The Date.

Last night on top of Mt Clarence, after dinner at Goshu Ya,
and in a brief respite from the flooding rains, I kissed a girl I had only just met.
I don't know if it was the ambience or the subtly erotic Japanese sauces, but she has agreed to see me again.


Samples pt 1

Richard and I had been together for about two months, mapping and sampling around Mt Dimer, which is a good slog as the crow flies north of Bullfinch. Big beautiful Irish Richard, with more brains and more letters after his name than anyone I have ever met.

He fed me the names of the rocks, while I gave him generous serves of native plant knowledge.
We were both hungry and willing to share. For every spoonful of banded iron formation, I was only too happy to serve an hor'dourve of Trachymene ornata. A main of pisolitic nodular laterite was greedily repayed with a dessert of Helichrysum splendidum.

As usual, the arrival of the drillers changed everything.

Munching on rather mundane cheese and salad sandwiches on the second day of the program, Richard asked Al the offsider if he knew what type of tree we were sitting under, (a rather splendid Euc. salmanophloia in fact). Al glanced at the tree, looked over at Richard and said with a sneer in his voice,
"it's a fucken gum tree Irish".


Spinal Tap

Fuck I love this movie. Watched it again the other night and pissed myself at this scene...

MARTY: Your first drummer was uh....
NIGEL: The Peeper....
DAVID: Joe stumpy Pepys...great great...uh...tall blond geek...with glasses uh...
NIGEL: Uh.. good drummer.
DAVID: Great look, good drummer.
NIGEL: Good, good drummer...
DAVID: Fine drummer...
MARTY: What happened to him?
DAVID: He died. He, he died in a bizarre gardening accident some years back.
NIGEL: It was really one of those things...it was...you know...the authorities said...you know...well best leave it
unsolved, really...you know.
MARTY: And he was replaced by...uh....
DAVID: Stumpy Joe - Eric Stumpy Joe Childs.
MARTY: What happened to Stumpy Joe?
DEREK: Well, uh, it’s not a very pleasant story..but, uh,
DAVID: He’s passed on.
DEREK: he died. uh...he choked on..the ac- the official explanation was he choked on vomit.
NIGEL: It was actually, was actually someone else’s vomit. It’s not....
DAVID: It’s ugly.
NIGEL: You know. There’s no real....
DEREK: You know they can’t prove whose vomit it was...they don’t have the facilities at Scotland Yard....
DAVID: You can’t print…there’s no way to print a spectra-photograph.
NIGEL: You can’t really dust for vomit.



I wake up and she is still beside me, against my skin. I roll over and hold her against my chest. This close it looks like she goes on for ever.
Early in the morning I'm always fooled by her, so calm does she doze, shadows across her face, the gentle murmur of her breath against my cheek. Yet I know that in a few short hours her breath will be come a fire on my skin, her intense gaze will cause me to shade my eyes.
Later as I swim in the smooth march sea, away from her for a while, I can still hear her voice. Laying on my back on the sea bed looking at the sky I can feel her hands on my skin urging me to return and receive her warm embrace.


Animal Lover

The aging man sat alone and drunk at his kitchen table, sipping his drink as he waited for the girl. Looking around he hardly noticed the hard won treasures from his sweat and sacrifice.
The velvet lounge suite with its torn plastic covering, the mirrored bar with the neatly arranged empty bottles, the white patches on the wall from where his family had once viewed the happenings in the room.

He glanced at the clock; the girl was late, they always were. He poured himself another drink and heard the door bell. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and got to his feet. Slowly, awkwardly, he made his way to the door to let her in. He paused at the door to try and regain his composure and then pulled it open. He let her in and she followed him back to the kitchen. She asked for the money. He grunted and nodded at the fold by the phone. She asked for a drink and made light conversation trying to stall for time.

He was drunk, old, ugly and as far as she could tell, bitter and probably twisted.

She asked him if he lived alone. He said yes, his wife had left him for the mongrel from next door. He had found them once in the lounge. She had been in her night dress with this bastard laid out beside her, his head against her breast. He beat his wife that night and threw the mongrel out of the house. She begged him to understand that she only wanted affection and company, that it was not what it seemed.

For a few weeks it was quiet and then one day he came home from work to find them both in bed, his bed. She was naked. It was too much this time, beyond denial. This time it was going to stop, he would make sure it never happened again.

The girl poured herself another drink, not sure if it would be better to get it over with, or get him drunker. Either way she loathed him; his words were of one who never considered, one who was blinded. She asked him how it ended.

The man said his wife had left him to go and live with relatives after he had punished her, and as for the object of her infidelity, well he had poisoned him. He said if you get rid of things at the source then they are over for ever.

The girl glanced at the clock. She had been there for half an hour, long enough to probably convince him it was an hour being as drunk as he was. He didn't need convincing. He poured another drink, a double, and downed it in one gulp. The girl could tell he was beyond caring, beyond comprehension, lost in his twisted world of bitter memories. She didn't want to screw a murderer.

As she opened the door to leave she heard his stilted slurred words,
"My wife, the bitch, she loved that Labrador more than she ever loved me."


On Some Far Away Beach

Music is food for the brain. The rhythm is in our soul as we dance our lives.

I've rediscovered Brian Eno after many many years without him. Thanks to bittorrent I now have a copy of "Here Come the Warm Jets" (I did own it once on vinyl so it's not really stealing) which is being played over and over again.
I just have to share these lyrics from "On Some Far Away Beach".

Given the chance
I'll die like a baby
On some faraway beach
When the season's over

Unlikely I'll be remembered
As the tide brushes sand in my eyes
I'll drift away

Cast up on a plateau
With only one memory
A silver sail on a boat
Oh lie low lie low lie low.