if the past two years have been a cavalcade of emotions then these past eight weeks have been an epic turn-me-upside-down of anxious anticipation. why the high-strung, i can’t breathe, nervousness? because i am going home. from down under to up over i’m going back to my roots … to fond familiarity, the comfort of childhood and the…
innocent little coping mechanisms.
“thankfully, we can always put on our other favourite band’s records and get on with things. it’s an innocent little coping mechanism, but we always take those songs for granted.” these two small sentences jumped out at me while reading an article in the nov/dec 2011 frankie magazine (if this isn’t on your reading radar got…
what i heard while reading “listen to this”.
if you like books, music, history, classical theory, new york or pop culture than you have probably heard of mr. alex ross. you know, famed writer for the new yorker? musicologist, cultural anthropologist? well, if the name is new do the wiki-google-bing-tweet thing and get the bio on him. he’s devine … i recall first becoming familiar…
riding through life … without training wheels.
blissful nostalgic reminds me of a happy childhood … perhaps most fond is the memory of riding the streets in the east-end of my hometown, cobourg, with my sisters, we as the neighbourhood calvary, my sturdy deed, a bike; my mode of transportation for saturday morning paper routes, a bike; vehicle of choice for those young playful…
“optimistic aloneness”.
commenting on the lyrical talent of english singer laura marling, melbourne writer mark mordue elegantly articulates: her lyrics are not only literary, they venture into a dark yet ultimately optimistic aloneness that seems rare: neither soporifically happy, no darkly clichéd. personally, i don’t know what is better – the definitive talent of the young singer or the coined phrase…
under a new moon.
it is a monday night. cool but a hint of warmth stills the evening. typical of spring. the streets are quiet save the murmur of all blacks rugby fans that populate the vague pubs. i have perched myself on the stoop of the meager hotel that will serve as home for the coming days. moved after a…
life-shifting.
maybe it has been the music. maybe it has been the people i have met. maybe it has been my fascination with beat poets. maybe it all started when i picked up a pen again….or maybe it is just because it has been long enough. whatever the ‘if, maybe, perhaps or i suppose’ is…something is changing. something…
lingering distance.
it’s that space between coming from somewhere i knew i didn’t want to be to the place where i am still not sure i want to be. it’s that period of suspense where i am heading in some unknown direction but don’t necessarily mind taking wrong turns or even the long way around. it’s that moment of silence between stages…
slowpoke. it’s worth sitting down for.
a hectic day and all i want is to sit, breathe and mentally digress; reality escapism if you will. wandering up one of my favourite streets in melbourne my interest is suddenly piqued by what looks like a rickety cupboard door in an otherwise deserted strip of ‘for lease’ signs and refurbished construction. curiously, i stroll inside…
fell in love in castlemaine.
rural beauty. lyrical bliss. soulful birds….sustainable culinary delicacies. warm companionship. wine and laughter…all against a backdrop of cool, country crisp air of quaint castlemaine. morning comes with greetings of dandelion honey coffee; the wholesomeness of baked apples and pastries. the local says g’day as if you are his long-time friend and neighbour. in the subtle silence that…
static confusion. 