was Not Supposed To Exist

Her creation unplanned
born of drunk passion
and faulty protection
one late Seattle Christmas
Eve in 1976, party glög flowing
guzzled down throats
steaming up hearts
desires and instincts
took control of hosts
and half of her future self
shot through weak rubber walls
determined to meet its
other mate, that lone egg
nothing could stop her
from being conceived
seed planted, future seen
she misbehaved from the start
broke the rules, braved it all
saw all possibilities as truth
inextinguishable fire of life
unfaltering belief
living life like it was meant
to be lived, in totality
fully felt, no inch unexplored

no color not painted
no flavor not savored
no vista not viewed
no music not heard
no heart not loved
no love not pursued
no word not expressed
no chance not taken

The girl who was not
supposed to exist
in this life or any

Existed the hell
out of the one
she was given


~ by Emily Clapper