Shards of lightning smash on the surface of the water; salty and suspended in a fraction of a second. I look out at the storm clouds as they stretch across the calm and infinite horizon of the west. Where all the big container ships and creatures of the depths rest. The water is sinister and still before the storm rolls in. Silken and immobilised as a jet ski rips through her flank. White cockatoos clammer above me in the trees. Grinding and discarding nuts with a comedic aggression. They scream at one another tween the calls of other species. Makes me wish I could speak fluent bird.

Off to my right, a little girl in a pink dress sits alongside her grandfather and keeps yelling “thunder” every time she sees a bolt of lightning. A couple nuzzle on a bench on the other side, I avoid their smiling eyes at every cost. I wonder whether the beach was like this when that guy asked “can you hear the dolphins cry?” ha.

The birds increase the volume and intensity of their shrieks and, almost in succinct unison, the sky comes crashing drown from her giant growling underbelly as it churns. And everyone runs for shelter from the big ol water bullets.

I loathe being around people then.. And their chatter makes me nauseous. So I take to the reserve.. Run through an unsealed trail that hasn’t been touched for a real long time. As I run I realise there are giant spiders resting in the centre of their web beds in the treetops just barely above me. So I cover my head with my white pathetic little stumpy hands and bend and run like some kinda terrified soldier. The thunder cracks violently all around me like the trees are bout to come crashing down.

Then I realise that all I’m fucking running from is water. Which in itself is fucking ridiculous. It’s not even cold. It’s just wet. So I stop and I let it soak through all my clothes, all my hair, all my shoes and socks, and all my skin.

And sit on a burnt log and laugh at myself.

I walk a bit more and the sun comes out through the pouring rain just as I pass a committed jogger.. who, could’ve easily been a male cast member from Baywatch circa 91, but who didn’t seem to find it as funny and absurd as I did.

Must’ve been that big black cloud in the sky that looked like an angel. Or that Triangle of dead pigeons in the city with a living one perched in the middle of it. Or that old guy with a long time old m8 south American parrot sitting on his shoulder giving him Eskimo kisses. Or the old lady wearing the rain forest print shirt that had “GET LOST” printed in the centre of it. Or the woman on the bus who kept stroking my hair while proceeding to tell me that I’d be punished later.

Inner Core, Outer core, Aesthenosphere, Mantle, Upper Mantle, Crust, Lithosphere

Lithosphere. Lithosphere. Lithosphere

Plates.

So it seems that the Indo-Australian plate is splitting.. just off the West coast of Indonesia. 2 large earthquakes (measuring 8.7 and 8.2 on the Richter scale) were recorded in April 2012 that shook the floor of the Indian ocean despite being outside of the hazardous ‘Ring of Fire’ (a major area in the basin of the Pacific Ocean where most earthquakes and volcanic eruptions occur). The result was a dramatic quadruple fault rupture in Earth’s crust which caused shock waves to reverberate across the planet in the form of numerous earthquakes. Like a quiver response, if you will.

Meanwhile the African plate is also splitting in two, resulting in the formation of The East African Rift. The Afar Triple Junction – located at the northern end of the EAR – is one of the few places on Earth where we can witness plate divergence as the continental crust is actively splitting apart to form a new ocean.

The South American continental plate also seems to be overriding the Nazca oceanic plate while, simultaneously; the Altiplano-Puna plateau is being uplifted in the Central Andes by a enormous formation of molten rock in the Earth’s crust. This formation is the largest active magma body on Earth and has a large dome abscess sitting atop of it. This dome is gradually moving upward as a direct result of the thickening of the Earth’s crust due to rapid injections of magma from below. Andes.. “keep lifting me higher.. lifting me higher and higher.”

“It’s been a long while since there’s been a significant catastrophic volcanic eruption in Modern history” I think to myself.. but am also aware this could easily be debated.

PAUSE

Evidently, natural gas and petroleum are formed when layers of decomposing plant and animal matter are exposed to intense heat and pressure under the surface of the Earth over millions of years. Fossils, if you will. And here we are.. using the dead remnants of these bodies of the ancients as sources for generating heat and electricity in our everyday life. Weaving old spirits through the fabric of our industrialised realities.

Similarly, coal is formed from the remains of plants that lived millions of years ago in tropical wetlands, such as those of the late Carboniferous period. The forests and the low-lying wetlands of the Carboniferous period stretched across the super-continent Laurussia. The wetlands ended when the land level was raised by the pressure of the Godwana continent.

And so here they are again, (these plant remnants that are coal) poisoning our atmosphere like malevolent zombie creatures excavated from the haunted depths of some earthly tomb.

But then again, maybe the Earth has just employed us – little human idiots – in recent history, to blindly stray from the natural cycle of universal balance .. to help her remove these vulgar toxins that she no longer wanted there anyway; these toxic things that wiggle ‘neath her flesh. And maybe in doing so, we fuck a whole lot of other things up.. but maybe that fuck up is a necessary destruction for some other super continent or some atmospheric shift to take place.

Perhaps she’ll just kill us off like drones once our jobs here in the factory are done.

Then again (again), maybe in order for our hypothetical idealistic (come realistic) “new world order” to be born we have to learn from our present destructive human idiot ways and combine sustainable ancient practices with future technologies, who knows?

And I am typing this on a sequence of buttons (with inscribed symbols on them) connected to a black flip-able plastic book (made from aforementioned excavated resources) that is currently connected to a wall (in my little white house) by some woven wires and cables of a soft ductile metal with high thermal and electric conductivity called copper. That, coincidentally, is also an essential trace dietary mineral to all living organisms on Earth. But here, in my mere mortal form, it is rendered mainly in my muscles, liver and bones.

Which are sitting on a plate that is not made of porcelain.

What a whacky world

I was sitting on some grass in the dark the other night, looking at some big old gums get pummeled by ancient winds.. their presence in space so breathtakingly prominent. And then I thought about how their root systems were outstretched beneath me, intertwined with the smaller root systems of nearby plantilife.. like the blades of grass that held me there, breathing.

Armies of exoskeletal creatures maneuvering their ways through underground caves. Then I thought of the cool foreboding winds and how far they had come to get there, all that they had passed along the way. How they jolted the trunks and the limbs of the great old trees (that are minute specks to a plane or a star or a high flying bird). And all the little families of living creatures that had buckled down there for the night, now jolted side to side beneath a ceiling of celestial lights.

And then there are those dates we all have, to commemorate the time after we were concieved, then grown, when we were shot out a passageway to further develop a material confine and a stardust enterprise in the enchanted realm of life.

She fell gracefully.
Handed down.
Down.
Down the old isle of deathly steps from the grips of old great gods.
Gods of thunder and sky.. that churned above us.
She fell gracefully and whimpered as a kitten to a butterfly when she feel simply to the earthly floor.
Like a feather to a blanket.
And she moaned.
Her ivory teeth adorned as vitreous whitewares glowing in a moonlit bathroom after midnight.
Blue filtered and wise.
Clenched; they did bite.
Bite on. Bite down.
Bite on the nothingness of the everything that surrounded her.
Ever so gently with teeth as soft as little stones tumbling over wild rocks.
Wild rocks embraced by the bubbling of a wandering stream.
She gasped and collapsed and filled herself with breeze.
The strength of her composite body rippled outward in waveforms from beneath the ticking of her overzealous electric mind.
Her electric mind, that; being an entity that is weaved together by an intricate network of threads that make up her larger electric body, pulsated there gently.
Like an intergalactic moon rock awaiting its descent into the unchartered valleys in the realms of ancient long lost homelands; unscathed by the passages of time.
She waited awhile.

The sun; he hovers there. He’s soaked in smoke. He evenly masks the receding streets of city. All the while The At-Risk (Yet Optimistic) Young Indigenous Male walks up the terrace.

The Terrace sits there stationary as she’s walked over by breathing body masses. Aglow in the throes of what COULD be a warzone. But that is, in fact, NOT a warzone. But is, instead, a mere ‘nother day.

A Friday. Fried pavement with granite undertones. Stationary ‘neath the scuttling of human and vehicle bones. In motion. In the middle of a heave-ho. In roundabouts and stop starts and hat drops and exhaust farts.

Braided heavy metal cords and cables vibrate beneath her; The Terrace, injecting a semblance of life.

The At-Risk (Yet Optimistic) Young Indigenous Male ponders the requirements of his freshly born (C)onditional (S)uspended (I)mprisonment (O)rder; black ink on white paper like cotton stained by the splatters of placental blood.

He sits down on some neglected red brick steps that date back to the early 1920’s. He scratches his foot and soaks in the scents of the city burning. Across from him he sees the ground get ripped up by big metal digging arms. Lunging and slamming. The noise is quite abrasive but he’s heard those screams before.

There’s a pin drop,. There’s some water. There’s everything that was there before. There are remains preserved in the cool and soft soil – upturned and disturbed. There’s his mother’s memory and his eight former foster homes.

The Disgruntled Ex British Military Man walks past; reminiscing about the time his Thai wife left him after exploiting their loveless marriage for Australian citizenship – the memory manifests itself amongst his pompous afternoon jive step as he contemplates what his verdict might be.

He throws a 10 cent coin to the ground that had been lodged in the sleeve of his old jacket after taking a long path throughout the maze of the jacket’s structure. It entered through a hole in his heavily decayed pocket and exited through a fresh perforation on his sleeve wall.

The coin hits a large 400mmx400mm concrete slab and gently slips through it, like a thin delicate metal finger falling through a bowl of custard putty. The coin falls 1000m to the Terrace floor and feels her heartbeat thump against his face that wears the expression of Elizabeth II smiling.

“and so they all gob off” The terrace says “Gob off is a poxy English expression for talking shit” she says as she rolls over and attempts to rest awhile before the sun sinks his nails into her flank and the moon subdues itself in her womb.

When you wake up in the middle of the night from an emotionally charged dreamscape acutely aware of the fact that no one has (or will) ever be able to fully comprehend the depth and spectrum of your emotional faculties from your livid experience. Just as you can’t of them. And how utterly paralyzingly lonely that feels. Particularly in this light; this blue filtered light, that leaves the scenery doused in an otherworldly low lying sinister feel. And you resign yourself to remembering that that’s okay. That everything is actually totally okay. And that this is just one microscopic fraction of a huge giant picture that can’t ever be painted. Well Good morning to you too, big blue 4am moon.

Barking backlash, hacked out from the blunt impact.

She’s wandering senseless through a mountain range, backtracked. He left her there. Threadbare. Drove off in his bone, off-white, stone, cream, hand grenade of a mean machine; Defender. He didn’t care for sharp red escapades. Yet she had elicited far more than just a few from the moment she had crept into his view. So he accelerated as he swerved and left her there standing, clad in a dank cloud of dry reddened dust. Naked after the rolling.

All the little crevices in her brow were slowing forming, pinking from the pins of white light from above. Little burnt patches encasing an otherwise ivory wildfire that was her facial pyre. Looking down into the earth, dancing with the dirt; “Life here is immaculate” she inspired. She was a maiden wooden creeper, swooping through the hillside like a bird of pure grace; a tender kind of prey. She held on tight when in flight. From her abdominal instrument right through to her thoracic spinal chimes a’ringing. Her trunk alight there; electric, tensing atmospheric.

She wouldn’t be leaving here without every path having been traversed ever so gently. From the Sky Mouth to the River Birth. There is not much she can say of life but that all paths ought only be begun when undefined, so as to be carved out as Adonis from a cold Stone block, with precision and with time. She’s parading her mask around here always; that romantic come pedantic youthful hand of an artist’s apprentice, in demand. Masterfully engaged with doing justice to the wide turning lands. There is no sore sky for her here now, no faded eyes in her sight here now. Life here merely glitters majestic; voltaic and wholly wild.

But the hillside is left alight tonight. The whole forest ablaze. The huntress’ garden flaming. She’s rooted like a tree after a storm, knee deep in the mud and low-down like a liar. I can’t begin to explain it. Nor even retain it. I’ve nurtured her like a willow, weeping. I’ve bludgeoned her pillow, stirred with her waters and comforted her like a daughter.