La pomme est pour le vieux singe. The old monkey gets the apple.

0 halfpastbedtime00bash_0034

“Once we were blobs in the sea, and then fishes, and then lizards and rats and then monkeys, and hundreds of things in between. This hand was once a fin, this hand once had claws! In my human mouth I have the pointy teeth of a wolf and the chisel teeth of a rabbit and the grinding teeth of a cow! Our blood is as salty as the sea we used to live in! When we’re frightened, the hair on our skin stands up, just like it did when we had fur. We are history! Everything we’ve ever been on the way to becoming us, we still are. […]

I’m made up of the memories of my parents and my grandparents, all my ancestors. They’re in the way I look, in the colour of my hair. And I’m made up of everyone I’ve ever met who’s changed the way I think.”

― Terry Pratchett, A Hat Full of Sky

The heron blames the water because he cannot swim.

0 grayladybirdssto00wrigrich_0101

“THE PEACE OF WILD THINGS”
by Wendell Berry

When despair grows in me
and I wake in the middle of the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

http://www.rjgeib.com/thoughts/berry/berry.html

“When she transformed into a butterfly, the caterpillars spoke not of her beauty, but of her weirdness. They wanted her to change back into what she always had been. But she had wings.” ― Dean Jackson

0 CUbiodiversity1126107_0132

When she was fourteen, she says,
she ran away from home, at sixteen
she bought a big bike and hit the road,
moving from town to town, looking for
something she can’t explain.

JOHN TRANTER

BUTTERFLY

http://johntranter.net/

0 BUTTERFLY2

The poor man seeks for food, the rich man for appetite.

0 IZZYS MAY 2008 003

foto- armidale out at dumaresq dam on a picnic 2008

EUGENE FIELD PICNICTIME

It’s June ag’in, an’ in my soul I feel the fillin’ joy
That’s sure to come this time o’ year to every little boy;
For, every June, the Sunday-schools at picnics may be seen,
Where “fields beyont the swellin’ floods stand dressed in livin’ green”;
Where little girls are skeered to death with spiders, bugs, and ants,
An’ little boys get grass-stains on their go-to meetin’ pants.
It’s June ag’in, an’ with it all what happiness is mine –
There’s goin’ to be a picnic, an’ I’m goin’ to jine!

One year I jined the Baptists, an’ goodness! how it rained!
(But grampa says that that’s the way “baptizo” is explained.)
And once I jined the ‘Piscopils an’ had a heap o’ fun –
But the boss of all the picnics was the Presbyteriun!
They had so many puddin’s, sallids, sandwidges, an’ pies,
That a feller wisht his stummick was as hungry as his eyes!
Oh, yes, the eatin’ Presbyteriuns give yer is so fine
That when they have a picnic, you bet I’m goin’ to jine!

But at this time the Methodists have special claims on me,
For they’re goin’ to give a picnic on the 21st, D. V.;
Why should a liberal universalist like me object
To share the joys of fellowship with every friendly sect?
However het’rodox their articles of faith elsewise may be,
Their doctrine of fried chick’n is a savin’ grace to me!
So on the 21st of June, the weather bein’ fine,
They’re goin’ to give a picnic, and I’m goin’ to jine!

Life is a bridge. Cross over it, but build no house on it. Indian.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
gleniffer bridge at the promised land near bellingen 2008

He stood on the bridge at midnight,

Disturbing my sweet repose,

For “he” was a great big mosquito,

And “the bridge” was the bridge of my nose.

West Coast Sentinel (Streaky Bay, SA  6 March 1931

When thine enemy retreateth, make him a golden bridge
For a flying enemy make a silver bridge

Better afield with the birds than hanging on lords.

0 PEL AND SEAGULLS

foto- bellwood at nambucca heads 2013

Pelicans, deliberations finished,
Glide on my wings.
It’s time to say: Until we meet again
To the palmtree shore.

What we saw – we saw,
What we heard – we heard – enough!
Twilight glides on pelican wings,
The sun sinks into the sea.

Leonardas Andriekus

 

Hey, bullies, ho, bullies, what have ye seen, Flying with the seagulls where the sea was green?

Cicely Fox Smith

0 SAF BELLWOOD

FOTO – seagulls at bellwood nambucca heads

It was there that I found them:
the seagulls – the secret
of where they go at night.
Like snowfall on the road,
a tight-hooked rug of white fleece nubs:
no road, no verge, only birds.

Belinda Rule
Gestalt with Seagulls

Weather, wind, women, and fortune, change like the moon.

0 MOON

What can we gain by sailing to the moon if we are not able to cross the abyss that separates us from ourselves? This is the most important of all voyages of discovery, and without it, all the rest are not only useless, but disastrous.

Thomas Merton

0 MOON MUSIC

A rickety chair will not long serve as a seat,

0 CHAIRS

FOTO- chairs at bellingen growers’ markets

and speaking of an entirely different kind of chair

Beware of plastic stacker chairs

BARRY KEARNS

Trevor’s on a mission to Consumer Affairs,

trying to get a ban on plastic stacker chairs

He reckons that they’re dangerous, a serious threat to life

Cos it was through a plastic chair that he got into strife.

It was at the Tamworth Festival, a concert in the park,

Trev and Ken were there, with gear to last them until dark.

An esky full of coldies, Trev was without a care-

Stubbies, thongs and t-shirt, on his plastic stacker chair.

But as he stretched his legs out, his left crown jewel rolled free,

and dropped through the chair seat, a real catastrophe.

But Trev remained unaware of his dire situation,

Until they gave the singer a standing ovation.

As Trev rose to his feet he gave a fearsome yell,

Cos tethered to his testicle,

The chair came up as well.

He grabbed the chair with both hands as he crashed back to the ground,

But the errant family jewel was well and truly stuck he quickly found

He tried to extract the enclosed cod but he began to curse

Cos nothing he did seemed to work, it only made things worse.

Trev’s mate Ken was laughing fit to go right off his brain,

Ken’s tears were from laughter but Trev’s were from real pain.

Ken produced a Stanley knife and Trev’s mouth went dry,

He said “I’ll only cut the chair” but Trev wouldn’t let him try.

Well Ken climbed underneath the chair and tried to poke things through,

It’s times like these when you find out what your mates will really do.

They pulled and poked and prodded but all efforts were in vain

Trevor’s nut was red and raw and giving heaps of pain

All this unwanted attention was no good you realise,

Trevor’s tortured testicle swelled to twice its size.

Well the word spread quickly througT the Park,

And people tried to get a glimpse of trev’s threatened castration.

Mums and Dads and kids and dogs of every age-

Trev got more attention than the singer on the stage.

Little kids were pointing, dogs were trying to have a smell,

And Trevor, trying to cover up, said “Go to Bloody Hell”!

“Poor bloke needs an ice pack” was the only good advice,

So they sat Trevor over his esky, with his agate in the ice!

Someone called an ambulance, and they drove through the crowd,

Trev was drinking Bundy rum, and swearing very loud.

When the ambos stopped laughing they carted Trev away,

to the hospital where he was the highlight of the day.

Well Trevor’s now recovered, with both crown jewels in place,

But don’t offer him a plastic chair if you truly value your face.

And next year at the Festival Trevor will be there,

wearing tight undies and long trousers, on his canvas fold-out chair.

I can feel the souls of my ancestors calling me back home To all the familiar places and tracks I once did roam

Source: http://www.creativespirits.info/aboriginalculture/arts/calling-me-home#ixzz3cLm28UAs

Lyndon Lane, Goodooga, NSW0 INDIAN

foto – izzy foreal at indian restaurant in bellingen 2013

I look back with gladness to the day when I found the path to
the land of heart’s desire, and thank Fate ceaselessly with a
loud voice that she did not permit the town to sap all the years
away while the heart was turning to wind-voices and
flower-faces and the hands of kindly earth.


–   Mrs. George Cran, The Garden of Ignorance, 1913)

I like to sleep In a cosy bed, With a blanket for my feet And a pillow for my head.

SLEEP BY JILL MCDOUGALL

0clarz

“I’ve always envied people who sleep easily. Their brains must be cleaner, the floorboards of the skull well swept, all the little monsters closed up in a steamer trunk at the foot of the bed.”

― David Benioff, City of Thieves

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Learning to stumble through life without the comfort of booze.

SoberPunks

A sweary alcohol recovery blog written by a Yorkshireman

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biographical, non-fiction

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Emotional musings- emotionspassion@gmail.com

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Singapore to New Zealand - 12,000km by human power!

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