Well I’ve moved to Cemetery Rd, bought a motorbike, trained my car to stop beeping when I don’t wear a seatbelt, wear a stackhat to keep my head warm, haven’t watched or listened to tv or radio for 15 yrs so missed all the propaganda, sometimes feel like an alien in my own country, I love life and the people I share it with; I don’t have a death wish 😂, think that whether we’re vaxed or unvaxed we must respect and support each other’s decisions,  I reject mandatory vaxing and passports as the most dangerous exercise in social control and think we all need to wake up to it, stand up, respectfully say what we think and share the love. 

Amigo, It's 3.30am on a Wednesday morning and I'm drinking a delicious coffee in front of the fire I've managed to keep going through the night. I love the still silence of the early hours, even though the wind is lashing around outside. I brought the bike over to Bruny yesterday - a fairly cold, arduous ride - look forward to the weather warming up a bit. Still, have managed to get 4 cold swims in since being here and more to come. 

There's an interesting community on this little island. Dave, who runs the Lunawanna coffee shop, is a Brazilian sound engineer. He toured with Santana for 3 years as, among other things, their official spliff-roller. He is open 4 days a week for the locals only. If a bus group turns up he tells them to go somewhere else like the pub or the general store. 
A young Swiss guy just did some work for us making a driveway over the hilly clay that was impassable in the rain. He did a nice job. We connected immediately on first meeting - lovely how that happens sometimes. The day he finished the work, Dylan and Jake were here. I invited him to join us for a bbq and several whiskies. Was a good night! 
Today I'm heading back to Hana and Ben's farm with the ute (pickup) to cut more firewood and bring back the guitar I accidentally left there yesterday. The change from Tumbi to here is strange in many ways. Moving from acreage to a couple of little boxes takes a bit of adaptation, But humans are good at adapting and I remind myself we're exactly where we need to be. And then, sure enough, we are - after all this time we have been born into with its environment and issues is our time and our environment. The sense of disempowerment is actual on one level - we vent our opinions for others to regard or disregard. That's sort of like having taken the blue pill but with the knowledge of the prison we're in - the worst sort of blue pill experience! I mean at least we could be blissfully unaware like many. 
But the 'exactly where we need to be' also opens the door to the red pill experience. And there we have huge power and huge vulnerability. And the business is to make right choices in a world of absolute interconnectedness and absolute isolation. And we have to use all the powers and processes we have learned to stay connected because the alternative is unbearable. That's kinda my story anyway. And then you die for a moment. 
Enough of that I hear you cry...lol!
I'll give this fire a kick and head back to the sack. Always seem to sleep well after a coffee...

Day 13 - still in quarantine. Felt like playing this one for some reason, maybe to see if I could. It came about in Zeehan, 1974 - they were good days. No portable phones, no social media. If I was transported back there now I wouldn't feel I'd lost anything, which reminds me - the night before last I had a dream in which I was compelled to climb into a time machine which looked like a largish microwave oven. I was carrying a book of unknown title and a passport. That feeling of apprehension mixed with a sense of adventure, heading somewhere completely unknown is still with me.

This is a song that's been kickin' around for a while.....

Wakeup's another more recent tune. I like singing it. It seems to be coming of age.

So while locked up in the Sunrise motel in Devonport Tasmania, I thought I'd try to get this song-video thing happening. The first shot at it is this one - 'Absolutely Free'.

We arrive in Tasmania under police guard.
I'm not sure whether they're protecting the community, us or themselves, but they're nice guys doing a job so we crack jokes and put up with the theatre. The masks they've given us steam up my glasses so I go back to the neck scarf. There are 5 of us "govvies" going into government hotel accommodation for 14 days and we board a bus for the Sunrise Motel. We decide to share phone numbers so we can communicate over the time if we want and maybe have a zoom session.
There are locked cyclone gates into the establishment and a similarly fenced off exercise yard in the central parking area. It's standard motel fare, but we're lucky with opening windows and the exercise yard.
The cops are trying to be helpful. They help us with our gear. I sense they're hating this. It's like being a fire brigade volunteer with a beeper, and all you get beeped to do is wash diesel off the roads after an accident.

The older it gets the more rubbish is wrote
so its parents and friends push it off in a boat
and call on the waves to keep it afloat
til it dreams up a wrinkling twinkle
and it steadies itself at the helm
It steadies itself at the helm.

A wrinkling twinkle’s a nonchalant thought
that spins off a wheel to be subtly caught
by the tendrils of time that emerge from the rhyme
to usher a twinkle right out of the wrinkle
the wrinkle back into the realm,
the wrinkle back into the realm.

But now that the twinkle is out on its own
the waves become wild and the dreamer is thrown
from the front and the back of the in and the out
til it calls out aloud to the tide
oh thank you so much for the ride
yes thank you so much for the ride.

Then things are unusually still
becalmed on a watery hill
it looks for a seed of a nonchalant thought
to pop up ahead in a faraway port
where twinkles and wrinkles can never be caught
and it steadies itself at the helm
it steadies itself at the helm.


out of nobody comes light
nobodys knowing why darkness is blowing,
but flowbodies, crowbodies silently working.

nobody is right nobody can light
nobody is real nobody can feel
nobody has cure for a way to endure
nobody is pure its okay

not knowing the nobody way

So here we are again friend, bending time
spinning wheels and leaning on the taper
take a pen and grind the nib on paper.

But plastic boards with letters are the means
pause delete and scroll back to your teens
be unafraid of twaddle on a screen
just hope that all of this will go unseen

tho what’s the point of writing now for nought?
Quite simple friend, unload redundant thought
then on the flow and feeling as we might
bend a moment's dullness into light.

The play, the joke, laughter with an elf
“your solemn duty is ‘enjoy yourself!’”
A mingling of music on a street
a blessing that compels your soul to beat
a tickin time a tapping of the heart
bringing from an ending to a start
pentameter iambic off the lead
to lift its leg and sow another seed.