Category Archives: BACK THEN


z DSCF5886 bridge
sea lido at urunga

I have had another day confined to quarters and basically fucked. So there are no new pics again and not much new thinking. Guess, I shall ramble back through images and memories for one more night. I have spent many years of my life in Urunga. Kind of accidentally. Down near the Lido.  Now I live 15 kms inland and I don’t like it much. Then again, it would be hard to like anywhere much just at the moment in this bed ridden week with a muddle head and disturbing thoughts. It seems to me that it changed all the time down at the Coast and birds came and the tides came in and out.

I am looking at an even more secluded situation next but with neighbours which I don’t like. I was about to change my mind but some things I heard today have made me stay with this move. I would like to accept it as my next place and make it home for a while. Its a wee little place. I could make it a nest. I would like to make it pretty and simple and get my affairs in order there.  I do not yet have the emotion which I need to have to do that. I have TREPIDATION.

1 bird jac

I like birds. I like them coming down close to me. I like almost everything about them so I am hoping there will be birds there. There are also going to be children. I am less sure about that.

I have pain in my side. I am tired. I am isolated and I am right back in big shit.


I want my elegance of Living back. The dignity and a touch of class.

I suddenly find myself without direction and feeling bleak.


Trouble is , it is hard to retain trust when this place has been a bleak failure to me and not at all to my taste.


Don’t try to get fixed either Lynne. Just move on along. Move on along.

O for god’s sake bring me in for a landing to a good home and decent living. I am so very tired and mixed up. I seem quite unable to focus my thinking and planning. It is true shit.



I am not even vaguely going to try to rally or comfort or look for wise words tonight.



I have been loooking back at the trip we took down South in 2013 and all I could see was just how ill he was looking. Pleased with his loss of weight. But he was too thin. Too frail. His hair was falling out. But do you know, we had the happiest time in those last months. I felt the strong surging of love and had promised myself to be more gentle and more kind with him – and I was.

We were very, very happy.

But MiGod he was ill.



Home for the day with a visit from Alh.  Years back I lived in Bilambil and could see Mt Warning. That’s the image below. I liked the Caldera life. I like sugar cane and cane fires and the mountain.

I have lived all my life along the Eastern Coast of NSW. For little bits of time I have crossed the Queensland border and early on I went inland a bit for a couple of years. Mostly – SYDNEY and the North Coast.

Now I am in t he town I came to in the early 70s. My children were born here and I married here. If I were a person who had “home” this would be “home.”


Mt Warning from Bilambil

So I go on WAITING.

Sitting in the MEANTIME corridor.


Quite peaceful.

Facebook photos aren’t working tonight so I shall need to find a different activity. Maybe I will update my Recovery Blog.

Tomorrow I am meant to go to a kind of a small wake for Julia. We will see what tomorrow brings.




Mount Warning


Peter Skrzynecki

It was the mountain
I was always going to climb —
Swore that heat would not tire me,
Flowers and snakes could not
Poison my hands or feet:
Butcher-birds and crows become
Omens of good fortune, guides
To an undergrowth track.

Spurred on by the sight
Of the mountain, hill after hill
I climbed for a vantage point:
Felt the ice of a willow’s breath,
Touched the fire that does not burn
In a flame-tree’s midday leaves.

Its summits clouded in mist
Or the end-of-spring fires,
I walked through ploughed fields
To its foot-hills, chewed
Grass and swallowed rain-water,
Gauging its height from burnt-out stumps.
Cattle followed like a scattered procession,
Pausing at the creek.
                       I returned home
By a different path — plagued by
Its shape and my hesitation.

Under the cover of sunset
I opened my door to its shadow —
Abysmal at the threshold!
Prayed that winds and rain
Might wash it backwards, into
The desert overnight.

Talking to people, trailing
Mullet and catfish,
Searching creek-banks for rainbow-birds
And tortoises — day and night
The mountain haunted me
Like a dying parent’s curse.

It became the wish
I never made—the child I never had,
Promise I was not to keep,
Bible I should never open:
Tomorrow’s mountain, always there,
To be climbed without loss and fear.

Unsifted by memory for the shallows of a dream
I left the mountain like gold in a stream.



I think I am rather odd after the Coma. Combine it with Izzy’s death and very few meetings as well as a large quantity of drugs and here I am. SCHMOZZLED.I have time now to do some thinking and some reading and researching. I have time now to consider the impact of this year. I rather think it is greater than I am yet aware of. Mostly I am sitting in the middle of nowhere land. Just sitting.Face to face with Death.Face to face with Life.




TIME IN A BOTTLE by Tony Dewberry


I bought my first motor bike, in 1970, when I was 20. I bought it on a Saturday morning and rode it around the block Saturday afternoon and Sunday. On Monday I set off from Sydney for Melbourne, via Tumburuma. My companion was my girlfriend Susan, she was 18 and already knew how to ride a bike. Susan rode a Honda 175 and I had a Honda 125, not bikes most people would do an interstate trip on, and I was riding on a learners permit, not a licence, which was probably illegal once we got into Victoria.

The weather was foul and we should have held off, but you don’t when you’re young. We rode through strong wind, rain and eventually, sleet. We pushed on while we could, but somewhere west of Goulburn the sleet started packing into thin sheets of ice on my jacket and we pulled into a pub, intending to have a drink and meal and book a room.

But, due to the inclement weather, the pub was full of drunken farm labourers. The hostile looks started when I took my helmet off to reveal I had long hair, it was 1970 remember. Verbal abuse started next, along the witty lines of “Well look what the cat dragged in.” and “Fuck, the things you see when you haven’t got a gun.” It was like a pub full of rustic Oscar Wildes.

Things got worse when Susan took off her helmet, and her long brown hair fell down. She was revealed to be not a tubby little bikie, but a beautifull girl, rugged up like an Eskimo. Then the abuse got worse, and more threatening, along the lines of what they’d like to do to her and what they’d do to me if I got in the way. It was so vile I don’t even want to try to remember. By then I had bought two drinks, but the bloke sitting next to me at the bar said,” I don’t know what’s wrong with them, but I can’t do much for you if they start something. “ We left with our drinks untouched, got to our bikes and rode, all the time looking in our rear vision mirrors. (We’d only recently seen Easy Rider and knew how that ended. )

I don’t know how much further we rode, but it was as far as we could stand. Then we pulled into another pub, wet, exhausted, and shaken up. We booked a room and came down for a drink and a meal. There was a guy in the room wearing a black cowboy hat, and he introduced himself to us. For the life of me I can’t remember his name, nor that of his wife, a striking but very shy Aboriginal woman, for their kindness I really regret not remembering their names. He told us he was Mexican and a sheet metal worker, but that he didn’t read so well, so it was hard to find work in the city, but he did just fine working in the country. He kept buying us drinks, we drank rum at that time, and giving me money to play the juke box, and wanted all the Dean Martin songs played, “Play some Dino Tony!”

The next day we would ride into Tumburumba, to see Susan’s sister Lynne. We’d ride into Tumba behind a bull dozer, clearing snow from our path. But that was before us. Right then we tumbled into bed warmed by rum, and kindness and Dino’s music, with not a thought of threatening farm labourers.