March 29

metaphor and object – a relationship – how is a relationship like a carpet or a car or a red motorcycle…

bringing the unconscious into the process. the possibility is there to serve us at all times and we just have to instruct or command it what to do…..

Upton street a milk bar with faded ink-jet ads in the window once loved, there’s graffiti on the wall nobody cares much about this place it’s going to the dogs…

A realisation:

thinking a bout a house I used to live in
fifteen years ago
thinking of the things we used to do,
why does it seem like yesterday?
who came and stole that time away

If I could just reach back
and stroke one of those memories
and let the sensations come to me
like it was yesterday

how did all those years just dissolve away
and where am I today?
and where do I want to be?
what’s important to me?
Have I really got anything to say?

There’s those weekend cyclists with their constrictive Lycra they ride to work all week so they can be heroes here along the boulevard the race down the bay the informal one on Sunday

Standing on the bridge that spans the esplanade at St.Kilda
with the palm trees waving
and traffic screaming
and out ahead of me
the sand spit’s a pointing finger,
the marina and the pier,
and a lot of sails punching through the air,
a light breeze,
a lot of shipping containers on the horizon.
The wind over my ears reminds me of a jet aircraft passing over head at quite a height.

Jellyfish propelling themselves with their bulbous heads, jelly fishes of light shimmer under the water when the waves come in, the sand blows up in a bloom and settles again, pulses and chains of light like square cyclone fencing. The waves coming in remind me of the embrace of a lover the waves seem to wrap around the body of the water fencing

Hundreds of finger sized fish moving moving in synchronous turns where someone has cast a line and the bait is calling.

overheard: “Young doctors these days just rely on tests, rather than examinations”

An A.M. radio scratches out a tune at the end of the pier and some people who frequent the salvos mission are there

some of their conversation…….

“you got anything to eat”

“no, I ate it all last night when I was ‘Bongin’ [smoking marijuana]”

A casting incident as one of them throws back the rod without looking almost collecting a roughish passerby, a threat of violence in the air

The girl says ” A guy dropped his wallet, I was gonna have it, I reached down to pocket it and he turned, I said here you are Misterr”

“who’s coming to sacred heart for lunch?”

The one with the plaid cap nods…

What’s the story here… why are they in this position…. misfortune, alcoholism, abuse? what’s going on?

The pier and fishing is there a bigger story is this a metaphor for something? What are they fishing for – a better life what exists here for them

he’s slipping now between radio station the static is stabbed with opera and hip hop and a tinny tiny voice from the football

he says the “radios’s had it – like me.”

The sailboats large foresail’s made of wood quite angular sails.

Getting to the mountains is not hard -it s getting free of the spaghetti chains fo the city, the roads that loop and coil like annacondas squeezing the life out of you..

Spaghetti loop roads
and lorry loads
of consumer goods that come from China
that make our lives much finer

are we just living in a created need
something born of a marketing seed

A boat being pulled along by another – is its motor broken – it’s good to have friends around when your motor’s broken.

Who’s top of the class all these years later I wonder?
who’s doing well as expected
was it the one who got all the girls
or the brainy kid quiet in the corner

arranging music by colour

is Kick drum Black/deep blue?
is a guitar yellow or green if it’s distorted is it bright Red/ crimson red
is a string wash lime green
a snare light blue
are toms purple
cymbals gold
piano green
a snare drum yellow

Passing a reeking garbage bin the smell of orange peels

Tile son the wall of a pub reflect the road back in shattered curly pieces