So while locked up in the Sunrise motel in Devonport Tasmania, I thought I'd make some videos. This first one -  'Absolutely Free'. The water clip I took a few months ago while swimming in Terrigal. The cormorant appeared out of nowhere.

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 cold ride. Looking forward to the weather warming up a bit. Still, loving the cold swims most mornings. 

There's an good community on this island. Dave, who runs the coffee shop is a sound engineer. Laura, who owns it and has spent time in India and makes awesome vegan pies. Apparently Dave toured with Santana for 3 years as, among other things, their official spliff-roller. They open 4 days a week for the locals. If a bus group turns up he tells them to go somewhere else like the pub or the general store. 
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.

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.