Rhys Arvidson @rfcarbon

This is not so much an attack or denigration of medicos, many of them work very hard and long to care for people. It's more an observation about the state of humanity. No-one really knows what we're doing, we're all just having a crack, in the face of bewildering circumstances.

The realisation that the people running things, experts, are really just haphazardly poking at things and hoping for the best I'm finding particularly represented in the medical field. A lot of palming-off, generic advice, disinterest, "that's just the way it is." This is not..

Middle Groge.

It's been a very crumpet-y year.

"A story of yourself created by other people." Marg. Dehl. 🤯

I'm listening to Play now. I probably haven't listened to the whole album in 20+ years, I'm mainly skipping the big singles, mostly listening to all of the in between tracks. You're right, it is actually a good album. I guess one or two of the tracks started to grate with me through over-hearing back then, but overall yes it is a great album. I think as well, being that age was a pretty complicated collections of feelings, and this album takes me back there.

God I'm so glad to be 45 rather than 19, when you're old it's easy to say I wish I was young. But when presented with the reality of it, really actually it was thoroughly shit, just awful. Plagued by all manner of neuroses, issues, insecurities, anxieties, and you don't really have much freedom or autonomy, at least I didn't, I mean I could go where I wanted mostly, but I had no say in the general trajectory of my life. I was just an all-round bum and loser. There were some reasons and excuses as to why, but ultimately we can only put it on ourselves rather than blame circumstance.

I feel goodwill towards those removalists.

These salt and pepper grinders are ruining my life.

That's tangent Elder.

Molly has a degree in Midwoofery.

Should say 'don't' be like that, dammit.

How to proceed? Let prudence be your touchstone, let wisdom be your ocean-star. Let a wise old mule gesture towards the way of light. And heed! lest you fall into chaos and destitution. Many have gone astray- many unwise souls to what seemed at the time to be the way of merriment and cheer, but in time led to nought but a dusty corner full of discarded carrot tops. What a disappointment! Especially when it was entirely avoidable. Be wise; be not slovenly. Be bright like a starfish, not dull like an underwhelming old row-boat. Do BE like that! Sew up your old gowns, lace your shoes with confidence, throw your inhibitions into council-provided recycling facilities. May the grace of all those gone before smile upon you. The good, the medium, the highest, the bluest, the most singular of all, abide in all harmony with your timid and shirking soul. BE THERE! At the Newcastle Motordrome! Old Punt Road, Tomago, 2322.

One day in Awaba there was some small rain, just a little dampening. Meanwhile the trains rumble by through the thick air. At Jen's house there is rich colour and fragrant odours; delicious mystical emanations. Sometimes I forget about Booragul when I catch the train, did the platform previously have grass? Boolaroo has been mostly rehabilitated I guess. Teralba is more or less the same, still harbouring mega-burgers. And the trains sometimes thunder, sometimes swish or clank along. The guinea pig sends his warmest regards and well-wishes to all and sundry. Good luck and good fortune! Let prosperity abound! Last time there was a scooter, and I didn't die. Just "good times, good brews, good buddies."

Those heavy but somehow delightful edge-dwellers, aloof in the world, manoeuvring through the buffetings of circumstance. But also discretion comes into play, it's also part of it. The lanes of light. The hues of refreshment. May they nourish and strengthen our bodies; renewed for your service; ministering droids, service-oriented humanoids, like a self-propelled rock of recrudescence. Oh those old times really were a microcosmos. From the outside it just looked like nothing, meanwhile inside it was distinctly something. Dropped postage items, a thorny hill, someone who emigrated, salt of the earth. A boiler-maker by trade he liked living in Rutherford I guess.. or didn't, perhaps we'll never know. Perhaps the fowl of the air may have heard a hint. I think now it was unwise to climb on it.

But this is a snap-judgement, upon deeper interrogation it appears we were in the right the whole time! I will never forget this. Even if the creek is all clogged up with silt and invasive weeds, a dismal state of affairs really. Can it be turned around, turn night into day, hill into valley, East Gosford into West Cessnock, a trampoline into a fish made of felt? Who pulls the levers, who do we catch a glimpse of at the edges? I thought I saw something. Nevermind. Sometimes it is better just to remain unaware, to just think about what's immediately before you. For example, this lemon.

BYO blocks.

There is a void.

Not only have these cushions failed to be useful, they've also been quite useless.