The Road

“Go outside. Don’t tell anyone and don’t bring your phone. Start walking and keep walking until you no longer know the road like the palm of your hand, because we walk the same roads day in and day out, to the bus and back home and we cease to see. We walk in our sleep and teach our muscles to work without thinking and I dare you to walk where you have not yet walked and I dare you to notice. Don’t try to get anything out of it, because you won’t. Don’t try to make use of it, because you can’t. And that’s the point. Just walk, see, sit down if you like. And be. Just be, whatever you are with whatever you have, and realise that that is enough to be happy.
There’s a whole world out there, right outside your window. You’d be a fool to miss it.”

― Charlotte Eriksson

Hibiscus Dawn

We were standing on the sand dunes last night waiting for the full moon to rise and eclipse over a seething post-cyclonic Pacific Ocean when a couple of fellas rocked up with quite a bit of camera gear.

Of course we had a chat and during our convo, one of them stated emphatically that dawn photos are best when there's no clouds.

I was perplexed, but polite.

This one's for you, bud. Iphone. Hand held. No tweaking of any kind.

Moon photos tomorrow.

Palm Sunday Squall

Sunday Drive

South

dawn departure

for a run South

to surf with some

old mates.

Gertrude Stein vs Neil Young

I don't set out to procrastinate or get distracted.

It just happens along the way.

For example, I'm cleaning up my desk. There's a pile of official documents, computer hard drive cables, business cards, shirt buttons (??), a funny note from my staff and other scraps of paper with stuff written on them - ideas from friends on where to buy silk for surfboard fabric underlays, repeat medication slips from the doctor, financial statements and then I spy a post it note with just this written on it "mexsgarage.com.au".

I have no recollection how that came into my possession, so I fire up the computer to investigate it via Google.
It's some sort of automobile website for a crew who do impressive classic olde cars makeovers.

I stare at the post it note again. Is it even my scratchy handwriting?
I decide not and turf it.

While the web is up, I check my email and there's something from one of those online travel agents promising bargain prices. Maybe I can afford that return trip to WA and catch up with Corey at Margaret River, I ponder.
So I send him a text to find out when he's flying out of that mining site in the middle of the desert - the one where he gets paid to blow stuff up and shoot critters like this.

In my distraction, I have let the water for the morning coffee boil and gone cool. I start to reboil it. The water here is suss in summer anyway.

While that's happening, I spot an interesting email from Byron Bay, the epicentre of the surfing rainbow. Ohhhh look at that! Jim Banks has a sale on and the photos of his new Indo board range have me dreaming of exotic locales.
Meanwhile,  the water for the coffee has boiled and cooled again.
I have lost an hour I'll never get back.

The photo below sums up my shifting focus and distraction perfectly.
I bought some beautiful little roses at the markets, thinking I'll do a macro Tina Modotti style shot. I got distracted too many times and now the blooms have gone belly up. Since we are having a heat wave I end up getting some nice shots of rosarian decay.

This is what they should have looked like.

"A rose is a rose is a rose" - Gertrude Stein

I'll probably get distracted and go off on an artistic tangent all the same again in 2014.

It's not all bad, though.

Sometimes artistic deviation can lead to interesting results. As the great sage Young once remarked when commenting on his various stylistic changes away from Mainstream Music:

"Travelling there was really boring 

so I headed for the ditch. 

It was a rough ride 

but I met more interesting people there." 

- Neil Young

Summer Palette

Constructivism

Let me say at the outset that I am not a Pearl Jam zealot. Somewhere in the 600+ CD's stacked like plastic skyscrapers in the Brinecave there are five studio and live PJ albums, which I never tire of.

Conversely, how many musicians can keep churning out albums and continue to stimulate the earbuds of us cash strapped punters? The late Zappa, maybe. Even the mighty Lou Reed, the Stones and Mr Young put out some clunkers.

With this in mind, I tentatively ventured to the local music shoppe and handed over $30 to the friendly part time musician, who recognised an old roadie in my hearing loss. What if Lightning Bolt was a dud? This is album #quite-a-few after all. But the reviewer gave it 5 out of 5.

I rationalised my expenditure by convincing myself that spending money locally is good for the local economy and keeping some young person in a job (after all somebody - presumably jobless - tried to break into my neighbours' yesterday). And let's face it, at this time of the year, you're flat out getting three cans of decent beer at the local golf club for $30. And I'm pretty sure the sonic pleasure will last longer than the hangover. At worst, I can regift it to somebody for Xmas . . .

And so we come to the packaging aRt, either a copy of the theme used by Led Zepellin last Xmas or a nod to Russian Constructivism of 100 years ago. I'm guessing the latter. Either way the artwork is the only disappointing part of Thunderbolt. There's nothing revolutionary about this album. It's great sonically, but with songs like Thunderbolt (about girl), not exactly harvesting new terrain or encouraging the proletariat to take over the Czar's riches. There' fast songs, slow songs and sections with amazing percussion and awesome guitar. Eddie would go, Eddie did go. Keeper.

Bird hour double dawn

I've always been a morning g person. There's something about getting out of bed before the sun that does it for me. Maybe because part of me is from the bush  and no matter where I am in the world I rise before the sun and revel in what I call Bird hour. 

It doesn't really go for an hour. Most times about 30 minutes and then it fades out with the night as the sun gets out of bed and gets to work giving us free light and life.

My mothers family are from the bush, a long way west of here, where the Thompson River runs (when its not The Dry Season). so maybe that's  why I enjoy the various tunes of the Aussie birds all singing at the same time in their different pitches. It reconnects me with that country. I can shut my eyes and pretend I'm out at Jundah under a huge crisp starry sky with a slight glow in the east.

Monochrome Monday (Seapunk)

 Todays post 

is for all the wrecks, 

relics and 

sea punks.

Two for One

well three for one actually or maybe four

Too Old to Rocknroll

More than a thousand suns have grazed my eyes and scorched my skin since my first day at school, a holy picture in my top pocket to protect me and sox that didn't match. I have forsaken the gut blasting pain of pre-rashie-era styrofoam short boards for a plethora of fins, foils and rockers. 

This weekend sees a group of ageing grommets assemble for the annual winter Wrecks and Relics gathering (dare I say "contest"). These are the crew who were there (probably don't remember) when single fins became twin fins and thrusters morphed into longboards more suitable for a gentlemanly (dare I say "middle-aged") approach to sliding the brine.

So if you see a bunch of leathery old buggers down near the Noosa Rivermouth laughing at each other, lugging around old Joe Larkins and Woosley's, know that they have seen it and done it all and that you can still surf after 60!