There goes my dream, looked good on paper -1st June 2020

Callen the gallon – those were days alright. Sweaty five-minute warm-up. Sound makes a sound – still Heavy Vegetable swirling around all the time.

Yesterday was filled with so much beauty it was almost too much to bear – it was outstanding green, green, green – Amy not impressed by the photos – “it’s my country – this is normal – this is why I want to see other places.” I get it, of course.

Up into the mountains skidding sliding – bemused villages staring. Akha church ceremony – it was Sunday. It was great – very lovely sounds. Some places so quiet, others cicadas like chainsaws.

Gap teethed stooping old ladies, “okay!”, smokers sitting in shade – pineapple groves – where to go? – is this a road? What are you doing to me Google Maps!? Buddhas everywhere. KwanYin everywhere. Miles and miles and miles – could I see the ocean?

Hours later I’m crispy salmon skinned – Magma CDs – play them one day. Das Damen – Jupiter Eye is upside down – why? Dazzling Kilman – must be close by. *

Cooler – big rain – 30-minute blackout. Oh no – it’s okay. Cold nighttime air, can wrap up warm. What are you gonna talk about? Nothing – it doesn’t matter – enjoy that coffee – keep the cup filled with coffee. Keep your heart filled with joy. Don’t fight it, the struggle is over, everything is changing. Embrace it. Gives thanks. Give love. You’re a lovely human bean.

Fatman report

Weight: 79.9kg
Resting heart rate: 53

Gratitude Journal

I am so happy and grateful that De Lanna is open again so I can sit by the river with a coffee.

*writing this sitting next to my CD collection and perusing in thought

There’s a tremble, and a rumbling, inhale- 27th December 1994


Out this window, through the vertical blinds, the insect screen, through the sun reflector and beyond our verandah and garden, the houses descend into the small valley and up the other side pushing for position with all the green rainforest, palms, ferns, gums and bamboo.

The rooftops visible in the sway of wet green leaves, where the crickets hang out buzzing around, their insane chatter carrying through the air – thousands of singing messages – here comes rain, here comes sun.

Grey and black clouds dominate the horizon, the air dank and still in my windowed vision, all quiet and anticipatory.

But now it’s time to leave this paradisiacal view and head out over the hill that we live on and down past the beach to the bustling village, buzzing with it’s human insects going about their merry way.

Out of our door the humid air clings shirt to skin and push push push the legs up the hill, short but dramatic, to meet the dirt track through the forest between scattered dwellings.

The crickets see your approach and snap into sudden silence as you pass the tall broken barked trees they inhabit(shh, here he comes!). The air drips moisture from the leaves high above, the ones that touch the sky. Odd insects buzz around often looking for some cool fresh blood to suck on – be quick, flick of the wrists – the Australian wave.

As the hill flats out and you begin to descend the other side, through the trees and buildings, the roar of the ocean beckons you forward, waving all the time. At the end of the road, the bottom of the hill, the sea stands before you far and wide and at it’s edge the crashing glory of the white crested waves, dotted with wet-suited bodies waiting on the big one.

Skirt the beach along the main road where traffic piles up because in this town pedestrians get right of way and that upsets the hoon element in their flash cars, boom box stereos blasting. The crowds are bustling from beach to shop to cafe and not much else. Young bronzed blondes hang round in threes, hanging out, being cool, playing the games of teenagers on the lookout for love, and I’m sure the surfers aren’t interested because they’re thinking about a different sex wax entirely and so the girls get themselves more beautiful and scantily clad in effort to swoon some dude away from his board but they’re still only interested in catching waves and so it goes on, this place a hot bed of sexual frustration. Maybe?!

The pace is slow and what the hell, there’s no hurry, those waves keep coming. These tough old legs carry me back home where, on the telephone wire to our house I spot something odd hanging on and its kinda long and thin and has four thin long double jointed legs and it’s a praying mantis – as long as your forearm and thicker than a hotdog. I hope that sucker doesn’t spot the gap under our front door!