Perilous Feats, Trifling Weak

Here's a flip-flop. Flip-flapping, furthering fermentation, dank drinks drunk and destroyed. I got little words today, but think, big pictures rather. Fuck the thousand words, because that shit is never obvious.  Dastardly, they assume the signals from one persons eyeballs to the brain will somehow completely explain their intentions. My connections to these photographs will always be greater because I was there for the moment of capture. My thousand words are my own, and you can't have them. You'll undoubtedly form your own. That's the intention. It's art, and emotions seek the mother tongue for description. I can ad quips, steering the ship in a north-easterly direction, but you're already in the life raft drifting. Here's a life saver. My excitement is derived from crisp, extraordinarily framed, abundantly lit (or highly absorbed), photographs. 

Never mind. My phone just rang and I have to go move into my new house. 

A la Photographic. 

 Please Hold - While I travel to space and back.

These Streets are Full of Flair

Cluster Heads full of Stars

 [Goals to the end of the Universe]

 [Heads full of Stars]

Cluster heads full of Vast

Distracted last

To the ends of the universe

Spells oft cast

Distilled, tasted curse

 [Jindabyne, NSW, Australia]

[Night Trails]

Blistering Cold in Blinding Heat

Whether weather concedes, 

Rather Mother Nature succeeds

The plan never goes just

So ideas ripe and follow heedless

planning is needless

Another post from the future. The ritual develops new paths, and descriptions of posts pasts, are not necessarily accurate. New routines embraced like long brothers lost, Kings rather, of warring realms,  faced with death of minions deeps, terms agreed upon. 

Delve

Obnoxious sounds rustled from thicket. Treading delicately in hunt, the capture is based on rules written in stone. However my memory recollects, doubtfully accurate, I search for new frames never seen before. Impossible is most likely, I question if never seen before is a figment of my imagination. I can't believe that. I won't. I saw a man sky dive from space the other day. Never seen that before. So time being what it is now, I'll crawl through shrubbery grinning mischievously. Thirty second chunks, again and again. It's the world we're in, and acceptance isn't part of the decision, it's just what it is. Thankfulness is, for privileges unsurpassed. Wide angles not quite enough, several steps back fits content in frame. Back peddle reveals what was in minds eye. Satisfied. Surprised.   

C.B.D. Coffee Ex·tra·or·di·naire

We think we choose, unconsciously the choice is made for us, through and through. Hardly, circumstantial at best, subconscious selection is subtle. Our preferences are engrained in years of trial and error. We're a target at best. A fucking bullseye for the powerful elite that understand these things better than us. We tell ourself it's coincidence, how convenient. No. Convenience is what gives grip to habits hold. That comfortable blanket slung slightly over slender shoulders cold. Generations cowed through this preposterous system of greed, to better understand the ones that dependability rest on. Often, uneasiness rests in my stomachs pit. Knowing is the battle, and choosing the alternative is the war. Unbeknownst to the general populace they struggle with their daily lives, and will know no different. The appearance of oddities takes keen observation. Something I've eyed when purchasing simple life necessities at ones local grocer, is the ratio of cost to weight. How much do you get for a certain amount of currency? Every price tag here in Australia has a price/kg (or 100grams) unbiased to any one brand. They break it down for your convenience at the point of shelf to basket. North America, I've found, isn't always as willing to point out the obvious. My endeavours in grocery analysis have yielded a few intriguing observations. Smaller "more convenient" sized packaging is often staggeringly priced in comparison to a larger identical product. For one individual it's often difficult to gauge, because to get the larger quantity often means more waste, and much more of an overall coast to the individual. But to buy smaller quantities is of higher detriment to the environment, as packaging overruns landfills. Dilema. A discussion arrose earlier today about food thrown due to expiration, or lack of freshness, which comes at a cost to establishments, and unfortunately liability also dictates what establishments can do with food gone past the point of no return. No homeless person, don't dive deep in our dumpsters full of day old bread, you sick twisted waste of life. I hope you starve. This also brings up a point that manufacturers struggle with, that age old detail of how to preserve the product as long as humanly possible, and I don't know about you, but I know I want as many chemicals added to my food as possible, to make me bigger, (stronger, and faster). The more we delve into the deep of this debate about our daily human need, all the more convolution arises. Solutions. Can we break the habit of our gluttonous ways, doubtful. My pessimistic attitude is justified in the magnitude of the issue, and on my (often) inability to break my own habits. Hunger is something that strikes me each and everyday, and when I come face to face with that pre-packaged garlic toast, I give in and heat that delectable roll of deliciousness right beside my home made lasagna until it's golden  brown. Preservatives smurrrrvatives. I think about it now, but last night was a different story. Multiply that struggle by the billions that have choice, and garlic toast wins every time. I could keep going, debating the intricacies of the downward spiral this path leads, but rock bottom will be long after I turn to dust, and for all the ill turns science has turned us down, science will adapt, the cunning of man will problem solve with trial and error, eventually guiding us down that golden road to perfection. Ha. 

Up NEXT! We now have Corporate Sponsorship! 

The (                    ) Vast Avenger blog will be announced next post!

Fat Lady Locals

Fat-lady singing out my window, it's not over. You just blew your proverbial voice load, and I'm calling you out. You presume it's over, but who's making that outlandish claim. Dream bubble pops. Damn. Back to reality, and I resent my false claims because she was right,  I was wrong, even though I created her deep inside my dream-state. Recollection is faint, as with most of my dreams. It probably wasn't that important anyway.

Breakfast feats turn future feasts into delectable treats for my soul. Once you adapt to the few oddities of differing cultures, you realize people are all really the same. Certain particulars abound in personalities everywhere, and traveling is really about adopting particular. I now call a bathroom a toilet. Not too difficult. It makes the locals feel more comfortable at any rate.

Housing is sorted. A place to rest the spirit is essential, and I have to say the new cave is of the highest caliber that I will have frequented in quite some time. Stoked is a word I'd use to describe my excitement level. Patience must be practiced until the facelift is done, and we are given the signal to invade. This will also be the first "home" I've acquired overseas. Neat. 

Enough of these bombastic words! Here, photographic evidence. 

Jindabyne, NSW, Australia

Tuesday, June Fourth, Two-Thousand-Thirteen. (From the Future)

Catching speed, and building momentum. Looked at a house today. The Realtor described it as "old" multiple times. Didn't seem that old to me. But I supposed old describes what is unseen just as much as the obvious. Other options are swift approaching this afternoon. What transpires is fast knowledge for future-self, but shadowed and cloudy for the moment. I breath, and sip my flat-white (espresso and hot milk). These moments are what travel is about. The new coupled with familiar are the combination that drives my inspiration. Lack of utter comfort have given my mind the necessary twinge of inspiration to kick myself enough to sit down and write words. Feels good to get past the first sentence finally. But whatever this is, or will be, is not just for my own personal benefit, but for yours as well. My mother puts it succinctly. "I'm living vicariously through you." So at the very least, I do this for her, because I know she'll follow religiously. For everyone else, my hope is that you'll glean moments of insite, humour, inspiration, and horror. Tales will be embellished, as all great ones are, but truth will always be the underlying root. 

Jindabyne is a tiny town that sleeps most of the year, but as cold winds approach, so do the masses. The bustle has picked up significantly since my arrival three days ago. And chats with locals only confirm that it'll get more hectic. I anticipate snowboarding most of all, but new friends and strengthening community ties come a close second. 

Last night, skies were clear and crisp, and the stars made their presence known. Speaking in their distinctive twinkle. Photographs were taken, and I'll share as soon as I can. My first language is visual, framed and sharp, and second, is English, my intentions are to couple the two.

All I can, is all I am up to this present. We can't learn without failing. So fail hard. I believe communication is master key, and assumption is disease. Hypocrisy is each our own personal battle, and don't try to say it doesn't reside somewhere deep inside. When I examine it in myself, I see it's a burly brick wall thats too big to climb and too wide to navigate around, which holds me back from doing things that I've always desired to do. Well fuck that. Choices are being made to change, and that's always a viable option. I've already made it this far haven't I? Expectations. What are yours? What are mine? Elaboration will come with time. 

As I re-read what I've written I second guess myself. The urge to delete, wipe clean and walk away is strong. But this time I won't, because even if this is discombobulated, scattered, and unfocused, it's not going to get better if I delete it.