Scribbling

Life. Updated

2010-05-24T07:07:00.000-07:00

Living

Someone once said to me that the secret to living life was doing what you loved to the extent that you stopped wishing you were somewhere or someone else. It seems so easy, this exercise in self-discovery, and yet we look around and discover time and time again that such happiness appears to elude the many who seek it. Is this because we rush attempts at perfection? Perfection that we assume will lead to riches? Riches that we assume will lead to happiness? Now don’t misunderstand me, obtaining wealth is by no means a sin, however it is the way we derive these pay checks that will ultimately result in the quality of life we receive.

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. Excluded are those who actually love what they do, but more most of us, 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-was-how-it-was-supposed-to-be.’ But this is not living!

We need time to think about the decisions we make, because in subtle and not so subtle ways, they affect the directions that our lives will take. It seems ridiculous that, upon the completion of year twelve, students are not only encouraged, but also expected to select a University degree that requires a four-year commitment and the resulting pending career. For the vast majority of us, we have had little life experience beyond the obligatory school camp and the trip to Central Coast with Grandma. Conservative, narrow minded and conceited parents; suits, teachers and other disappointingly dreadful souls frown upon the idea of backpacking. ‘A frivolous waste of precious time,’ we hear them cry. However, the reality is quite the opposite. We are forced to fend for ourselves. We ask questions like ‘what is my budget for today’, and ‘where will I go’, ‘what will I do’, ‘where will I sleep’, ‘how do I get there’ and ‘is this edible’? Learned is self- reliance and tolerance. Ideas and beliefs we had never known existed present on a day-to-day basis. Introduced are situations that both frighten and excite. We strike up conversations and forge intensive relationships with people who, at home, we would have never even considered talking to as, heaven forefend, it would be considered strange. In hostels and other such pressure cooker environments we sometimes discover wisdom and sometimes we simply discover. Long distance busses allow for times of reflection and periods of loneliness lend tears with the desire for familiarity. More than any of this, however, we return home with an assured sense of who we really are and what we desire. And it is from this that we develop a sense of what we want to achieve in this life, and how to go about it, because even if we haven’t changed much as a person, no one returns home indifferent. Happiness is a choice and it’s one that everyone can make.

A short time after retuning home I was confronted by an old boss. He is, by all accounts, a walking talking experiment of corporate wastage and personal happiness sacrificed, and he said to me, ‘when are you going to get your life on track?’ And of course I just smiled, thinking, ‘when will you?’

JJ og The Notorious XX på Isbjørnskattejakt

2010-05-23T00:20:00.001-07:00

JJ og The Notorious XX på Isbjørnskattejakt

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Songs I like at this very moment.

2010-05-13T02:31:00.000-07:00

Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks- The National
Past is Prologue- Tycho
Spanish Sahara- Foals
Who by fire- Leonard Cohen
Antigravity (Fulgeance Remix)- Shlomo

Autumn Play

2010-04-25T03:12:00.000-07:00

Incubator (US)-Cigarettes
oOoOO- Hearts
Dam Mantle- Rebong
Chromatics- Running up that hill
Caribou- Sun

What is left but dirt

2010-04-19T21:31:00.000-07:00

They had staggered out of the warehouse. There were three of them. They walked without direction, but instead, with general purpose- for they knew they needed to find the main road. The skies had melted from black to grey since they had last set foot outside. Things seemed tranquil. A breeze blew. The clouds lifted and all around bathed in soft light under the blue overhead. They were relaxed. They reached the road. "Kids selling roses...thats cute," thought the first. One of the boys turned to the other, "just keep your hands in your pockets." Things were still pleasant. The world was passing slowly like an underwater dream. The kids came closer and suddenly surrounded them. They were no more than thirteen years in age, the youngest, perhaps,having seven. It was he who approached one of the three boys on the street. "Nice rose for you sir...maybe your pretty girlfriend no?" "No." "But they nice roses sir...you want." "No." The kid reached forward and placed is hand into the pocket of the older boy. He had his hand on the leather. He began to retrieve what he thought would be his lunch. An open palm connected with the boys face with such force the slap was heard half way down the block. The young pick pocket had his feet lifted from the ground, the wind forced from his lungs and then he found the pavement. Silence enveloped and surrounded the gang of youngsters. The youngest sat there on the pavement with his eyes that stretched and widened with every hanging second. Time seemed frozen. And then, the scream came. Loud, piercing and assured. Time resumed. Ten pairs of pupils settled on the culprit, whose actions it seemed, and just caught up with his brain. Then chaos. The young boys found beer bottles and some broke them and hurled them and others just hurled them. The brave ran towards him and jumped using the bottles as a sort of club, striking down on the back of his neck, his stomach and head. Others found sticks and threw them like spears. Mud was sprayed. The two boys who remained stared in disbelief as they were taunted and threatened by the gang. They made a pass for the road. They waved their arms, but no one would stop. Eventually they hailed a taxi. They grabbed their friend who was, by now, a pile of mud and blood and glass shards and threw him in the taxi. "To the hospital," they screamed in Spanish. They drove away- their rear view mirror flashes of violence and worlds shattered. The day had, by then, reached boiling and all around seared in pain.

Grey Hair

2010-04-12T08:51:00.000-07:00

Sit in chair
Open eye
Sun light
Pour
In
Through

Venetian
Blind
Coffee smug
You watch bird
Who knew you like
Newspaper crossword?

Overheard
'You know the thing about burnt bridges is that they can be rebuilt'

Sitting by the lake

2010-04-10T22:00:00.000-07:00

'Hey mister'
'Get out of here kid...go on..beat it'
'But I want to sit here...'
'Well you can't'
'Why'
'Because I've had a really rough week and I just want to be left in peace.'
'Maybe you should try talking to someone...that's what my mum always tells me.'
'Yeah like i'm going to take advice from a nine year old'
'I am ten...actually'
'Didn't your mum ever tell you not to talk to strangers?'
'Yeah, but she also said if someone looked sad that I should try to help them...'
'This mum of yours sounds like an incredible lady'
'Oh she is. So, tell me your problem'
'I can't believe I am about to open up to a ten year old I just met'
'Thats ok mister, I read a lot and my mother tells me i'm p..persistant'
'Persistent?'
'Yeah, thats it'
'...and your problem?'
'Oh. Right. Well...the work I do for a living makes me miserable, the women I loved left me and I feel as if no one cares'
'I care'
'Well thats very nice of you but all the same...I don't count on ten year olds for moral support'
'Thats a shame...you see...me...that's all I count on...times are happy...we still have dreams...ignorance is bliss and all that yadda yadda..just a regular peter pan mister'
'That must be nice'
'I care about you'
'You said that'
'No I mean, I really do care about you'
'Why'
'Well...mister...er...the fact of the matter is...well...I think your my dad'

2010-04-05T01:13:00.000-07:00

Letting Up Despite Great Faults: "Our Younger Noise" from Christopher j Ewing on Vimeo.

Rain

2010-03-29T19:12:00.000-07:00

The skies went dark and then black and rain slipped down all across dripping about a red bike that was parked on the other side of the street. There were birds that sat perched together above in the trees, and those trees had partially protected the leafs and debris below. A man stopped and gazed at the pavement. He seemed to be thinking and after some time he turned around. Under his umbrella he had shaded himself from the commotion that ran about outside and his eyes had welled up in tears. Or was it the rain? But by now the rain had begun to thunder and the wind roared and the leaves that used to be on the ground soared and now a part of the mayhem he placed himself on the bike and road away back down the street and into the moody grey.

To the most amazing person on earth

2010-03-28T07:26:00.000-07:00

Emptiness into nothingness it seemed you searched and hearts had sprinted northwards finding refuge amongst the throats of all. How we all yearned for a response. How we would have given anything for a smile. How we would have given all the happy thoughts and emotions and times of simplistic ecstatic beauty that surely lay wait in memories not yet processed just to here you call our name. How we wanted to make everything as it once was. We're all waiting for you. And we're there with you till the end- because we know you'll return and our love for you runs stronger and deeper than oceans. And we will wait patiently, hands folded in bouts of assurance, until the end of fucking time. xx

The Train Ride

2010-03-19T18:45:00.000-07:00

Streams seemed to construe and bend through the green lushlands while all around the earth span, and the floating birds who raced along, found refuge amongst their kin in the grand trees above. A train rattled through the mountainside and beyond. People stared through windows, momentarily escaping the harsh realities of their yesteryears. Further along, brown dust had covered tin huts whose roofs were laden in years of rust and occasionally the wind would whip across that whole damn plain of existence, persevering over dry nothingness until it found foreign mountains and distance. Somewhere on the train, a boy sat alone. His eyes were closed, lost deep in thought, music and other worldly emotions. He was halfway between sleep and consciousness, and like this the sun streamed and bathed his memories. Somewhere else, a girl had begun to listen to music: she let herself become the surroundings. 'Midnight in a perfect world,' she thought. The hours passed. Time ran into night, and later their heads met, outside windows, while smoking cigarettes under the starry glows and sights. Their smoke danced in cool air, spiralling in circles all the way up to the heavens. They smiled.

Pixies: Monday March 15th- A Review

2010-03-17T00:02:00.000-07:00

I had missed the Pixies on their last Australian appearance; an acute financial depression in prior funding which had resulted in the said blame. Of course, there had been attempts to console. Dear friends, who had witnessed the spectacle, provided YouTube footage and personalized accounts that had done nothing more than expand the void ironically created as a result of my physical absence to the event itself.

Well void hath extended no longer! - And as we entered the Horden Pavilion on Monday the 15th of March, filtering through gates that streamed forward in an amalgamation of the young and old, we sat in the courtyard and waited patiently for the universal call to arms familiar to most events of similar proceedings. Cries and screams of Pixie related dreams were heard throughout, and suddenly the lights dimmed. So through gaps we maneuvered like serpents; squeezing our bodies under, around and through people whose scowls at our tenacity were quickly forgotten and lost to the opening strums of dancing the manta ray. Black Francis wailed his distinctive wails amidst a series of multi-coloured spotlights that illuminated the band and allowed the opening infamous B-side song to receive the attention it deserved. The claps of many joined in a collection of hysteria at the outbreak of waves of mutilation, and as the song progressed it appeared a sense of nostalgia had fallen like a spell over the members of the audience; seizing even the most brazen of individuals as the song played out behind an arena of closed eyes. I bleed left a sea of sweaty and charged patrons as Kim Deal peered out from behind her bass and through the dimness she remarked with cheek ‘that’s half of our set already…wow!’

It was hard to imagine that the recording of the Doolitle album, for which the concert was based on, had occurred over twenty years ago. Further, that the cries of yesteryear, bellowing from the stage ahead, were still so applicable to an audience of mixed age and generation. But nay, and as the songs kept rolling so to did the dancing and the floor space saw fifty something’s next to eighteen year olds- and there was something oddly timeless at play as crackity jones faded into la la love you. It was becoming apparent that the band were not a forgotten product of a generation now long passed, but rather that their music had the ability to affect people in similar ways, irrespective of birth year. No 13 baby caused a gentlemen in front of me to remark ‘I want this song to go on forever,’ and indeed it seemed it would; such was the enthusiasm of the crowd as whistles were whistled and smiles from the band acknowledged.

And then, amongst the sheer build up to a song that many had treated as an anthem of youth, hey heard the screams of thousands fill the arena, reverberate off walls and proverbially set the place on fire. It, amongst others, would be the resulting factor that disallowed me the luxury of speech the day after. Gouge away was to be their final song from the Doolittle album and as the last words strayed from Francis’s lips people screamed and held their breath as the question on everyone’s mind began its beg ‘would there be an encore?’

And encore there was as the group reemerged to thunderous applause, the ruckus continuing as a second, though stripped down, bout of wave of mutilation entertained. Into the white followed before the group fled backstage once more, waiting a full five minutes before delivering their final series of chords. Velouria, Nimrod’s sun and Vamos all seemed powerful closers, and just when there was time for one more song where is my mind arrived without warning, further cementing an entire collection of individuals who would be voiceless for days to come. As the lights finally returned we trickled back out into the Monday night streets where, through the haze and smoke of it all, we smiled and found seats- no longer able to walk…the sheer impact of the event overwhelming and we were happy to have been a part of the seen sights and feats.

Seeker

2010-03-13T18:49:00.000-08:00

And heaven close over, and arch without reason should words find themselves spat from smack lips that flecked prior to the season.

Endeavor through wonder, wading wet sticks and prior fires that sit reminiscent,
ringing through winds and chimes that reverberate over lands and seas.

Mad foreign sands cover treasures and
complex measures are taken to ensure these grails stay buried.

And yet we discover, and hell forfend!
By virtue the things we seek are found around the bend.

Corruption and Smiles

2010-02-20T13:32:00.000-08:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vc3m64Xztc8

Travel in Central and South America

2010-02-11T10:13:00.000-08:00

Over the past six months I have been asked a few times for recommendations about both Central and South America- whether to go it alone, with a friend, with a tour...which countries to visit...how much money to bring...points of interest and so on. So in an attempt to summarise such a sheer amount of information, I will try to keep the answers brief yet informative.

Firstly, and I can not stress this point enough, do not book a tour. Logically, does it make sense to pay someone to tell you when to wake up, what things to see, what time to arrive, when to leave or where to eat? The magic coinciding with backpacking is the freedom to do whatever you want. The ability to stay in a location for that extra day should the mountains strike you so, the food tempt you or the women (how scandalous!) indulge you. These whirlwind-do six-countries-in-one-month-affairs are not only limiting, but cost sometimes four times the sum of money it would amount to had you have done it yourself. If this has not yet deterred you, and your still hell-bent, screaming for some stability in the far lands that be, then I urge you to pay me to be your guide. I will do it for half the price as Contiki and throw in local parties and local friends for free.

Next, with a typical six month holiday, the decision to visit Central or South America (or possibly both) is crucial to the experience- because well...it is the experience. With six months it is possible to see both Central and South America; however I would strongly advise on choosing one or the other. For a start the distances in South America are far greater than those found in Central America, and its not uncommon for a bus ride to last anywhere from 10-24 hours. However these pre-conceived grievances slowly fade when you realise that all a 16 hour bus ride entails is a 5pm departure, a couple of movies, a sleep which pulls one in with the bends of the road and the callings of song ( a charged iPod is crucial...as is a blanket, hammocks make great covers as well- I still do not fully understand the concept of their air-conditioning systems, but rest assured you will FREEZE), and then a sunrise- the soft lapping of warmth glinting through windows and stroking one to consciousness in time for an hour or two sight-seeing before exploration of the new town or city at 9 am can take place.

Now, both Central and South America are beautiful- each with their various points of interest and exhibits of natural beauty. Climbing volcanoes in Guatemala and roasting marshmallows from flowing liquid magma rates just as highly as ascending (along with the entire village) the principal sand-dune in Jericoacoara (Brazil) and watching waves lap the vertical sand cliffs while all around the light dims as the sun, that fiery ball of life, diminishes beyond the horizon bringing light to the night. Lonely Planet does a pretty good job of listing points of interest so I will not delve to deeply, however some personal favourite experiences of the Americas include: The San Blas islands of Panama, the hike to South Americas new lost city (Ciudad Perdida) (and also an insight into the production process of Cocaine- and how it has shaped, both positively and negatively the outcome of the country), the Inca Trail, the harsh mines of Potosi in Bolivia, Buenos Aires, the ski fields of Chile and Las Lenas, Iguazu falls, and seeing Amazonian kids paddle out in home-made canoes to bob and float in the resulting wake of our steamer- but more than that...their smiles.

Ultimately, you could read as many guidebooks as there are printed, watch as many documentaries as there are filmed and read as many blogs as there are written- but each person´s experience is going to be different based on the people that they meet. Fellow backpackers and locals alike have the ability to make or break places, and I would argue that it is the people, rather than the locations themselves, that leave a lasting impression of places visited. I have never met a group of people more hospitable, instantly accepting, naturally happy or excited about life as the Colombians- my reasons exactly for choosing Colombia as my favourite destination of the Americas.

Also, do yourself a favour and learn Spanish. The first time I travelled South America I had no grasp of the language at all, and so, missed out on meeting locals in the process. With the understanding of the language you no longer feel as if you’re viewing countries through a spy glass or some sort of window. You will save money, meet amazing people and enjoy the various rewards of travelling to a much greater extent.

As far as money goes, on the whole, South America is most likely slightly cheaper than Central America but that depends on the locations visited. Venezuela, Colombia, Brazil, Belize, Costa Rica, Mexico and Panama are going to require roughly 30-60 dollars per day (the exception being Brazil where, if moving quickly, the aforementioned prices can be doubled due to the exorbinate- almost mafia like- prices of the Brazilian bus systems. More often than not it can be cheaper to take a flight, especially when travelling from Rio to Salvador). Whereas in Guatemala, Nicaragua, Peru, Argentina and espeically Bolivia, it is possible to survive on roughly 15-30 dollars per day. Now this budget assumes you stay in cheap guesthouses or backpackers, eat at local restaurants (maximizing your money by asking for the menu of the day) and drink or party very little. It is the same all around the world; countries can be as cheap or as expensive as you want to make them.

It is possible to work in hostels along the way to save money. However, don’t expect to earn anything either- typical rewards for working behind a bar or front desk include: free accommodation, free evening meals and 50 percent off at the bar. With savings like these it is possible to live off next to nothing considering the expenses you no longer have to fork out for. Loki hostels in particular are great at employing people and I had the pleasure of working at both the backpackers in Cuzco and in La Paz. Working ski seasons are next to impossible unless you already have both a fluent knowledge of Spanish and the ability to teach skiing or snowboarding. I stayed in Las Lenas (Argentina) for 5 months snowboarding everyday without working. How? For accommodation, try the website www.laslenasski.com as I rented an apartment for about 1000 dollars for the season. Ski passes cost approximately the same, however its possible to sell them to other travelers should you leave early. But why ski in Argentina? Well Las Lenas, and its fabled Marte chair, provide some of the best backcountry skiing and snowboarding in the world and the riding that I encountered their (people to powder ratio) rivaled, if not exceeded the riding I have found in North America.

To conclude, your going to have an amazing experience no matter where you choose to go. If I could do it all again, I would probably choose South America solely on the fact that I have more local friends in that part of the world. You will get sick, you will be hungry, you will get tired, and you will also see some of the most breath taking sights in the world, change and mature as a person, make friends for life and find out why so many people fall in love with this beautiful region of the world. If you have any questions I am more than happy to help out further. Just book that plane ticket, throw some cloths into a bag- and go! xx

Mornings

2010-02-04T13:25:00.000-08:00

To wake up to the tide- waves cresting and crashing and sand swirling. Beyond this the wide expanses of salty seas that seem deftly left by a masters paintbrush; so perfectly strewn with delicate depressions and changing textures that sit like a patient child. And they chip and slide, beautifully-effectively altering ones perception of beauty every couple of seconds. So rising on ones side-usually at first blinking when, slowly, fuzzy memories develop hard outlines and colours gain richness- we check our eyes once more because 'why should I be so lucky to wake up to paradise?' But nay! Because the sun is emerging from beyond trees and behind horizons and in those very trees parrots already sit perched waiting for the first show of the day, the monkies arrive...the world presses play. And now not thinking, rather absorbing, the sun begins to creep slowly and confidently up my body- its warmth engulfing my feet and ankles and legs and still northwards. Golden tones reach my chest and I can feel it reaching my neck as everything suddenly brightens and melts like a lucid dream. Sun flecks from cheeks to eyes. A monkey scrambles around branches through leaves. And then I just sit there, just me and the animals and the water and the sun- seems kind of crazy that all this could actually happen. But it does...in the magical parts of the world.

5.1.10
Osa Peninsula
Costa Rica

Austin

2009-11-28T21:58:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-22T22:59:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-11T03:54:00.000-08:00

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.

2009-11-10T16:42:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-06T16:26:00.000-08:00

Heading North

2009-11-06T15:08:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-03T20:47:00.001-08:00

hallow(in)

2009-11-01T23:07:00.000-08:00

Red Hill Urban Picnics

2009-10-24T22:40:00.000-07:00

2009-10-20T19:29:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-11T00:16:00.000-07:00

The Hangar

2009-10-11T00:07:00.001-07:00

& $

2009-10-11T00:00:00.000-07:00

Songs for October

2009-10-06T20:50:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-04T03:27:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-14T05:07:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-06T03:43:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-04T05:55:00.001-07:00

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

2009-09-01T03:48:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-26T00:42:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-22T06:05:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-22T05:27:00.000-07:00

Beautiful

Somewhere two hours outside of Vientiene

2009-08-19T19:23:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-19T05:34:00.001-07:00

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

?- Karoeke -?

2009-08-19T05:24:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-19T05:08:00.001-07:00

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

2009-08-19T05:05:00.000-07:00

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