a little less conversation
June 24th, 2007 at 5:11 am
thought I might break up all the words with some of the contents of my cameras memory cards…
You are currently browsing the archives for June, 2007.
it leads you here despite your destination
June 18th, 2007 at 5:34 am
So I’m listening to Under The Milky Way through my headphones for something like the fifteenth time in a row, sitting on a mattress with little enough foam to let me feel the missing wooden slats in the bed frame. The notebook keyboard is nice and quiet, as not to wake my hosts in the next room while I sit tapping away, facing the wall to avoid the glare of the bare light bulb that keeps the room alight. Spare rooms are nice things, so much nicer than couches and lounge room floors, for the most part anyhow.
I’m still in transit at the moment, chasing a more full-time place to live. I’m having a great time spending a lot of time with my friends in their houses, but I’m not much of one to mooch, and somewhere a little more permanent would be handy, so that’s my main concern at the moment.
Work is great, but requires a bit more of a spiel to do it any justice, so I might save that for another time.
I’ve been a little out of character at times lately. The simplest thing that I can think to liken it to is that I’ve been acting like a dog in heat, which is totally against the grain of my regular distracted approach to things. I can only reason that it’s been on my mind because everything else in my life is going so swimmingly at the minute. My body isn’t recovering from any breakages or major illness, I’m working again, back on my bike, getting to spend lots of time with my friends (and some with family)… I have debts to repay, but nothing insurmountable. Things are, generally speaking, fantastic. And so with no slights against me or obstacles to overcome, the mind is free to wander and consider other playful fancies, or other sources of trouble as the case may likely be.
materials in dead tree version
June 10th, 2007 at 11:20 pm
To write and to publish. It doesn’t bother me to scratch out my thoughts on a pad or to further clog up the world’s digital networks with my practice, thoughts and banter, but the idea of writing a book, to me, is more sacred. There is so much good that I have left to read, hundreds of years of work and much of it better than anything that I might find at the other end of my pen. Personally I would rather never write anything that is published than to be part of the flacid tripe that obscures truly brilliant works from the eyes of most. I should hesitate to write myself a book until I believe for certain that I have something that I need to say or something truly worth sharing with a multitude of others. So until that time, my literary productions will sit here or in secret, slowly priming for the hour of call for the skills that they have helped to hone.
All in good time.
hands upon the wheel
June 3rd, 2007 at 6:33 pm
I don’t know what it is about driveways, maybe it’s their transience, that they exist in the moments aside arrival and departure, hellos and goodbyes, or that they offer so prompt an exit should things go awry, but there is a feeling of safety for the uncertain there which gives rest to fears and freedom to the lips. I can not pin point (and not for lack of trying) why it is that so many of my favourite conversations in this life have taken place in darkened driveways and resting cars. At night they hold some kind of magic. Passing them by day they look as a husk, nothing but a ghostly reminder of something that once passed through without a trace, but left marks on those who saw that will seldom ever fade.