Band Mates Begin Mind-enhancing Experiment Without Hallucinogens.

This is Dyson Jergenson reporting for Capsicum Radio News.

Five band mates in the Portland Oregon metro area decided to conduct a mind enhancing experiment without the use of LSD or marijuana.  Clint McKitly, originator of the experiment, came up with the idea shortly after listening to an NPR piece about the structure of bee colonies.  Clint sat down at his frequently used drum set but was overcome in thought and unable to rock out his angst like normal. Instead Clint found himself in a series of thoughts regarding the specialization of labor in human society and its implications on the human mind.

That night over a dinner of ramen noodles and hot cocoa, Clint informed his band mates and girlfriend about the mind enhancing experiment he had come up with.  According to his girlfriend, Gia Johnson, Clint was “beyond excited” and showed up to the dinner after taking a shower, putting on his best flannel shirt, and combing his hair.  Gia and company listened to Clint’s hypothesis about how the unused 90% of the brain could be unlocked if an individual could focus all of his time on mental activities. This meant that some humans would become like ‘thinker bees’ whose only job is to sit and think.  Band mate and lead singer, Lex Real (his stage name), was completely on board with idea until he heard Clint’s next assertion.  The ‘thinker bees’ would have to literally never move from their chairs, meaning other ‘bees’ would have to remove waste from the ‘thinker bees’ and supply them with food.

“So basically, you want to be lazy, quit life, and have us clean up your shit and piss, and bring you food whenever you need it so you can think?” asked Lex Real.

Clint agreed with the assertion despite Lex’s crude depiction of the mind enhancing experiment.  He was able to get the band to commit to taking care of him and Gia to begin the experiment.  Lex goggled the word “percentage of human brain used” and read the entire article on Wikipedia entitled “10% of brain myth.” Despite Lex’s absolutely certainty that the hypothesis won’t work and that the human brain is already being 100% used according to all scientific data, he has agreed to support the mind enhancing experiment because he wants to see Clint make an ass of himself and it might give the band some good publicity.

This is Dyson Jergenson reporting for Capsicum Radio News.

Sydney, Looking at Itself from Across the Harbor

The city makes me excited to stand up on top of a large skyscraper and sing.  I like the techno music soundtrack to my life while I’m in a city. It’s inevitable every time I’m in a city.  There is always great techno music.  It symbolizes an integration of futuristic synthetic beats, the rhythm of blood pumping through the body, and dance.  Its like the music is drumming on to keep all the people in the city bustling along with their lives to contribute to the ever-increasing skyscrapers that surround them.

I heard great techno on the streets.  The amplifiers played the beats and men painted in white hummed through didgeridoos and clapped boomerangs together.  I also heard techno in Blue 36, the bar on top of the Shangri La skyscraper in Sydney. I expected my father to say, “This music is terrible.”  But he didn’t. I think in the city people just accept the sound of the future because that is the official soundtrack in the city.

It makes me excited, I feed off its energy, and it also begins to tire me out. I still crave it though. I forgot that I craved the pulse of modernity.  I’ve always known that I liked cities even though at this time in my life I couldn’t live in one permanently.  I think I could live in one, I would just want the conditions to be right. Like a place near a park, a place high enough up to see a majority of the city from my bedroom window, and enough money to afford a modest entertainment budget. Those requests are out of budget now for sure, especially the view request.  However, at least I know what I need to be permanently happy in a big city.

Sydney was incredible.  A really amazing modern city with great individual touches.  I love the integration of water into the city through the use of the Sydney Harbor Bridge.  Its as if the city gets to look at itself over the two sides of the harbor. And there is plenty to enjoy!  The south side of the harbor is very accessible to the public for hanging out at the outdoor cafes, visiting the Opera House, taking pictures, walking the Botanical Gardens, seeing some art, and shopping.  There was so much going on while we were there: free art shows, street musicians, night time laser light shows with interactive exhibits, constant boat traffic, constant bridge traffic, gorgeous sights from the top of the bridge and level 35 of the hotel, famous quotes on metal man holes through out the harbor walk, women poshly dressed to go to work, grizzled Aussie men doing all sorts of trady work, international visitors snapping pictures, children in prep school uniforms traveling via public transportation, interesting stores, and the smells of delicious foods.

Sydney in two days was a pure delight. I could have used more time but I’m happy to have enjoyed so much in so little time.  I’ve been contemplating how to get at the ‘urban high,' in the future.   I almost despised city life. The traffic, smell of smog, the loudness, the miserable looking people, the dirty roads, the poor city planning, people that aren’t interested in you, and the high cost. New York City is just around the corner from me and it would be easy to get to.

Sydney has renewed my faith in the human institution of city life.  I remember now the spark of having a high concentration of people in an urban environment.  Culture, music, variety, intrigue, art, food, fashion, words, and the future.  I owe Sydney a thank you for that and for reminding me that I’m next door to most populist city in the world.

Caving

The present is a continuation of the past and the beginning of the future all rolled up into one neat little Mobius Strip.  In English, I’m already beginning the reflections on this trip and I still have a week to go in experiencing. 

I was not feeling any passion earlier when it came to writing.  I started thinking about an article I read about Karsh Kale. He composes music and does most of his composing at home in New York. I feel similar to that. Sure, I’ve been blogging and having small stints of inspiration while I’m here but it’s all over the map.  Not that I’m complaining, the variety has been fun, the reviews, the sarcastic news, the music, and the occasional conversation with my stomach. 

I learned something on the way; I’m no traditional travel writer.  Bill Bryson and I can appreciate each other from a far but I don’t think we’ll be sharing a cup of tea at the annual travel writer’s association in Brissy. 

How do I know?  Well first, my stomach can’t handle it, just kidding, I freaking love traveling.  So its not for a lack of interest in seeing new things, tasting new things, experiencing a culture, taking a thousand photographs, looking for fresh sounds of a continent, and the like. 

Being on the road, plane, bus, camel, and car just became my job for the day.  I plan my meals accordingly, or lack thereof, get the job done, enjoy the fruits of my labor through the experience at hand that would have been impossible without the job getting done, and fall asleep exhausted, a tired that dreams new scenery, familiar people with new words, and icons of distant relatives.  I’ve been inspired to visit central or northern Africa, Thailand, and Abu Dhabi.  All dreams I suppose but at least I haven’t been entirely turned off from the adventurous process.

I think perhaps I’m too egocentric to be a travel writer.  I can’t get passed my own feelings while experiencing a new place.  This leads to writing that isn’t about the history of where I’ve been, the description of the beauties, or the tales of the people.  I just can’t report the facts as the facts. At least, I couldn’t do it here.  Maybe if I was getting paid by Australia Geographic to write about a place and the adventures the AG team were having I could do it.  But, my heart would not be in it, just my money clip.  Not that its entirely a bad thing, I mean, getting paid to do something you love even if its not exactly what you want to be doing is still pretty good.  Like a kid that ends up coaching a triple A baseball team instead of playing in the majors, its pretty freaking close.  

Going to a place has no substitute, but we can’t go to all places, and that’s why we have professionals to travel around for us and give us photographs, spoken words, and written words.  If you want to see the places I’ve been, find me, ask me to show you the slide show, buy me a bottle of wine, maybe two, and we’ll have a good time talking about the things I’ve seen, places you’ve been, tall tales we’ve heard, and lies white enough to get away with.  Its that experience that I could share as a traveler of Australia.

This all brings me to the beginning or perhaps the end, and that has to do with the role I feel writing has in the world, at least as I continue to wield it and think about it.  Writing helps me uncover more about individuality, inner self, inner world, personal perspective.  I am remembering an early post about exploring the self, removed from everything that is normal and routine. I suppose that’s what I’m getting at.  And, this conception of the written word certainly falls in line with my highest appreciation of authors who are in the category of ‘literary fiction.’ A story that is most interested in the exploration of the purest diamonds of humanity: spirituality, love, pain, emotionality, intellect, heroism, defeat, history, the future, struggle, and society.  Sure, all of the words are in a vehicle, some sort of action, exotic places, unique characters, drama, sex, and violence.

They all are part of the writing for the sake of maybe one idea or one feeling.  An itch that can only be scratched by involving an entire imaginative world to explore places of the psyche’ usually untouched by the travel writers of the physical world.

Anyways, that itch I was talking about scratching, exploring the inner world of humanity, that’s where the good stuff is for me.  I don’t know why, guess I should figure it out.  The challenge is intriguing.  There is not one sense involved in the heart and mind caving I’m talking about.  I can’t just look down one cave shaft, or smell the mustiness of a singular forest floor, or hear the gospel of fruit bat’s flapping wings in a mango grove, or touch the fuzziness of a Banksia Grandis pod, to get at the conception of what makes up the core of humanity.  So what can get at that?  What sees that which can’t be seen?  Rationality, intuition, divinity?  I don’t know the right cocktail of implements and senses to use in this sort of climbing expedition, I just know that it’s freaking hard, challenging. It takes everything and more that I don’t have to get there.

Example, I’ve written three beginnings to three separate novels. Two of which actually have some good ideas, concepts, and characters. It’s probably close to 100 typed single spaced pages.  I can begin a novel on pure adrenaline, rope in hand, and I’m cave diving and exploring around. I get down there though and I don’t have a torch, I don’t have any food, and my water runs out in just a couple of days.  All the tools I have to explore around aren’t there and I can’t just go to the store to pick them up because that store doesn’t exist.

“Come on down to Crazy Jared’s!  We’ve got brain cell boosters on sale for $19.99, intuitive cookies on sale for $5.99, and you won’t believe this folks, get your own personal dream encyclopedia complete with people, places, and things completely tailored to your date of birth, weight, height, name, social security number, and current residence for only $12,000. That’s right folks, we’ll have every unconscious thought, passion, and desire from your dreams, decoded for you personally, just an easy $12,000.”

Travel is interpreted in a lot of different ways, I guess my personal view on it may not be interesting.  Who wants to spend their lives thinking of themselves anyways? Egotistical for sure. I’ve tried to think of it in another light, one in which shows me that if I figure out what makes me act and think the way that I do, I might understand a little better what the hell you are trying to tell me because its pretty hard to figure out why everyone is out there acting the way that they are.  Maybe this is an egregious assumption, thinking that humanity has some sort of essential form of impulse that can be understood and reapplied.  I’d be the first to question any such claim myself, but it doesn’t hurt to look for it I reckon.  What’s that famous saying, “Life’s a journey, not a desination.”  So, I’ll keep journeying, caving, climbing, questioning, and I probably won’t get there, “ You can’t get there from here!” but maybe along the way I’ll finally pack the right tools, etch out that small map of the caves deep down below, and pass it along to the next one willing to explore a little further down the dark cavern of humanity’s soul.

My Dad Calls This a Mind Dump

eyes closed  on the world

close your eyes in faith and walk

neuron feeding frenzy

someone said  they don’t have time

that had to be the stockman   

lies to tell themselves

i’m at a stop

an Outback lu

it’s all really low

nothing much can grow

bachelor weeping

mulla mulla

absolutely stunning

with a partner

seven billion trial and errors

contiguously lucky

necessary and perceptive based

like chalk and cheese

that’s watertight

like cat and mouse

that’s fear versus fight

the chastity belt of wuses

geological in  your face

no dances for our dancers

a modern non-geological travesty

respectable forms of insanity

the fasting is forgotten

the violin is forgotten

savanna like diversity

Ken Duncan, Abu Dhabi, my 2nd Art Review

Pictures help me travel the world.  I traveled to Abu Dhabi today through the images of Ken Duncan, then thought to myself, “I’d like to go there some day.”  Now that’s what I call good travel ‘writing.’  I didn’t know where Abu Dhabi was before I looked at those pictures, now I want to go there.  I don’t think a writers words could have impacted me as quickly as Duncan’s photographs.

Ken’s work is really good. The pictures are digitally manipulated slightly to take out ‘imperfections’ but it’s worth the changes. His stuff blew me away and I’d argue against any photographic purest that is against digital manipulation that regardless of their hoity toity dedication to rule following, the experience of the viewer in terms of esthetics, feeling, and expression are far more important. Lets be real, a photograph untouched can’t reproduce the complexity of being, a being with all six senses attuned, in an actual beautiful place. So, give the photographs steroids and let me consume the muscle bound images. We’re not talking baseball, I’m all for photographic steroids, aka digital manipulation.

I can understand the other side of the argument.  Taking a photograph on film and developing it in a black room with chemicals is an art in itself that I can really appreciate it.  It’s something that I’ve never done and would like to do someday. Then came along the digital photograph and computers. The computer gives us much more detailed control in specific locations over an image.  Not using the digital version of photography for any sort of aesthetic pursuit that aims at having an impact on a viewer in terms of beauty or inspirational reasons, would be like telling movie makers that they had to use black and white super 8 cameras instead of HD film technology. (I’m really looking forward to Spielburg’s new movie this summer, “Super 8,” can’t wait like a kid can’t wait for Christmas morning.)

I’m merely focusing on aesthetics here, idea creation, and inspiration.  I do think a line needs to be drawn in terms of news reporting.  I wouldn’t want my news reported images to be majorly altered.  By that I mean, words changed, people added or subtracted, and the like.  I don’t mind if they auto adjust contrast and brightness or the like, that’s like focusing a camera.  Just don’t change the reality of the situation.

Bonus review.  I went to Sidney's Museum of Contemporary Art. I'm not going to even talk about it, it was that uninteresting. They are under major construction, so I'll give them that excuse. But for all you Aussie's out there, one point to the Poms, the Tate Modern in London has got you clobbered.

Red Dog the Movie

We listened to British writer, Louis de Bernieres, version of Red Dog which was set in Dampier, near where we traveled, on the bus as a tour group.  I cried like a Sheila.  The movie trailer looks realy good.

Increasing Concerns over ADHD and Technology, Dispelled.

28-5-2011

This is Dyson Jorgensen reporting with Capsicum Radio News.

Yesterday, founder of d80z and fitness guru Clint Fogurty released a press statement dispelling increasing American concerns over the affects of television, ipads, computers, GPS, the internet, video games, graphing calculators, cameras, iphones, cellphones, blue tooths, and other iworld devices are having on their children.

Clint was the first in the industry to introduce the concept of ‘muscle confusion,’ which allows fitness enthusiasts to build more muscles faster, skipping the unnecessary steps of goal setting, habit forming, patience, and sustained long term efforts.

During an epiphany after one of his own d80z workouts, Clint realized that the brain is also like a muscle, and he has developed a new program built around ‘mental confusion.’  Clint had this to say when reached out to by Capsicum Radio News, “Some say a lack of attention span is going to lead to the downfall of American ingenuity and our ability to compete in the new highly educated global marketplace. No, it is in fact the opposite.  Through rapid uncontrolled changes in our attention span we will in fact be able to multitask in my estimation 30-50 tasks simultaneously through our unconsciousness and open up the 70% of our untapped brain potential.  Through my revolutionary new program, ‘59009,’ you can train your mind through the technique of mental confusion to reach this untapped potential.”

Scientists at several leading American universities have already begun test studies on human subjects.  Preliminary results are looking positive as many of the subjects are unable to sustain a thought longer than 20 seconds and are still living quite successfully in the real world off of government benefits, Fluff and bologna sandwiches on Wonderbread, and internet reruns of their favorite television shows.

More is sure to come on this groundbreaking story.

This is Dyson Jorgensen reporting with Capsicum Radio News.

Sandcastle

27-5-2011

Sand drizzled above from blue,

 six billion years of oxidization and aboriginal dreams. 

Reddish- brown hues altered and washed out by rain,

 spinifex grass polkadots thickening rock shells.

The hardest of grasses for the hardest of climates,

like post shaved two-day growth.

Crumbled up mountain face from boulder to dust,

Father times slow pressure cooker in Mother’s kitchen.

Grass fires initiated by indigenous and official,

blackened pocks surrounded by blood.

Salmon gum blends and bends,

clamboring roots and reaching limbs.

Riverbeds expanded by cyclone waters, washed out, grassless shores,

dirtied rocks of the lightest colored mud.

Living rocks, spinifex fed workers, and soldiers,

affections of their king and queen unspoken and heard.

Consume, regurgitate, build.

Doing their part for the castle of living rock.

Warning #2. Do not read if eating or queezy!

25-5-2011

“G’day stomach. You right?” Jared asked stomach.  They happened to meet up just outside of the Kimberly Grande hotel room.   Jared was dressed in a white polo and stomach was freshly showered in a sticky slime.

“Yeah, I’m right you bloody Yank.  Its about the first time in week’s I’ve been able to think two thoughts consecutively without experiencing sweaty palms from nausea,” replied the stomach.

“Woo, sorry mate for asking.  Someone’s a little grouchy. Anyways, I could eat the crotch out of a low flying duck. You wanna grab some chow?” Jared asked as he turned towards the dining room and peered up from stomach to look over the wooly butt gum and boab looming nearby.

“No, not right now, Mate.  I just don’t get what I’m saying.  Are you listening tome or just hearing and nodding your head?”    

“Hear what man?  I’m freaking hungry lets go, we’ll discuss this on the bus,” replied Jared.

“No, listen to me. First, you pour a shit load of coffee into me and stay up to all hours of the night polishing black knobs in your kitchen before the trip.  Then you start feeding me tasty Australian Shiraz on fancy date night but you screw it all up by burping down some cigarette smoke.  What the hell were you thinking?” said the stomach.

“Well, I –“

“No, you weren’t thinking,” said the stomach, “You were enjoying your life, living it up, carrying on like a frat boy on Sigma Phi date night, all giddy and shit over this big Australia trip, oohhhhhh!” The stomach pointed his intestinal finger out at Jared’s face and bits of slime musk flew out into the 22c air.  Jared stared blankly at stomach.

“Mr.FancyTravelTheWorldAndGetAllIntrospectivePhilosophicalBullshitMan. Well, you know who runs this vessel? Do you? Do you know who actually keeps the energy levels up, who pays the NYSEG bill, who takes out the trash-so to speak, and has to keep all these other bloody organs fed and happy, me! You didn’t think that I might need a little extra rest before this little adventure? You didn’t think that Mr.PatheticPukeontheDogGetsQueezyWhenSomeoneDrivesaStickCan’tRidetheBabySwingsInThePlayYard would maybe need to treat his stomach a little better before traveling to far off lands.  Did you?” asked the Stomach.

“Well, I’ve flown before and it seemed like it wasn’t a big deal. You are normally reliable and—“ Jared said.

“Yeah, I’m reliable. Doing all of your mindless uncouncious work down here.  I don’t need weekly meetings, I don’t need micromanaged, I don’t mind being the work horse, me and the boys, intestine, colon, sphincter, that guy still has the best jokes, upper GI, and we don’t want your meddling.  However. You should have thought of us a little before you decided to travel for 24 hours straight, eat a bunch of foreign food, start driving on the wrong side of the road, go out drinking heavily in the wine region, fly again to some wacked out town called Darwin, get on a Bus!, get on a Boat! drink with 27 native Australians on a daily basis, and then wake up early to get on a single engine plane,” the stomach stopped and took a breath.  He was turning redder in the face and his intestinal feet were tapping rapidly on the pavement, a green tree frog jumped on by.

“Really, a tiny plane. You thought after all of that you could get on a small engine plane at 2000 feet up and fly about the Kimberly without repercussions?  I’m sorry to inconvenience you but you act like a brainless frat boy sometimes.  You need a mother. No, you need a labodome.  How could you treat me like that?  And I tried, believe you me. We tried the breathing mantras. We tried to get some extra oxygen down here. We tried to stare at the horizon. We tried to tap into the chi energy. We tried to connect the hands up like jumper cables on me just to give me a little extra juice. But no. I had enough and as I spilled all of my contents up your mouth and into the convenient “souvenir” bag the pilot gave to you, I felt kind of glad to have embarrassed you.”

“I did feel sick but the embarrassment was satisfying and you should feel ashamed of your Mr.FratboyBeTheCoolAmericanGuyHangingOutinAustralia ways because you vomited three times while in a plane with 6 strangers and your father. You ruined a 1 hour beautiful picturesque flight for those people. People spent at least  $400 that day to make the trip. Furthermore, you almost made Irv sick, did you see him fidget, not look at you, stare off straight, and adjust the air?  He almost blew his wad of breakfast.  How would that of been for you?  A father and son pukefest on the most brilliant of Australian days to the Bungles.  I would like to have seen that. Then I would have been proud of you, you, you, mindless insensitive stomach abuser.”

“C’mon, stomach.  Give me a break here. Hasn’t it all been worth it?  You have to admit the food has been good?  C’mon,” said Jared.

“I’ll admit nothing! You have to admit you seriously missed out on a common sense education. Where did you go to school?  UNH?  Seriously, you paid out of state tuition for that party school?  They didn’t teach you anything. You are like a little baby running around with a play diploma on the wall,” said the stomach.

“Ok, I’ll admit that you have been neglected and some of the decision making authority has been geared towards feeding the optical nerves and dream centers.  I’ve had to do the best with what I’ve had and I knew I could rely on you,” replied Jared.

“You rely on me?” asked the stomach.

“You know I do!  Brain doesn’t let me think about you much because brain knows you get r done.  Its not brain’s fault either, don’t blame him.  I trust your decision making authority and rely on it for the betterment of the team,” Jared said

The stomach didn’t say anything. He looked down at the ground and kicked the red dirt with a strand of intestine.

“Stomach, buddy, pal. Listen, you just have to work through this one and then we’ll get you back to the Aldi’s diet, Willet water, and the Edgewater Pizza you crave.  We’ll get regular rest, we’ll only have coffee for writing days off. It will be grand. In the meantime, I’m counting on you to keep this whole vessel afloat. We’ve got an adventure to have here mate.”

The stomach looked up from the slimy dust patches he created in the sand, “As long as you know who the real number 2 is around here. And I’m not talking about the waste matter!  Brain gets all the credit and I’m sick of it! Even heart thinks he wears the pants around here and you know how I feel about dickhead.  I’m the most important next to you. So, can you call me Number 2 from now on?  Number 2, like the guy on Star Trek The Next Generation, I'm like the Riker to your Picard.” said stomach.

“Sure Number Two. Whatever you say Number Two,” said Jared as he saluted the stomach, gave stomach a little noogie, and they headed off for some nurtrigrain cereal and tea.

Its Happened, Random Traveling Blabber

5/22/11

I thought I might have a little round of creativity this morning but that doesn’t seem to be the case.  There is so much to do here in the little metropolis of Darwin, 120,000 civilians strong.  At the moment I’m worried about getting my luggage out the door at 6am and properly labeled for our kind hearted tour guide to pick it up.  I keep hearing the words of our perky guide say with a smile and that delightful Aussie accent, “This is a tour, not a holiday.”  I’m not complaining, just realizing that my mode of writing is dependent on being free of schedule, interruptions for food, people coming into the room, phone calls, having the news already read, and my room organized. 

I kind of like the Internet too for writing.  America is the home of information services and I fear I’ve grown too accustomed to the free Wi-Fi everywhere I go. It’s right though, I just pretended this morning that my cup of chamomile tea cost me $15.00 for the morning and the Internet was complimentary.

It’s sort of just an information overload at this point.  Day 1 was all-cute with an integration of information learned into a little pretend story.  Now there is just so much it isn’t even possible to pull it all together in a nice little package with a bow. Oh, well.

Swimming at Bondi beach and the Iceberg club has been a huge highlight for me. We rolled into Sydney on Friday and went right to the beach. It was a decent 22 and there were plenty of people surfing, skating, swimming, and laying out.  I stated to feel a little better as well and think I’ve just been finishing the time zone shift plus the cold I had before departing.   We ate at Iceberg’s, I sat on the beach, I swam a quick 100M in the rock pool, and we finished it of with the cliff walk.  Dad took some footage of me swimming.  I found the ocean fed pool to be really fascinating and I loved how picturesque it was right by the ocean.  It was unabashedly touristy, childish, and enjoyable.  My mom probably liked the extra time to sit and dad didn’t seem to mind as long as I was enjoying ‘my’ vacation, which I was whole heartedly. The night was capped off with some good squid, pizza, and Maker’s Mark. There is a good selection of American booze on hand at all times.

Tomorrow will be the end of my first week here but I’ve been traveling for over a week.  Now that the jet lag is starting to really subside I noticed some twinges of homesicknesses yesterday. It came in the form of thoughts like, “Ahh, I’m sick of moving by plane, bus, and car,”  or “It will be nice to sleep in my own bed.”  It doesn’t have me disabled and I’m still pumped about the adventure, just aware of my own personal habits feeling a little stress.  I’ve wondered how performers change time zones so easily and go out to do their show. However, it’s just like my shoulder being sore and going out for a swim, you ignore it, and you feel better for the process and the distraction from the pain.

By the way, somewhere back there a few days ago we went to the Hunter Valley Region and tasted some semillions and shirazes that blew my taste buds away at Tyrrell’s winery.  Ate some bangers, mash, and mushy peas at Madigan’s pub. Also, took a tour of the Hunter Valley Gardens. Beautiful, beautiful. I took a million pictures, actually 120, in that one-day.  My profile picture is a crop of me in front of the vineyard and the hills. 

I found this really cool ‘pine comb’ called the Banksia Grandis.  Woodworkers smooth them out and make neat things out of them.  I was impressed.

Gawd it feels really good to sit here with my fingers on the black keys.  Its like a burden lifted and I keep letting out these big exhalations for some reason.

Last night in Darwin I went ‘out on the town.’  Yeah, that basically means that I thought about being wild and crazy, having a drink, meeting people, yadda yadda, but decided it wasn’t really worth the hassle after I walked up and down the main street a couple of times.  I saw lots of interesting people though.  A couple natives were just chilling on the sidewalk singing crazy songs along with an Asian kid playing a didgeridoo.  Digeridoo isn’t what the Aboriginals call them. They have five or six different names. The dige name comes from Westerners just calling it what they thought it should be called. Cultural bastards.

5:30pm

Its happened and I was trying to prevent it.  The blog is just  spillage of my mental digestion. I won’t fight it anymore.  Its about all I can handle at this point and maybe when I look back at the piece it will bring my back exactly to where I was instead of where I wanted to be.

Jet lag is over. I’m well and back at the normal life. Its good to know I could travel the world more extensively and not just be an anxious ball of raucousness.  Just had a cup of tea and it felt great to have the perk without sickness to do some late afternoon writing. 

There is a lot of bus riding. I saw some cathedral ant mounds, crocs, wallabies, a salmon gum, a ghost gum, lots of natives, birds, and lots of nothingness on the trip to Katherine.  We did a river tour of the Katherine Gorge.  I liked the heat, the sun, and the water.  I’m pretty wordless right now. I supposed I should call it a day and go out to ‘social hour’ with my traveling chaps.  

Movie Review-- Inside Job

5/21/11

I just watched the movie, Inside Job, regarding the financial “crisis” of 2008 while flying to Darwin.  I feel sick. I have a headache and I think if I were given the opportunity to attack several key members of the IMF, elite business professors, Federal Reserve members, Wall Street Fat Cats, and the Rating Industry members---I surely would consider it heavily before coming to my moral senses of living a life where I try not to harm people.

Doctors take a Hippocratic oath. Engineers pledge themselves to building things safely.  Do financial operators take an oath, make a pledge, or have any sort of scruples regarding the needs of the greater good versus their own multi-billion dollar fantasies? 

I’m not well read in the Bible but somewhere I remember Jesus going ape shit on a bunch of moneylenders hanging out in a Jewish temple.  I like that scene of the human Jesus. He goes into the house of the Lord, his father, and the other third of himself to do some reflection, chilling, thinking, and there are all these rubes sitting around trying to get coin from each other.  In a blind rage he starts tipping over vats of coins, cursing them out, telling them to leave, and the like.  I don’t know the facts more than any other guy I suppose but I like to think that happened.  That somewhere in his human body he got angry at something and dealt with it by making a spectacle.  I’m imagining a spectacle right now where I stand up on the plane and start running up and down the aisles screaming something about the insanity of the global economy. They’d probably think I was a terrorist or something

I can’t believe that Obama has as chief security advisors the same people that built the structure that created the problems we saw in 2008. It was only the tip of the iceberg from what I can tell.  The poor will stay poor and the rich will get richer in America and around the world.

5/22/11

I don’t have the same level of anger right now.  Its 5pm, I’ve had my cup of tea, I’m in a hotel room at the Paraway Motel, Katherine, NT, listening to Gurrumul on the ibuds. It’s hard to get angry when you are hearing melody of foreign voice with instrument.

I will say that I’m in a bit of a conflict about the entire image of an angry Jesus.  I really like that Jesus is always forgiving, loving, turning the other cheek, accepting Mary Magdalene, taking care of the sinners, and giving till its gone when its never gone.  I don’t like to think that a monotheistic God would intentionally punish or hurt a people. I don’t believe Jesus would for instance hurt a non-Christian believer for the sake of being non-Christian or for them trying to hurt Christians.  I guess I can make a difference between the righteous anger Jesus displayed in the temple with money lenders hanging around versus him doing something to actually hurt or punish the money lenders.

I still wish I could do something.  Gurrumul is singing in my ear that I need to live a life that is pure, fulfills my individual dreaming, feed the chickens when they are hungry, mow the lawn when it grows, hire the lifeguards when others leave, love the family around me, and be in harmony as best I can.  My brain is telling me to go study global economics, political science, a dash of foreign policy, then go down to Washington and try to kick some ass. 

Somebody was recently trying to convince me to go back to College to get a masters or doctorate.  I haven’t heard that discussion in a long time.  No, I’m still afraid of letting a teacher tell me what to think and feel.  It’s hard enough sensing everyone’s intentions and dreams around me in a single day. It’s like that character in the pictures that can read everyone else’s thoughts and goes crazy because she can’t turn it off.  Sometimes its like that in the world.

Grand Master Barista Boycotts

19-5-2011 

Canberra, NSW, Australia

Papa New Guinea born and Australian resident Jemax Kuns announced today during the morning rush that he was boycotting his Master Barista duties.  Kuns reportedly threw a nearly finished cappuccino on the ground and vowed never to make double espresso lattes’ again until he receives the recognition and compensation he deserves.

Several house liberals were present in line during the episode and vowed to speak with the Prime Minister directly about the boycott.  It was clear to all present that swift and comprehensive political action was necessary to stymie the boycott before it got too out of hand.

The Prime Minister was not available for comment but Capsicum Radio News did receive this statement just 3 minutes after the story broke from the opposing minority leader, “I fervently disagree with whatever position the Prime Minister takes on this issue, whatever it is.  She will be wrong because she is always wrong.  And I know what to do despite everyone’s understanding that I have no final decision making power.”

Burt did admit that he gave himself the title Master Barista but the late MJ also made himself the King of Pop, both men famous for their self-proclamations.

This is Dyson Jorgensen reporting with Capsicum Radio News.

Capsicum Radio News-- American Man gets Naked at 15 C.

Bondi Beach, Sydney, Australia

19-5-11

An American Man felt inspired to nude sunbath today on Bondi Beach.  Temperatures reached a record low today for this Australian Autumn and topped out at 15 C, brrrr.  However, the American Man felt compelled to lay out on the beach when everyone else was rugging up in their cardigans and Ugg boots.

Authorities tried to reach the man for questioning but were blinded by the reflection of the sun off his pale white skin. In addition, the smell of Dr. Jurd’s Jungle Juice was so strong that authorities were afraid of second hand intoxication while on the job.

A bystander did say this, “He just stopped. Took his clothes off and screamed it was the warmest beach day he has ever seen in Fall. I’m not sure what Fall is but that’s what he said.”

This is Dyson Jorgensen reporting for the Capsicum Radio News.

Mr. Iconic Australian Singer Songwriter Man

This chap, Damien Leith, is still at the top of the ARIA, Australian Record Industry Associations's pop charts, after winning Aussie Idol in 2006.  This clip has a long lead in but its good to watch in comparison to how British and American Idol's are run, which in my opinion seems quite similar. I was looking over the ARIA chart and he was the fourth artist I looked at who was actually living in Australia as a citizen. All the rest were American and UK.  He did an album of traditional Australian songs which is worth a listen, Catch the Wind.

Warning! Do not read if eating or prone to queeziness! Warning!

“The professional plays with pain.”  This has been one of my mantras during the last year from Stephen Pressfield.  Pain refers to many things for me: physical pain like a sprained ankle or a volleyball shoulder, emotional pain of grieving a family in another continent and the loss of the most important relationship in my life, distractions from my interests, and just about anything else that isn’t getting the job done.

When it comes to internal pain like nausea, headaches, and digestion issues I’m especially susceptible.  I suppose I should tell this story because if I don’t tell it, my family will continue to tell it, and dare I say untruthfully, because the details keep getting more and more exaggerated.

My version: I used to rock in the backseat of the car.  Yes, rock.  Rock like I was in a rocking chair.  It does seem a little bit odd to think about. Blond hair and blue eyed Jared rocking at the hips in a stationary seat in the back seat of the 75 Cutlass Supreme.  I don’t know why I did it but I did.  It’s hard to divine a child’s purposes even when you are the child 26 years later. 

Well, as most good parents would do, they informed me that this behavior would be perceived as culturally inappropriate.   I’m sure they had some way of putting it to me that I could understand. Perhaps a, “Jared, that’s weird,” or “Knock that off,” or “I’ll get you some ice cream if you stop,” or “You can stay up and watch He Man or Rawhide if you stop,” and so on.  Well I did stop.

Shortly after this I developed carsickness. I don’t know really if the two are linked but they are my first memories in the back seat of a car, and back then we didn’t have car seats, badass kids rule.  Two notable sicknesses stand out.  The first was while we are driving somewhere on holiday and Duchess, our distinguished, miniature female sheltie, like Lassie but smaller, was between my legs.  I can’t go into the details of the dog’s facial expression, the sound I made while expelling my stomach fluids, or the resulting aftermath, because frankly, I was sick and try to block those memories out. I puked on the dog.  My goddaughter and niece loves this story and if you want the best version speak to my brother Trevor after you’ve supplicated him with a couple of microbrews.

The second: I was heading with some chaps to the Carousel Mall. I was in the backseat of the mother’s Volvo and we were pulling into the parking lot area. I informed the crew that I was not feeling well and was unsure if I would remain intact for the rest of the drive.  My sense of boyhood honor was clearly going to be offended if my stomach made an offense. It was either a lose face or lose stomach moment. I was doing everything in my power to resist the revolting upheaval of all things digested. I kept thinking that we were literally about to pull into a parking space. I could see the spaces. I could see the mall. It was only a minute away. It was a minute too late.  My friends laughed it off and made fun of me until it got old and we had other business at hand in the mall.  I will forever be grateful to my friend’s mother who dutifully had a roll of paper towels in the back seat and took care of the spillage without complaint. To her I owe so much and only hope that my services to her family later in life have repaid the debt, which at this examination, I think they have. A story for another day perhaps.

The motion sickness has generally subsided into adulthood and beyond.  I find I have it most when not driving and in the backseat.  I have developed a bad case of it here in Australia to which I’m curious to the origin. I have several theories:

1.    1.  Southern Hemisphere gravity.

2.     2. I took a shit load of cold medicine while traveling to Australia, which may or may not have killed all the   useful bacteria in my digestive system. A system that is struggling with readjusting itself to a period of    time where certain necessary functions are taking place 14 hours in the future.

3.     3.  I’m being a pansy.

4.     4 .I’m eating crazy foods such as Kangaroo, Olives, copious amounts of Aussie Shiraz, rich Espresso, Weet Bix, Balmain Bug (like little lobsters), fish, Aussie milk, Aussie Subway, that don’t agree with my American stomach.

I’m reserving judgment on all of these theories. Tonight’s action steps were to:

1.     1. Run 8K. I haven’t indulged in any endorphins since arriving

2.    2.  Took a bath.

3.     3.Ate a ‘clean’ food meal of fish, rice, small glass of wine, water, vegetables, Greek yogurt, and ultra vita-man

4.     4. Go to bed at 9-10pm instead of 7-8pm

5.     5. And write this analysis to doctorize myself.  I usually result to this sort of construct when it comes to my ill health. See Jared’s 3 page cough history when I was trying to figure out how the wood stove was making me ill.

Conclusions, going abroad is this real sexy and exotic dream that I had. I’d been to London 10 years ago, and I hear from my mother that the adult body changes every 10 years, it was no big deal when I was 20 to change time zones!  Well, I don’t feel sexy and exotic when my stomach is in a Bavarian pretzel knot half of the day and I am about to embark on a 10-day bus tour.  I have a new found respect for my parents making this round trip 10 times for my mother in 4 ish years and probably 20-30 times for my father.

My parents have gone into parental mode, which I won’t fight, I appreciate that I can be parented even at 30. I have travel bands for my wrists, ginger travel aide, pharmaceutical travel aide, and a spray anti nausea medicine all thanks to the planning and shopping efforts of my parents today at the discount chemist. I’m wearing the bands and planning on using the ginger because I made a speech at dinner to the effect of, “My body runs fine without medicine! I need to self correct with sleep, endorphins, good nutrition, and natural remedy.” I probably sounded whiny and impish, oh well.

The professional does play with pain and I will continue.  I just want to gripe about it in a literary fashion for a few pages and act like my internal health matters to the thoughts of the world. Surprisingly, I feel better already after writing this.  Maybe I just had to vomit some words for a few minutes to prevent the other type.

Tasty Creatures I Ate Tonight

Barrimundi

This is a quintessential Australian fish to eat.  The aboriginals would sit around all day philosophizing and go snare one of these with a spear for dinner because they were so plentiful and large. Its a white fillet and tastes like seafoodlicious perfection.

Balmain Bug

Cousin to lobster and trilobite. Very tasty, especially the tail.  My father gave me the exoskeleton cracking duty and I obliged. We didn't have sophisticated crustacean eating tools but we made do with crescent wrench cracker and a mini fork.

Wood Art

Untitled Organic Wood Mosaic

Physical Description-  This wall mounted piece measured approximately 3.5 feet in diameter and 3 inches in depth. Its primarily composed of cross sectionally sliced pieces of indigenous gums and eucalyptus with a focus on preserving the naturally color with only a lacquer coat.

Personal Reaction -  The piece is striking in size, scope, and level of detail at first impression.  I obviously had an appreciation for it because I quickly snapped a picture of it to savor.  I'd be remiss to think I wouldn't be proud to have this piece in my home however I'm shocked at my art snobbery when I allow myself to analyze it.  First off, the circularity of the overall design puts me off because of the organic nature of the conglomerating pieces.  I feel restricted in the bounds of the circle instead of freed, perhaps an oval or a shape based off a growing tree trunk that is nearly mathematically circle but not. The sets of stripes give an allusion of geological time, earth, water, wind, fire, but there composition are confusing in that two sets of stripes are repeated and without modification or reason to their placement. I feel like the artist just thought the would was pretty, it would be pretty in some nice waves in a big circle, and he could sell it for a quick book in the Hunter Valley.   I'm probably getting to into but if someone is going to create a nearly 4 foot circle for the world to look at, its going to get thought about.  Also on a level of detail and planning, the lightly colored woods on the bottom become 50 cent piece sized and I feel like the artist just decided to give up on the meticulous nature of this sort of piece. I know the feeling, I've created a mosaic in my bathroom and there were many a time where I just wanted to use full size tile instead of 1/5 sized pieces. On those days, you quit, have a glass of wine, and go back another day or month when you are ready to do the piecemeal work of the artist.

The circle, back to this again, is very sacred for Aboriginal artwork. Many tribes used the dot in their forms of art.  The circle here is used and I just can't feel it amongst the overall design of the piece.  I like the circle pieces of art that an opthomologist uses to figure out if you are color blind. The pictures are composed of all circles of usually two slightly different color variations to figure out if you can tell what symbol or character the circles are creating.  Save your money in traveling to Australia to see this piece of art and just visit your local opthomologist if you want to look at some interesting dot matrix like artwork. 

Untitled Female Bust

Physical Description -- 3 feet tall, 1.5 foot deep, 2 foot wide, composed of Jarrah wood

Personal Reaction -- If I were really cultured I could probably figure out if this a reproduction of some sort of cubist piece of art or a reproduction of a famous female bust. Hold on, lets consult the Googlez, harder than I have attention for right now.

Well, I really liked this piece. I like it enough that I ignored a couple glue splotches that I could see while seeing it up close in person.  You may be thinking, yeah, you like it because its a set of boobs.  Yes, I'd be dickless not to appreciate a good set of mammaries.  That aside this is a great piece because of the layers.  There is the overall form, the posture, longitudinal movement, latitudinal movement, diagonal movement, movement in depth, change in line boldness, slight variation in grain composition, and the play of lighting off the variations of the previously mentioned modes. I would pay a hardy sum to get this piece in a plain white room with some spot lighting to play with the shadows as well.  I really enjoy photographing sculpture with its shadow and I think I could get some really great shots with this piece.

I'm not going to say anymore.  I like it.

Normalizing

Yesterday was my detox day.  I drank a few quarts of water, stayed away from double espressos (the double I had after first landing had more flavor in 8 ounces than I could get in a whole pot of American roasted coffee, yum), didn’t take any cold medicine, and only resorted to drinking wine at dinner (it was organic Shiraz, it was like drinking grape juice, right?).  I think it worked. I woke up at 4:30am with a clear head, clear nostrils, some energy, and the feeling that my body was a bit more in tune with the ebb and flow of daily Australian life.

Yesterday was a normal day. I love the word normal. I really do. It serves so many purposed for me when I write.  Well here, normal is a day where I’m not trying to do the next exciting thing, talk to the next interesting person, write the next great American novel, see the most breathtaking thing, no.  Normal was waking up in my parent’s flat, having a slice of Pavlova with my rice puffs (Rice Crispies just called different despite still being a Kellogg’s branded cereal, there are big issues with naming rights around here), Dad going to work, and Mother and I walking down the hill into town to pick up a few necessitates at the shopping plaza. 

Going shopping with Mother is a historical behavior. I remember walking next to her cart at the Great American on the corner of 281 and Mclean Rd, I think its some bullshit buffet now.  Only in Australia, I pushed the cart, and when I saw wine I wanted, I just put it in the cart.  So we picked up all sorts of stuff, Gurrumul’s latest CD, postcards, sunglasses, food, and scoped out the touristy ‘presies’ in the shopping plaza. 

Being that I’m on the top of the food chain, I had to find different sorts of large bodied animals that I can eat.  That sounds really macho, and it is, I’ve been watching clips from Epic Mealtime on YouTube, “I’m the saoooce boooss!  There is no such thing as too much bacon…We garnished it with Baconaters just because we are ****ed up like that.” Mom didn’t think “Woolies” would have kangaroo, they did, so we ate it.  I did the roo up Dinosaur BBQ style by throwing together my own red rub out of her on hand kitchen spices. Dad whipped up a tangy BBQ sauce out of ketchup, worcheschire sauce, cayenne pepper, salt, pepper, and jalapeno sauce. It was tasty and the first time my parents actually cooked their own roo.  I’m insisting on eating some croc, emu, or koala tonight.

 Although my parents said something about the koala being on the national endangered species list, I don’t know what they are talking about but they say it could lead to me getting arrested.  But if we hit one with our car or find one by the side of the road, I’ll break that little furry guy down in an instant. (Italics = sarcasm font, I’m afraid the Aussies will think I’m an evil American brute)

 The roo had the coloration of white tail venison and similar muscle structure.  The shish kebabs were tasty and I’d say with the amount of seasoning we used, indistinguishable between the continental variations of large creatures.

Back to normal, we were shopping by 915am and having tea and a muffin by 1030am. That felt normal, like people should take breaks to converse in the morning, sit outside in the sun at an outdoor café, and just relax for a bit.  The sitting gave me the pause to write down some notes about the sights, smells, and people I’d seen, look at the bounty I’d gathered over the last hour, and rest my back a little bit.  I think I was overdoing my posture or something, my lower back was killing me.  Or its still being out of synch with time and body.  I did start yawning heavily at noon, which was 10pm eastern standard time, Troutman standard bedtime that is.

Planking.  I don’t really have a need to try and explain this.  It started out as a joke from some guy taking pictures with clubbers and DJs. It was a big news story today because somebody died from planking off a balcony edge. Then a famous rugby player planked off a 40^th story balcony, bad role model was the feeling by the Aussie news. Dad and I decided to try it out , see what all the fuss was about.

I really like this tradies ute.  Simple, red, functional. Being that I’m a small truck owner I can really appreciate the Australian tradies concept of truck, ute.  There is no need for an oversized engine, an extended cab and bed, a gas-guzzler, a my truck is bigger than your truck penis comparing contest.  All the tradies have a ute like this that they get around in to do their plumbing, electricity, construction, and various other trades.  Of course there are sporty looking utes but you I’ve only seen one regular sized ‘truck’ since being down here.

 Then there are the range rovers with a snorkel, roof rack, roo-bar, jacked up suspension, and signature mud along the sides. These vehicles are serious outback equipment capable of carrying extra jugs of water/fuel, submerging the engine up to the steering wheel level, and traversing roadless terrain. I haven’t seen a lot of these up to this point but the few I have seen are impressive.

Nough Said

This lil bugga was about 30 yards, ghmm, excuse me, 28 meters from our Holden.

Maurice Ravel's 2nd Movement of String Quartet in F (Bellbirdesque)

I woke up yesterday thinking of the bellbirds outside of my window. I could only hear them 'tinking' faintly in the background but they were there.  We've driven by localized groups of bellbirds and they are very loud.  They made me think of this piece of music.  I get the shivers when I listen to this piece and watch the intensity of the quartet.  

Wild at Heart by Birds of Tokyo

I went to the local CD store and looked at the music on hand for sale.  Mother talked to the clerk about ordering her a DVD version of the Rabbit Proof Fence.  The clerk informed her that they could order such an item but the store was going out of business. Mother asked why and the clerked explained that downloading off the Internet has really changed the business and made it difficult for small retailers, while I in my hand was writing down the words Birds of Tokyo in my journal to live stream it off the Internet that night.  The brilliance of real life irony is always my favorite. You can't make stuff like that up because no one would believe it. Although, live streaming is not illegal, and live streaming then recording with a digital music recorder is also not illegal, at least in America, so I didn't feel guilty about the moment from a legal point of view.

I like this track and video.  These chaps are from Broome I believe, capital of all things Australian pearl. They remind me of Live from the states in that they have drums, guitars, bass, singing that you can understand, and a fair mix of emotionality and intellectuality that gives their lyrics an ability to be interpreted.  Some of the other tracks on their album bored me but this one was worthy of a video watch and listen.

Mother tells me that musical artists in Australia consider being popular in America as the "Holy Grail."  She explained that she has found Aussie's are always trying to compare themselves to the states because they are so interested in what goes on there.  I listened and filed it under "Things my Mom has Random Opinions About." However, I have to validate this opinion. Twice while in public yesterday I had an Australian ask me, "What do you like better Australia or the US?"  I really couldn't believe it and I answered by saying I'd only been here for two days. Then they serenaded me with "Good Days, No Worries, Mates, You Rights?" 

Bombora

Tennyson pulled his lichen stained Holden into the spot that he and Ava had shared so many times before.  He was alone, alone from actual human contact, although he felt today as if he had the company of time for the first time in many years. Age and slowness in the marrow of his bones often made him feel like the morning gave birth to a stillborn. Tennyson could of course amuse himself but the fire of life’s burning sun didn’t seem to burn as bright anymore without her and without his youthful marrow.

He looked up the hill that overlooked the Pacific Ocean and Terrigal Beach.  A magpie was aggressively eyeing some bystanders walking behind his vehicle and poking fun at the late model Holden that was moldy and unclean with the codependent algae fungi blend. Tennyson chuckled, the beauty of age being a welcome mockery of self and others perceptions. He got out of the car and tried to kick the magpie.  The bird popped away before getting punted and he laughed at the time Ava nearly lost an eye from a blisteringly upset Magpie who wanted some of her Lamington, or was it Pavlova?  She loved the creamy texture of Pav in her mouth so much and he the coconut sponge of the Lam.  They ate both so often that the two desserts couldn’t be separated from one another.

The slope had recently received a sand stone walkway and steps, which Tennyson happily utilized.  The arthritis in his joints burned and he gritted his gums on the glued in dentures to bring the pain from his knees and hip into his head.  Here, in the head, the pain was meaningless and weak on its knees to the power of his resolve to climb and make remembrance a reality.  His pace was steady and the occasional group of round brimmed children laughed their way up and down the hill past his turtoiselike pace.

The Australian mothers, bronzen, clad in hiking thongs, laughing about life, and using the sun and hill to exercise their children, gave Tennyson a gentle smile and perhaps a small look of surprise at his prowess in climbing the stairs at such a climatic age.  He nodded and tried to suppress his panting in the Fall 15 degree air.  Tennyson was also battling a cold that made him resort to the bright red polka dotted handkerchief he kept in his back pocket. It had an aboriginal sort of look to it and he thought it looked much like Gurrumal’s dress during the 2017 World Music Awards, which he would have attended, if it weren’t for the birth of Heath, his first son, and third child.

Pain wasn’t something that he got rid of, ignored, defeated, or changed. It was endured.  Tennyson rolled back the sleeves of his white shirt and wiped some sweat from his forehead, as he got closer to the lookout point.  Some students were taking leaf samples from the stringy bark gums near the edge of the path. He stopped and looked back down the hill.  The Christ like tops of the Norfolk pines by the Terrigal Trojan Rugby Club stretched up to the heavens.  The limbs arched imperiously into the sky, stretching, driving, yearning, to be closer to the giver of chemical energy for mother earth’s mother’s milk, photosynthesis, her ultimate green machine fuel for all of life, the bottom of the food change, the foundation, and here in this tree Tennyson loved how unabashedly the life form curled itself into the sky to be a part of it all.

He reached the summit where a blue steel fence boxed in the lookout area. No one else was there.  Australian blue skies as far as his eye could see. “I need a Boag’s,” Tennyson grumbled as his parched lips thirsted for the effervescent spirits of the south.  He looked out onto the horizon looking for the breaching of the ocean’s surface by a school of humpback whales.  It was early in the whale watching season and he kept his eyes out just in case he caught some early travelers heading north to the warmer equator waters for the releasing of their calves.

Terrigal’s beach was fairly empty, tourist season over, some young men surfing near the breakwaters by large outcroppings of bone crunching rock, some people walking their dogs on the beach, but mostly just squeaky sand and ocean.  Tennyson had convinced his daughters early in life that the sand was full of little spirits that let out a squeak when you stepped on them.  Ava disapproved of the indigenous like sand spirits but she allowed it because the children loved running around and seeing how the clamoring of their feet strung the cords of the sand spirits into a cacophony of petty squeaks.

Tennyson looked out over the ocean , beyond his sight toward where Killcare beach lay, and recalled his lies about the mighty Bombora that lay in the Killcare bay.  He had brought the kids there often to show them where the waves broke in random directions in the middle of the bay. Tennyson led them to believe that a giant sea turtle lay just underneath the water. The turtle was so large that it couldn’t move anymore and his great great great great great great great children were tasked each day with bringing the Bombora turtle food.  His shell was so massive that the waves would be forced to break around him and he shifted his weight slightly because of his amphibian arthritis, which caused the infinitely complex and seemingly chaotic pattern of wave breaks. The kids listened, sometimes not, picked up red rocks and sand stone, looked for fire burned tree trunks, and wondered if the giant sea turtle needed a doctor for his ouches.

Tennyson closed his eyes, sat down, and listened.  He heard the waves, the children, the drone of a plane in the sky, the bristling of birds in the eucalyptus infants next to the sandstone pathway, and the murmuring of his heart.  He continued to listen until it all quieted and he stayed still in case he could here the ping of bellbirds in the distance. Tennyson liked the bellbirds because they were so easily heard and almost never seen by the average passerby.