The shy possum
The defiant parrot
The collared dog
ABORIGINAL EYES
The flying pig
The arboreal dragon
The ancient turtle
Friday
Animals
CAUCASIAN EYES
The shy possum
The defiant parrot
The collared dog
ABORIGINAL EYES
The flying pig
The arboreal dragon
The ancient turtle
The shy possum
The defiant parrot
The collared dog
ABORIGINAL EYES
The flying pig
The arboreal dragon
The ancient turtle
Sunday
Learning curve
LESSON #1: THE GOON
(A word is enough to the wise)
Picture:
Definition (taken from the dictionary):
Cask wine is also known as "goon" in Australia ("goon" is diminutive slang for flagon, the large bottles used before casks)
Definition (the Australian “urban legend”):
It's Aboriginal word for "pillow" because when you open the box of wine, it's actually a pouch that you can re-inflate into a pillow.
I’ve heard the word goon for the first time last week, while I was travelling down south (more details on my journey will be posted soon-ish). When I’ve been told its supposed Aboriginal origin, I thought that, sadly, this was perfect to summarize the conditions of native Australians, totally alienated in their own land, drinking terrible, cheap wine as a way to escape from their own demons. As soon as I got back to Perth, I went on Internet and did some research on the word and, quite surprisingly, I found out that its etymology has nothing to do with Aboriginal language. And so, doubly sad, I got to the conclusion that not only the goon is a perfect example to depict the conditions of the natives, but also it perfectly explains the way they are perceived by the big white galah…
LESSON #2: THE ART OF JUGGLING
(And the credit crunch)
Now, to cheer up a bit, while travelling down south I also had a vision ;)
Eventually, it all came up thanks to the wilderness of Australia and to the idea of survival in conditions that are not the ones I’m used to… Anyway, to make a long story short, I thought of Einstein quote, “I do not know how the third World War will be fought, but I can tell you what they will use in the Fourth… rocks!” and thought that maybe this is the Third World War and that the weapon being used is money. In any case, regardless of the Third, I think that Einstein was totally right about the Fourth World War and the way it will be fought. And so I thought I should start getting ready for it, you never know ;)
And so
I'm a thinkin' and thinkin', 'til there's nothin' I ain't thunk
And I came to the conclusion that, should we get to a “Fist of the North Star”-like scenario (or “Ken il guerriero” if you are Italian, “Hokuto no Ken” its original title, in any case, a post-atomic war scenario…), or should we get back to Medieval behaviors, beliefs and technology, well, then with my skills I’d be totally screwed up. Not brutal enough and too sensitive to go to war, too sincere and intellectually honest to get power (whether it’s religion or politics), too urban and totally unaware of what real physical exertion is to live according to nature, I’d be hopelessly screwed up.
And so
I'm a thinkin' and thinkin', 'til there's nothin' I ain't thunk
And I realized that people would not refuse to give some hot food and a shelter to a minstrel… Unfortunately I’m not a musician, but I’m sort of confident on the fact that I could tell stories and entertain people with them. However, that alone is not enough in rough times: words can be dangerous and a storyteller must put a mask of foolishness if he wants to survive.
And so
I'm a thinkin' and thinkin', 'til there's nothin' I ain't thunk
And here you are the results of all this bloody thinking ;)
(A word is enough to the wise)
Picture:
Definition (taken from the dictionary):
Cask wine is also known as "goon" in Australia ("goon" is diminutive slang for flagon, the large bottles used before casks)
Definition (the Australian “urban legend”):
It's Aboriginal word for "pillow" because when you open the box of wine, it's actually a pouch that you can re-inflate into a pillow.
I’ve heard the word goon for the first time last week, while I was travelling down south (more details on my journey will be posted soon-ish). When I’ve been told its supposed Aboriginal origin, I thought that, sadly, this was perfect to summarize the conditions of native Australians, totally alienated in their own land, drinking terrible, cheap wine as a way to escape from their own demons. As soon as I got back to Perth, I went on Internet and did some research on the word and, quite surprisingly, I found out that its etymology has nothing to do with Aboriginal language. And so, doubly sad, I got to the conclusion that not only the goon is a perfect example to depict the conditions of the natives, but also it perfectly explains the way they are perceived by the big white galah…
LESSON #2: THE ART OF JUGGLING
(And the credit crunch)
Now, to cheer up a bit, while travelling down south I also had a vision ;)
Eventually, it all came up thanks to the wilderness of Australia and to the idea of survival in conditions that are not the ones I’m used to… Anyway, to make a long story short, I thought of Einstein quote, “I do not know how the third World War will be fought, but I can tell you what they will use in the Fourth… rocks!” and thought that maybe this is the Third World War and that the weapon being used is money. In any case, regardless of the Third, I think that Einstein was totally right about the Fourth World War and the way it will be fought. And so I thought I should start getting ready for it, you never know ;)
And so
I'm a thinkin' and thinkin', 'til there's nothin' I ain't thunk
And I came to the conclusion that, should we get to a “Fist of the North Star”-like scenario (or “Ken il guerriero” if you are Italian, “Hokuto no Ken” its original title, in any case, a post-atomic war scenario…), or should we get back to Medieval behaviors, beliefs and technology, well, then with my skills I’d be totally screwed up. Not brutal enough and too sensitive to go to war, too sincere and intellectually honest to get power (whether it’s religion or politics), too urban and totally unaware of what real physical exertion is to live according to nature, I’d be hopelessly screwed up.
And so
I'm a thinkin' and thinkin', 'til there's nothin' I ain't thunk
And I realized that people would not refuse to give some hot food and a shelter to a minstrel… Unfortunately I’m not a musician, but I’m sort of confident on the fact that I could tell stories and entertain people with them. However, that alone is not enough in rough times: words can be dangerous and a storyteller must put a mask of foolishness if he wants to survive.
And so
I'm a thinkin' and thinkin', 'til there's nothin' I ain't thunk
And here you are the results of all this bloody thinking ;)
Wednesday
I had a dream
I fall asleep and I am in Brighton, my adopted city, walking on the seafront.
As you would expect from a dream, the reality is warped, reshaped by the subconscious according to the current state of the dreamer.
And so, here I am in Brighton, walking on the seafront, a sweet smell filling the air, the scent of palm and agave basking in the sun. The shouts of seagulls rent the air. In the dream, they are as aggressive as you would expect, their dull, glassy eyes observing you, as if they were waiting for a reaction. All in all, it’s only their size that does not match reality.
Not far, on a dry strip of land, the number one enemy of seagull is pecking: it is the pigeon, also known as “the flying rat”. But in this dream things look smoother and friendlier. And so, for the sake of aesthetics, the colors are swapped: the body and the head are pink, and the claws are gray. You would think this is a lovely bird; eventually you could say that it is a parrot.
Next detail getting my attention is a shop serving fish and chips, the glorious fast food of the British Empire. Everything looks real in this dream, the only funny thing being the name of the shop: “Brighton Fish’n’Chips”. Why would you name your shop after the city it’s in? But, although I’m sleeping, somehow I’m aware of the fact that this is not reality, and so the name makes a lot of sense: it’s like a sign that the subconscious puts in the dream, to confirm that I’m really walking on Brighton seafront.
Ok, time to approach the beach. It’s there that I fully understand that this is lucid dreaming and I laugh at the tricks of the mind: a sign reading “Brighton beach”, mixing Brighton reality (Strong Currents), Australian cliché (Large Waves and Snakes), and unknown elements (what the f&*k are Sandbars, I wonder… probably just a word that I heard/read somewhere before falling asleep).
Sometimes I wonder how you feel when you are dead (assuming you can feel anything) and how different is that state compared to the condition of being asleep. Clearly I don’t know the answer, and it’s not the purpose of this blog to give one, but rationally there is one thing that I’m sure of: if you are asleep you always wake up… And often, the passage between dream and reality is smooth, with the two melting together, probably in order to make less bitter the feeling of being awake yet again (sorry, some emo thinking emerging from my adolescence…): and so the kid that is pissing in bed dreams of water, the worker that set up an alarm in the evening dreams of lousy and annoying noises.
And so, in this lucid dreaming, a car sounds the horn and laughing, in my dream, I think: “Ok, worker, it’s time to wake up! Bloody alarm is ringing…” And what a surprise when I open my eyes and I realize that all this was not a dream, but a crazy walk underneath the Australian sun ended with me fainting in the middle of Brighton road…
As you would expect from a dream, the reality is warped, reshaped by the subconscious according to the current state of the dreamer.
And so, here I am in Brighton, walking on the seafront, a sweet smell filling the air, the scent of palm and agave basking in the sun. The shouts of seagulls rent the air. In the dream, they are as aggressive as you would expect, their dull, glassy eyes observing you, as if they were waiting for a reaction. All in all, it’s only their size that does not match reality.
Not far, on a dry strip of land, the number one enemy of seagull is pecking: it is the pigeon, also known as “the flying rat”. But in this dream things look smoother and friendlier. And so, for the sake of aesthetics, the colors are swapped: the body and the head are pink, and the claws are gray. You would think this is a lovely bird; eventually you could say that it is a parrot.
Next detail getting my attention is a shop serving fish and chips, the glorious fast food of the British Empire. Everything looks real in this dream, the only funny thing being the name of the shop: “Brighton Fish’n’Chips”. Why would you name your shop after the city it’s in? But, although I’m sleeping, somehow I’m aware of the fact that this is not reality, and so the name makes a lot of sense: it’s like a sign that the subconscious puts in the dream, to confirm that I’m really walking on Brighton seafront.
Ok, time to approach the beach. It’s there that I fully understand that this is lucid dreaming and I laugh at the tricks of the mind: a sign reading “Brighton beach”, mixing Brighton reality (Strong Currents), Australian cliché (Large Waves and Snakes), and unknown elements (what the f&*k are Sandbars, I wonder… probably just a word that I heard/read somewhere before falling asleep).
Sometimes I wonder how you feel when you are dead (assuming you can feel anything) and how different is that state compared to the condition of being asleep. Clearly I don’t know the answer, and it’s not the purpose of this blog to give one, but rationally there is one thing that I’m sure of: if you are asleep you always wake up… And often, the passage between dream and reality is smooth, with the two melting together, probably in order to make less bitter the feeling of being awake yet again (sorry, some emo thinking emerging from my adolescence…): and so the kid that is pissing in bed dreams of water, the worker that set up an alarm in the evening dreams of lousy and annoying noises.
And so, in this lucid dreaming, a car sounds the horn and laughing, in my dream, I think: “Ok, worker, it’s time to wake up! Bloody alarm is ringing…” And what a surprise when I open my eyes and I realize that all this was not a dream, but a crazy walk underneath the Australian sun ended with me fainting in the middle of Brighton road…
The kangaroo, the laughing bird and the mystery of jet lag
Day two
Perth 8am 24°C
Sitting on the patio, pink flowers and blue sky above my head, a hammock is laying next to me, just waiting to get hooked to the tree. Far too hot for a wannabe pommy…
Full on day, yesterday, I learned a new word (pommy or POM or Prisoner of Mother England), met a few lovely people (4 French guys, 1 Japanese girl and a German woman living in Thailand; no Aussies so far), and got a glimpse of the Australian way…
Here you are few tips: 1. Always wear sunscreen (30+), sunglasses and a hat; 2. Don’t worry if the notes look fake, they are not trying to rip you off; it’s waterproof money… 3. Beware of red-back spiders; they are not necessarily lethal, just make sure that, in case they bite you, you faint on a fluffy surface, avoiding banging your head against the pavement…
Full on day, yesterday, I also had a close encounter with kangaroos and kookaburras (or laughing birds). In case you are wondering, I haven’t had to zoom in to take the pictures, at least not for the kangaroos’ ones; and no, it is not a park, it is a cemetery, the gravestones being plates stuck on the ground, ashes buried underneath, no real flowers allowed (as they might poison the animals).
10.43am 30°C
Time to get going, another full on day ahead and 2 goals: try the Aussie beer and get some info on kite surfing.
And a mystery to solve… Since I arrived here (i.e. less than 36 hours ago) I’ve been waking up at 8am (11pm GMT) and I’ve been getting really sleepy at 8pm (11am GMT). Am I jet lagged? Clearly, the answer is “No, I’m not”. But that’s a bit of a superficial answer… In fact, assuming my body got accustomed to Australian time zone so quickly, how it comes that me, little vampire, lover of darkness, I’m going to bed with chickens and getting up with the sun still low on the horizon? What’s the mystery behind all this? Weave, weaver of the wind…
Time to get going, the sun is taking over the patio, the words are losing the meaning.
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