good morning

good morning. it's a phrase full of connotations. so heavy with pleasure, sometimes with agony.

the agony of hearing it when there's nothing good about waking at the crack of dawn to commute to a job you hate and everyone else is so damn chirpy. that's not a morning, that's sleepwalking. that's not the real good morning.

morning is an intimate space, a time alone: only the closest people to you see you in your unadulterated state of justwokenup, blearyconfusedcrumpled. good morning is the sound of closeness, when the day is barely new and soon the bacon will be frying and the coffee brewing. good morning is the sound of warmth, under blankets or sunlight pouring in, good morning is the sound of having shared the night, and your presence the first thing i sense in the day. good morning is what i want to hear, the sound of bodies wrapped together making it through the night.

good morning is the knowledge of intimacy.

"inaccessible to the masses"

i won't say i know what that comment says about this blog, but i will return to my original habit of telling stories. (but i'm always telling stories - stories are everything, everything is a story).


A farmer meets a wolf out by his barn. it is bloody and ragged, having been chased by hunters who are still in pursuit. "Brother farmer," says the wolf, "please shield me." The farmer agrees, and opens the barn door, covering the wolf with straw and bidding him to lie quiet. In a moment the hunting party arrives, and ask the farmer if he has seen a wolf anywhere. The farmer says no, but the hunting party know the trail led into the farmer's land.

"I hope you find that wolf then," the farmer says. "Wolves will eat my livestock and kill my dogs. They are vermin that i can certainly do without. If I find that wolf I'll kill it myself."

The hunters cross the farmer's land to continue the chase into the forest, thanking him as they go. When the farmer opens the barn door again, he finds the wolf snarling at him, ready to pounce.

"What are you doing?" cries the farmer. "After I saved you from those hunters!"

"I can't trust you! I heard what you said," replies the wolf. "you'll kill me too, soon."

"Things change quickly, and in times of need there are things we must say for convenience," says the farmer. "Surely you must understand."

The wolf backs away subdued. "I apologise," he says, "perhaps I was over hasty in my judgement of you."

The farmer says, "No matter, let us get you out of here. I have an idea: You will hide here in a barrel next to me. I will shoot into the forest, and attract the hunters. I'll send them into the forest after you, and then you can go running in the opposite direction. It'll take them ages to pick up your trail again."

The wolf agrees, and the farmer goes to get his shotgun. When he returns, the wolf climbs into the barrel and the farmer promptly shoots him several times. The farmer tips him out, and the wolf asks in a dying breath, "but why? You said you would help me. I trusted you."

"You didn't trust me. And so, I do not trust you. Things change quickly."



Ok science people, this can't be so difficult for you. simple animal fable. thanks to ed and the daughter of the drow for the origin.

Quiz Custodiae Ipsos Custodes

That's right! Who watches the watchmen?

no more rhyme

sentimental rhymes with gentle

obsession rhymes with possession

avaricious with vicious

teutonic with laconic

silent with hydrant

elegance with malevolence

betrayal with portrayal

failure with tailored

carton with disheartened

understanding with demanding

emotional with dysfunctional


but what rhymes with longing? incompetence? desire? redemption?

no sride

these are noserides by excellent riders.







to paraphrase bruce brown in an early film of his, "Look Paw, that gurl's on the wrong end of her surfin' stick".

a hundred dollars

things i learned

i'd rather be dead than dismembered.

def before disowner.

water discipline is crucial.

in the countryside, people are kind to strangers.

i need a hose, a cloth and a shovel.

drive fast on wet soft sand to make sure you don't sink.

noseriding is easier than 180.

battery discipline is important. night vision is accurate.

buses can fit wings.

some petrol stations sell jelly which isn't actually jelly, just syrup with nata de coco cubes.

a deserted beach with some ruined buildings is better than a crowded beach with showers and a carpark and food.

migrating birds do sometimes break their v formation, and hunt in a swish of feathers.

when i sit on the grass and look at the sea, drinking camp coffee and eating corned beef from a tin with my brother, i am happier than when looking out the class room or cubicle window, waiting for the dreaded clock to make the time go away. we left behind the plastic world and its sticky table tops and floors, the clink of oily money and went to unpaved roads, long grass the height of your chest, sand mud unbridled trees monitor lizards on the beach and the blinking light of fireflies which make a lonely punctuation in the night.

if i soak my open wounds in seawater long enough, it stops hurting.

under a big sky, you feel small and at home.