Magic was important to me for a while. I was strangely tethered to an idol. But it wasn’t a sophisticated connection, nor constant. In contemplating my imagined virus, I was variously confused, frightened, forgetful, fine.
For a few seconds, I’m rendered speechless. I look at the academic hosting our session. She half-smiles nervously, but doesn’t intervene. ‘No,’ I finally answer. ‘No. I will not be releasing an album.’
It’s always summer in childhood. I remember when we went to see the Peanuts movie Race for Your Life, Charlie Brown for your birthday. Your dad dropped us off outside the cinema and we accidentally went into the wrong cinema and saw The Deep instead. It was 1977. We were nine years old. Lost treasure, Jacqueline Bisset in a wet T-shirt, harpoon guns. We lived next door to each other until we were 15, our back yards joined by a gate cut into the fence, through which we could come and go as we pleased. We climbed to the tops […]
The ocean’s benevolence raised me; not fishes hauled and eaten in abundance, but its great iconoclast, the whale. This custody was devised by two parents finally decisive about their irrevocable differences, that the Southern Ocean and the Victorian plains do not cohabit. My mother would never declare ‘I am a whale’ as I declared ‘I am a seal’. Her name’s meaning, ‘dark stranger’, is an internalised marker. A name in vogue in the late 1950s, but maybe even at one day old, they perceived her as foreign. If we tend towards the souls of things, then the bookshelf of hardback […]
The circle puts you back to where you started. The circle is not a solution; it is reflective, contemplative, ceremonial.
A few months ago, I had to rip my zucchini plants out of their pots from the roots and chuck them in the bin. They had been fighting a fungus for months, wilting and turning white, the fruits’ growth stilted at half-mast, drooping. When the frost came, I knew it was over for them; the fertiliser wasn’t bringing them back to life, and neither was I. I wasn’t ready for the cold either, but unfortunately no one will rip me from my roots and put me out of my misery. When I first moved to Victoria, people kept telling me […]
Commonplace by John Clarke
The Observation of Beautiful Forms by Jane O’Connell