• On His Side Of The Mountain

    She was gone and he could picture no future in which she would come back. The rear wheels of the pickup truck that she had driven away from him had kicked up a cloud of dust that was still settling. The sun slipped suddenly but silently behind the gentle slope that peaked behind his house as the last of the dust gently landed and rejoined the driveway from which it had been stirred. Life under the sun continued on the far side of the mountain but here on his side of the mountain the sun had set on him and him alone.

  • The Only Bliss On Which He Could Rely

    He had been fighting for some time to avoid becoming an alcoholic but it was a losing battle in the hour between dinner and sunset. Condensation was forming on the side of the wine glass and he watched it with intensity.

    The heat was dry but unrelenting. Sweat forged a gentle pathway from his hairline to his eyebrow to the tip of his nose. The solitary drop hung there momentarily, suspended without support just as he had been for months. The drop finally released and fell gently to the ground after a moment that lasted three. It splashed gently on the porous brick below and evaporated immediately.

    He stood and picked up the glass by the stem. The condensation was perfectly distributed around the glass, like freshly fallen snow settling on even ground.

    He smashed the glass against the edge of the table and watched shards of the glass scatter – some from the force of the impact and some in the cascade of wine he had caused. He could feel blood running down his hand but his only reaction was to laugh.

    He stepped forward, laughing even as he felt glass crunching below his feet. There was pain now but that meant that recovery would come next and recovery – the departure of physical pain; the pain real enough to feel – was the only bliss on which he could rely.

  • No Point In Taking The Bait

    My phone buzzed and softly illuminated the corner of the kitchen where I had left it sitting. It would be my dad asking about the weather.

    I initiated a chain reaction of muscle movement that propelled me toward the phone with a not insignificant protest from my spirit.

    It was a photo from Kristie. Her lying in my bed wearing nothing but a tank top and lacy panties that were probably black but I hoped were blue. She had cropped it in a way that made me wish she hadn’t cropped it at all. This would have been her intention and thus there was no point in taking the bait.

  • My Whole ‘Old Gold’ And Blue Heart

    #1 Kansas 63
    #11 West Virginia 74

    The last time West Virginia defeated the top-ranked team in the land was February 1983 – 17 months before I was born. This makes today’s victory a once in a lifetime (so far!) event and I’m enjoying it accordingly.

    Big moments like this always make me feel connected to my home state and alma mater in a way that isn’t always available to me here in Australia.

    I value such moments with my whole ‘old gold’ and blue heart.

    As John Denver would say: “the radio reminds me of my home far away.”

    Montani Semper Liberi.

    Let’s Go Mountaineers!

  • Uncooperative In Nature And Art

    I hated this tree. It was uncooperative in nature and art; disagreeable in temperament. I had a sister once that behaved the same way. I still do, I guess, but we don’t talk anymore so past tense strikes me as being more appropriate.

    Cooperation is hard for a creator to find, you know? Singular vision such as the vision I enjoy is hard to explain to the layman. Or this damn tree.

    Then, all at once, there was no explanation necessary. A strong wind skated across the top of the water and every branch and limb the tree possesses lifted at once and the great green bastard began to assume the appearance of lumbering from side to side like some kind of gentle giant. It came to life before my eyes and did this dance for me alone: the only man who could interpret it.

    I love this damn tree.

  • A Steaming Pulse That Is Undetectable

    It was only after he crossed the river into the open country that he realized how much heat was pulsing below the asphalt veins and arteries of the city. The temperature cooled noticeably as he moved further and further away from a steaming pulse that is undetectable when you are among those being boiled but from this distance is observable as a gentle haze obscuring the view of the city from which it rises.

  • I Felt Bad For Not Liking Them

    For years I allowed the world – or, worse: my idea of the world – to define me. My sense of self came not from within but from the people around me; people I didn’t understand, couldn’t trust and some of whom I just plain didn’t like. Yet I felt bad for not liking them. I didn’t feel I had the right to dislike anybody, even if I had compelling reasons to dislike them.

    All of this just made me feel worse.

  • There Was No Light As He Walked

    The odor of beer and piss slowly gave way to that of day-old seafood scraps. There was no light as he walked and the adjustment from neon glow to darkness made him feel as though he was quite literally seeing red. A single light at the end of the block marked the driveway of his friend’s apartment block. He approached quickly as his fists clenched. There would be no need to knock on the door first.

    He was prepared to let himself in.

  • The Peace Here Was A Fragile One

    The peace here was a fragile one and the tranquillity of those gathered relied upon it. Departures upset the balance but rarely to the point of calamity. New blood was always recruited quickly and new life was thereby breathed into a community that could be likened to a living and breathing organism.

    This harmony could be maintained through almost any disruption save that of violence. Violence had the power to shift their reality; to break their tranquil state.

    Violence punctuated their darkest chapters and suspended their narrative in a state of unease from which they were slower and slower to recover.

  • Seeing A Rock Show In A Cathedral

    I had something of a transcendental experience at the Gary Clark Jr. show last night at the Sydney Opera House. I’ve seen Clark and his band before (this was the fourth time) and they have truly topped themselves each time, but last night was something else.

    Seeing a concert like this at the Opera House isn’t unlike seeing a rock show in a cathedral. The concert hall is small and the permanent seats mean everybody is seated rather than standing. It invoked an atmosphere of reverence that transfixed everybody in the room. The scene couldn’t have been more intimate if the show had been moved to my living room.

    The band made their way through both of their albums and just when I thought they were done Clark and his drummer, Johnny Radelat, snuck out for one more song that just so happened to be ‘Church’ – my favourite track on his new album and one of the songs Claire and I played at our wedding last year.

    As Clark drove the melody steadily on by virtue of his guitar, harmonica and soulful vocals I realised that I was enjoying the perfect close to one of the single best concerts I’ve ever seen.

    They can’t come back to town soon enough.