Things I do not want to talk about at parties

May 18, 2011

This is the worst thing. This dry mouth belly tumbling soul sucking can’t tell if I’m breathing. People say the art of conversation is dead. That we don’t know how to connect any more. That our relationships have devolved into farce and fancy, as though the rules of engagement are tempered by deliberate pantomime and […]

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February 1, 2011

The summer I finished my Honours degree, I worked five days a week and drank six. I remember very little of my day job from back then; in my memory I slept until midday and washed my hangovers off in the shower with the previous night’s conquest. I spent the afternoon jacking myself up on […]

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December 10, 2010

Most of my heroes have been arrested. Many have stood on the wrong side of the law. And the law has not always stood for truth. The law has stood for control, dominance, and sometimes even manipulation. Law, at it’s best, has served to protect. Yet it has also served as a means of restricting […]

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December 9, 2010

I’ve become seasonal. Season-affected. Unfolding in the sun, hanging heavy in the rain, a spark-of-sunshine smile cracked through blanket cloud. I watch the cars pause and the people chattering inside, fishbowl tongues flapping. White water, white water, white water. I sit at the back of the tram next to a man in a long coat. […]

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Lost and found

November 11, 2010

Back in June, these few paragraphs and a meditation on death and animals (that eventually became the ‘Cattle Country’ post at Overland) were originally the same piece of writing. I’m not sure why I never posted this part. Perhaps it felt unfinished. * Cadie left me a couple of days ago and I’m sitting in […]

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September 8, 2010

1. My grandmother’s piano has scales. The wood is old and the varnish is flaking. It’s ten years since she died—almost to the day. I don’t know exactly which day. Perhaps it was the day I saw ducklings by the creek and a black-nosed kangaroo peeping through the trees. Perhaps it was the day the […]

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Nothing again, nothing

July 25, 2010

We spent weeks driving through sparse winter sunscapes, in such a rush to be somewhere else, in such a rush to be in a rush, stopping only for salt pans, salt plains, salt lakes, salt rock, salt water—like some giant god cried into the centre of this continent, underscored our apathy with tears that could […]

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Swamp country

July 4, 2010

I spent the last nine days in the bush with a collection of family and friends. A party of twelve. I wrote in notebooks with bugs squashed between the pages. My feet are still black from dirt and burnt spinifex, a stubbed toe, a banged-up chin, mosquito bites itched open and bleeding—hundreds of pinpricks that […]

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Light pollution

June 19, 2010

I spent the majority of my childhood with the sound of traffic in the background, in places where you can’t see the stars for the streetlights. The bush was a place to go temporarily, because we’d always come back over that hill on the Hume eventually, and I’d strain to see the glitter of the […]

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Gulf country

June 6, 2010

It’s May 14. Our lantern has run out of batteries, so I’m writing this in the amenities shelter in the campground at Boodjamulla (Lawn Hill) National Park. I’m writing on lined paper in a fine blue pen and I have to stop every couple of words to brush the moths off the page and pick […]

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