Austin

Down roads and past signs and sometimes past railway lines,
over borders with their tiresome security and the sun;
wind swirls that have surely come from over the sea via planes whose grasses just grow amongst the turmoil of it all.
...
Then we found ourselves in Austin and sitting outside a closed cafe we waited for our new found friends who had offered us their couch for a few nights. A stranger shifted from up the street and
sat down next to us... 'Leaf's my name- i'm what they call a travelling kid...you know there's two kinds of kids..travelling kids and homeless kids..I guess im a travelling kid..you know..always travelling...' 'Say...where do you two come from?' 'Australia' we said. 'Mannnnnn- next time you see one your..erm..airport security guards..tell em..Leafs a good kid! Let him into Australia!' 'Will do Leaf..sure thing.' We left Leaf and jumped into our car. As we left, Leaf lit a cigarette and under the light he was sitting the smoke spiraled amongst his dreadlocks and caught itself illuminated as it bent and refracted before finally escaping northwards. He was smiling at nothing in particular. And so was I

New York

New York, New York
How you roll like men in floods carried by the cities subways submerged beneath rock and graffiti'd tin.
And you blow through central park and later on in the dark streaking past cars- the cities lights- its bikes.
Williamsburg- your hipsters- book shops with just 'every-single-book-I-want-to-read' kind of writings.
Oh New York.
x
xx

Life

It was two o’clock that afternoon, and I remember the time because the large clock that towers and shadows through the never ending sea of corporate city zombies and dudgeons that seem to roam the streets (oddly) in the day time had just struck, and for this reason a great pack of pigeons had suddenly taken flight. A man sat on a park bench, opposite me, with his Rolex watch, Armani suit and no doubt expensive shoes- however even more interesting were the series of five scratch-it and lotto tickets that he held so desperately in his hands. And his hands were wobbling as he scratched away, furiously, and as he peered up from his desperation, inhaling sharply on a cigarette, it seemed his very soul had been hollowed and cracked into pieces; left for the pigeons to carry off to the breezes. I watched the man and swore never to become that- a walking talking experiment of corporate wastage and personal happiness sacrificed. The man made a stand and he turned to trudge back to his office; back to the environment for which he would go to meet expenses.

From wide eyed and I-am-so-curious-about-the-world-beginnings where children, behind closed eyes, nightly swoon over faraway lands, dreams of dancing and space travel plans it appears somewhere between high school and death we are pinned down and corrupted by notions that appear to link financial success exclusively with personal well being. Ironed into our souls through the media is the idea that if we are rich, we will be happy. We study to become accountants, lawyers and businessmen where fluorescent light lit hallways become our daily surroundings and trips to the coffee machine our thoughts of forbidden pleasure. And of course the result is typically mundane yet accepted. Society rises early from Monday to Friday, herded off like cattle to jobs they despise, talking about places they would rather be, but all the while feigning happiness because, suckling from the tit of the all-mighty dollar which will allow them to accumulate things: ‘this-is-how-it-was-supposed-to-be.’ But this is not living! Why do we choose to exist for such inconsequential meaningless reasons? As Jack Kerouac lends, where once the Russians slaved away for the state, now the world slaves away to meet expenses- everything is measured in dollar signs and certain pre-defined eloquences are being lost to tides of structured normalcy.

Conservative, narrow minded and conceited parents, suits, teachers and other disappointingly dreadful souls who have had neither the time nor inclination to remove themselves or allow their dependants to leave from immediate situations and really experience or exist. ‘No Johnny, you will not be heading overseas for a year of frivolity and traipsing- no you will stay here and get your life on track- otherwise how will you ever get ahead!?’ And this is exactly the issue. Life is not a series of competitions- write everything down neatly between the lines and be sure to leave your name at the top kind of musings- we are not given a score or a mark upon our death bed. Rather it will be inner evaluations that pass through our thoughts and time spaces when we breathe those final breaths. Why do we increasingly lower our quality of life, raise stress levels and purchase items we will never have the time to use? It will not be the BMW parked in our driveway that makes us feel warm and fuzzy inside, but instead, perhaps, intangible recollections of times spent with friends dirty and thirsty scrambling down back trails of lands distant towns and sands. Those times when we were living and learning and loving- the earth a classroom for which interactions and connections had replaced books and memories our teachers. Backpacking, gap years, mid-life crisis wanderings, mindless world traipsing are almost demonized in some circles; seen as frivolous time wasters on the road to accepted success rather than actual roads themselves. Some ask, ‘when are you going to get your life on track?’ And of course I just smile, thinking, ‘when will you?’

And its just life man- you know.

1. Go on over to that CD Player and turn up Bruce Springsteen- Im on fire real loud.
2. Read this (will upload the reading part this afternoon)

x

And sometimes-- It's like this

Heading North

We decided to escape for a few days, north, and from the beach I was sitting I could see that warm sand all around and then Dana and Julian and beyond them the ocean. And they were playing in the sun that spilled through the water and fell around them and all, while I had built tunnels under the very sand we were sitting- with a path that lead with various twists and bends down towards the sea. But now Dana and Julian were dancing and singing- skipping merry like- carefree like- giggling- and then Julian just took off for the water again. And so while I sat writing- Dana treeshaded watching Julian- he stood with his back to the land and stared out for- past Great Keppel Island- and over the expanses.

Open Air

hallow(in)

Red Hill Urban Picnics

And up and up and up and still further- so that when the elevator reached floor fifty-four our ears popped and so shortly after our stomachs arrived from where they were left below. And we left the elevator through swank doors- and over carpets with the white walls- we strolled the halls of places accountants, economists and corporate dudgeon's would one day slave away to afford. So we pushed the door open and people were sprawled on couches and some were standing against walls and like this with the blaring music and the cities lights from afar and through the window cool air rushed up and tickled the cigarette smoke of the patrons who huddled in the corner. We joined them. Ecuadorians, Koreans, Japanese and Brazilians mixed and us too- mundane Tuesday evenings culturally turned on their head. We smoked. Emily moved- coming from the door and she cut from over afar- with those eyes-and mine- they met in the middle- and we stared at one another- time frozen for just a fleeting sceric so when the music dipped and we paused everything smiled. The bass kicked- a rhythmic piston- a flurry of sounds and beats- and everyone had started bopping and moving again. Canadians arrived and everyone shook hands with everyone. Emily and I sat with our music and the speakers- a cord- we played things like metronomy (not made for love- wild geese remix), Crystal Castles, Girl Talk, Washed out, Boys Noize and other similar samplings- rhythmic and sometimes downright dirty bass rolled and slapped off white walls. And in that white room- on that Tuesday night- through the haze and smoke of it all- we left arm in arm and rolled out onto the cool streets where the cars zoomed off to the nights bypassing lamppost lights and how we just dug those impromptu meets where spontinaiety had ruled the seen sights and greets.

The Hangar

The Hangar

& $

Songs for October

1. Memory Tapes: Green Knight
2. jj: Ectasy
3. Rodriguez Jr: Lila
4. M83: Dark Moves of Love
5. Gui Borrato: No Turning Back
6. The xx: Infinity
7. Phil Collins: Another day in Paradisw
8. Seekae: Centaur
9. Metronomy: This Could Be Beautiful (it is)
10. Deadmau5- Strobe

The Hangar

There we were. The concrete and the scattered bottles, the half emptied casks of wine- over sized t(shirts) and skinny jeans. And people sat, or stood- with cigarettes...magic eyed. And there we were, but we moved- now- inside. Under beams and through soft bright- and into dark ambient light and guitars plucked and the drums kicked and we sat in the room on chairs, bean bags or even the floor- and it was the end... for how could one want any more? And Bigstrongbrute took the stage with Paul up front -and he played-and how someone in the corner so softly swayed-but then the trumpet roared throughout us all and the sound moved- past the swayer(s) and the bean bags-through the doors- again -and out into the mixing night with the cigarettes and tea- northwards again - escaping-towards the stars and the sights. x

Planes coming

Two kids setting out-
way out to the west and all the jazz and the streamers
sun-shine dreamers,
and all the roads- man two kids well be with our signs
we just saying 'take us down south man! come on- you dun mind.'
How the dust will squalor in our wakes-
teeth gritted in cold utes (most likely),
and then of course jungles and rivers and pyramids-
and man them cute things that well see- oh there'll be a giggling.
All the humidity-all the beaches for miles and miles
And us-for miles and miles

x

We all gon en up like old beautifully rotting spinsters-misers-smilers wittt scowls anddd grins from th-ee knowledge of better days and it is in THESE ways the very reason liies so throw back yur head and open your eyes and drink on down- you gonna learn to love man.

Kiss Ma Lips

We sat with these songs-Spanish- and he translated them over tables skewed wine and the rest-with cigarettes in filled cups but still we were listening to the plucks of the guitar that kept on strucking strong and we didn't BOP- but rather moved inside and we all so DIED and swooned in its beauty and secretly we would live this coveted life- this life free of regard and things trivial for the world we did not understand filled us with hope- WITH HOPE.



RED

HILL

Pro-Life

The bee sat there on her brown skin- goose laden yet disappearing bumps under blue skies- the sun and so on the grass we rested and the bee seemed complacent in nature except for its tail and how we stared at his stinger!- That flirted and toyed in our mutual moment of silence. Because this surely was THE moment- and whose to say we were not spectators: for I the observer, she the rocky cliffed out ocean and the little creature just a lost soul- swaying like a smacked out lovable Labrador unsure of direction; momentarily incapable of a decision. And she whispered 'don't do it!- Oh...you will die!- Don't die!'- And the bee just continued on in ambivalence- What suspense! And the cliff jumper took one more look over the edge so we held our breath but then he backed away and we exhaled as he just took off to the expanses- the breezes washing over us once more as play was pressed on time- of course this all happened in about five seconds; this divine example of prolife- the charade. Then the bee settled on flowers and we the beach.

Eva

People and places- the perpetual ever changing ever pacening movement of the meet and greet. The welcomes and goodbyes and the long winded alley ways we trapse en route to trains and busses that will transport us to lands far, far, far, far away. And we smile in these times because we have to- because we must- because it is the only way forward and as the sun sets- the orange smimering ball of life that descends bringing light to the night- we lean back and exhale gently under the stars. Smoke spirals smoothly- the moon looks down: And you look beautiful

The Final Walk

Part 1

I sit in Vientiene
Mulling over more adventurs that can be counted on two hands.
Girls, Boys and Ancient wonders-
I smile for none of it was bland.
Sure im penniless, dirty and thirsty,
but perhaps these are by-products of an amazing journey.
Four Kilometres from the airport it appears I shall walk-
But I would trade the 5 dollar tuk tuk ride for many of the conversations I have talked.
Eva, the French girl whose five minute chat had been filled with grandour and wonder,
these memories are irreplaceable,
and the slight level of discomfert was certainly worth their nature.
Oh dear!-
Are these clouds looming?
Thunder plagued with promises of ruin?
Perhaps we shall see-
in the time that comes-
but for right now the apple in my bag gives hope for the mightly final lunge.
And so off down the road...off we set,
for the looming period of transit in Bangkok fills me with dread.
Perhaps I shall write poems dark and sinister-
like an evil lady-
like a spinster.
Ho-Ho! To be young in this world fills me with glee-
for at the end of the day we are young...and we are free

Part 2

Off down the road and towards the gloom I stride,
but the fact that I can smile fills me with pride.
The heavens slowly open and on my cheek she begins to trickle,
slowly she falls-
the night she becomes visible.
What!
Who is that in the distance!
What surreal path has lead to this meaningfull existance?
Oliver!- James, Leo and Adam shout from down the road-
for these are some of the best people,
blessed is the backpack- are we not all somehow lost in its mighty code?
Last left in Cambodia...but now one final goodbye,
Though I know I will see them in the future-
for James-blessed in his words and prose will surely join the rest at the end of the year,
the adventure beginning again halfway around the globe.
Adu Adu and goodbye for now-
for we all smile and the planes light the sky,
looking northwards-
the ever amazing
POWWWW!

Beautiful

Beautiful

Somewhere two hours outside of Vientiene

Amongst the tangles and divisions that the roads use to divide small towns
and chicken rice and vegetable stands;
we plod along on this blue battered bus that should deliver us to Vientiene.
In these parts sleep is often a man's best friend-
though the quietly spoken dogs would have liked to revoke that stand,
it is the former that will slowly but surely deliver us unto our timely end.
The end of a trip- the momentary elapsment when the freedoms of a backpack
will show their slip.
From Vientiene to Hanoi will be impossible I am sure,
for the hour is getting late and those who attempt to keep the time-
the schedules of the bus lines-
rarely cease to wait.
And so it appears one final adventure will pronounce-
but not bore-
maybe down through thailand- the final race- limited money- hardly anytime,
may the pieces of the puzzle continue their friendly placement in the never ending line.

yo quiero

Sobre la vida, las personas, el amor- de todo!
Pero especialamente quiero escribir sobre mis viajes

?- Karoeke -?

Kindred spirits rekindled- fired in life's room- reborn again- are we not statues?- all statues frozen for waiting and then awoken? Same traits but time changes all- the lights zoomed though we kept walking. Enjoyable- we were indifferent to earths sufferings. Friends once more- tired now I sleep once more- and then?

Ode to M83- Skin of the night

Streams of light splashed soft and deflected from mirrored water and you sat there- moon drenched in the stillness and amazing subtlesness of it all. And features plunged into soft struck darkness you would stare- stare out over the lake, the ice and the land. For the want- sometimes- is only appeased through prolonged loneliness- though. Pure. When ones sense of ones self deflects like a rocks chipped fragment- something disregarded- and though these times of inner searching- bouts of self reflection through inner sanctums- and the rest- we come out with the knowledge that light- clear starlet light!- is always on the horizon. But return to you- sitting on the Ice-frozen lake (why? seems appropriate)- through what frames do we view this subject? How perceive? Cast away feelings of want- instead achieve. Humanity seems so afraid of obtaining the things they desire- perhaps this is where beauty lies and honesty. They hold hands- the forbidden dance. That's it! So she just gets up from history and replaces the cold empty loneliness- now rustled in wind- for fires- that ever burn- where are they found? In him. Where do we find it? Wherever we desire- exactly- like we spoke before- its just a frame of mind after all.

Yes

And then there were times on trains when we thought of the goings of planes and the pains that had come with these games of modern day vanishment. Would we really look back and trade these conceivable acts for mundane cars, houses and nick nacks? We arrived at the station and shook our heads and smiles cracked from the corners of lips and we slipped down the aisles and back out towards the sunshine, the people and the countries miles. We moved on- never to be seen again...and we laughed and whooped until our heads span. x