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.