House Hunting Out of Season..

Sunday, you are so bitter-sweet.
Sweet with your slow and steady wandering, with meandering coffees and teas, calling of long lost friends, casual sock washing and loose schedules of entertainment. 
Bitter, with the creeping knowledge you a

re finite.
Not just you Sunday, but me too.

A sense of impermanence has permeated my day.. A transitory mellow ennui fell over the places I lay today like a mohair blanket. Time travel was also a part of it. I curled and I read and I was 11 in the cosy cabin home of my youth, girt by the mist addled Strathbogie mountains, The Hobbit in hand. Then I spoke to a friend who took me to 17 when we first moved to Melbourne together, when 'catching up' wasn't a concept, their company a given, still in the every day swing of completely interconnected lives like in high school, like in family, where their business is your business, everyday.

Maybe it's the end game of a week that shook and blew and threatened to slip, but Sunday feels victorious, feels luxurious, and I'm looking to the week ahead to cement this gauzy feeling of impermanence. Transition is my favored mode. Even when it's tricky. Even when you're house hunting out of season.

I think Feist knows what I'm talking about. Xx til next time

http://www.nowness.com/day/2012/8/10/2333/feist-anti-pioneer 

Okayyyyyy,


It's been a long time between posts. I know.
Song's came out! Life got busy! Nights got full! 
Please forgive me.... ;)


I want to recommend a book. Not just any book but a strange and amazing work of poetry-prose called "Letters To Emma Bowlcut' by Bill Callahan 
Bill is usually a musician -one of my favorites- with some seventeen releases to his name. 
(Well, some to his former moniker 'Smog''s name)
And this is his first novel. Novella. Book. Prose. 
It's a book of letters, from an unnamed male protagonist to a woman we never meet, Emma Bowlcut. 
He himself has only met her once, at a party, and proceeds to send her this magical, sometimes abstract, sometimes direct barrage of words (which many ladies will wish they were on the receiving end of, I'm sure..) I'm not really certain what it is, it kind of defies categorization if you ask me. It's just... beautiful. Here, let me copy-paste you some proof..


“You’re right, I can ‘prattle on’ in my letters. A more supportive friend would have described me as ‘on fire.’ In my defense… I have no defense. I love you.”


“When I moved, I unearthed the diaries I kept for ten years. I sat and went through them and they were a worthless burden to own. People will say it’s tragic I threw them out, but I know it isn’t. I don’t feel I have a true perspective on anything.”


“ At the heel end of day, I need my glass of wine. Christmas lights for the brain. In lulls we assess the gulls. I don’t want to destroy anything. But I want to know what I can destroy. I am possessed by the conviction that I need you like blood needs a vein to get from one place to another”


“You are the reason I get out of bed. To tell you that I have gotten out of bed. Yours are the only questions I want to answer. I live to pocket all the question marks, as many as I can, in your life. To discard them discretely when you’re not looking.” 


And this, a gem that made me literally put the book down, shake my head and savour the moment (though that happened a lot..) 


“I think fish became humans because they didn’t have any way to pistol whip each other.”


Amazing. Highly  recommended. 


I'll be back soon I promise with a post on some writing of my own. 


Ciao for now, I hope you are well and surrounded by things and moments that make you put your book down, shake your head and savour the moment.