Thursday, April 30, 2015

Bought me a boat


Housing Anxiety? Moi?
In my fretty bloodrush about where and how to live, I've settled upon the perfect answer to such conundrums:
a) Buy a boat.
b) Ask my sister to take glamour shots while it's still on the back of the ute.

Just as a chaotic period seems to be the right time to acquire a puppy, housing stress is the right time to get a boat ... right?
Right.

What a darling she is. I bought her from Old Salt. A vintage, fully riveted Namco, who also made pressure cookers and pots and pans and stuff. Old Salt had fitted her out for his own nefarious purposes and sold her on the condition that he be able to borrow it back on dark and gloomy nights.


Wednesday, April 29, 2015

A room of one's own and five hundred a year

"I could live in a tent down at Cosy Corner."
By the sea, near the island, watch seabirds plumbline from sky to bait flushed up by bonito. Day by day. Write stories.
"I could live in a cave."
Stroking stone every night. The fireplace smoke swirling around and darkening the granite.

I could live anywhere. But I have the Bobcat. The dog. Oh, and my child standing on the verge and looking toward his life as an adult across the road, ready to step out in a break between traffic.

So maybe I can't feral out down at Cosy Corner just yet. The thing is, I've been so comfortable and happy where I have been living and now it's on the market and the positive offers are flooding in and I have to find somewhere else to live. To live. When I don't actually have a wage to speak of. Or a partner swinging in their public service safety net. I've written two books here. My family are here. I grew up here. I was philosophical about all this, until the real estate agent banged in the 'for sale' sign with a ringing of her gimpy hammer on star pickets the other day.

Tuesday, April 28, 2015

Back to the shack


 Chased a rainbow to Kundip.



Into the Freaky Forest.
Below is a close up of the strange beauty that is lichen.



Worked on my wall of um ... toa. That's it. The Wall of Toa. 
Kundip kerosene tins, maps and an original Catherine Gordan



 ... and spent ANZAC day wandering about Cocanarup ...



Monday, April 20, 2015

A most excellent ranthem

While we are on the subject of slam poets, here is Ranthem by Omar Musa:


Sunday, April 19, 2015

"I am apocryphal"


A Journey Travelled

Hey, here is a great book:


The cover of Murray Arnold's book shows an image of Mokare', a man who played a pivotal role liaising between the local Menang population and colonisers in the 1820-1830s. I like everything about this book cover ... the dots and stripes across the body correlate to both Mokare's culture and the town hall. You can walk down the main drag and when you get to the library, his statue and the town hall are equidistant to each other.

It's not only the cover though. Murray Arnold has taken up the challenge of turning the wealth of available material into a coherent narrative of what exactly happened in King George Sound in the years between first contact and 1926. Nice work, Murray. A Journey Travelled is written in a vivid, layman's language which I appreciate, (because I'm one of those academics who rail against the brick wall that academia cements itself inside.) This is an everywoman's readable history of the great southern region*. Murray Arnold's epilogue, much like the final page in Kim Scott's That Deadman Dance, is quite devastating. A Journey Travelled is a good read and it's a really important addition to the small canon of recorded history about the impact of colonisation on the south coast of Western Australia.

Friday, April 17, 2015

At the King's Table Now

Milo (64) died in a public toilet on Tuesday.
People expressed their grief and condolences on the local newspaper's facebook page. "That they had gone to help a homeless man in the area by taking him hot food and drink on a recent cold, wet night." We all saw Milo camping in the open, facing the southerly winds after he'd been evicted from the under croft where people wanted to park their fleet cars. He was part of our civic furniture, a ragged curiousity piece in a pale blue coat studded with tarmac. Sometimes when it was cold we all gave him hot food or cigarettes and when it was too late we all recorded our acts on facebook because we all are a good people, living in a kind, caring community who all let Milo (64) die in a public toilet on Tuesday.