Wash Out

A washout. Overexposed wasteland blues.

Where days drop like flies and the months march by.

I got rolls of film in my pocket and i’ll expose the lot.

And dip into my savings for the scans.

Summers here, Spring is but a turn in the winds. And bindies in my heel.

This time of year is crap. All heat and sea-spray. Though the light starts to linger a bit longer.

So you gotta carpe diem and all that comes with it.

Something in me feels that day siezin’ ain’t what it was once for me. A trip to the beach and a beer in the shade mightn’t be what some might think of as grabbing life by the throat.

Maybe.

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Another Postcard Afternoon.

It stunk out. A stiff northerly kicked up a dust devil as I stepped out of the car and walked to the drive thru bottle-o. Grit’s whipped into my eyes. They weep as I’m peeling the shirt off my back, I step into the cool room and quickly find the cheapest slab pale ale.

“Cheer up mate, cant be that bad” the bald mad with stubby digits says to the chuckle of a small crowd of local boozers queuing up at the counter.

Back in the lot. Looks like a wreckers backyard. Cars parked haphazardly wherever they’ll fit across the potholed mosaic of asphalt and broken glass. Its always been like this since I’ve known it.

But it wont be forever. No.

A passing glance reveals a wee tsunami of gentrification washing through the streets of old Palmy. Shiny white Cafes, Hip restaurants, boutique shops and trendy barbers. A dozen or so popping up in the last year. The pissheads with the blistered coupons wont be chuckling when they cant afford the rent anymore.

The slabs in the boot. I spark up and sink back into the cab.

Suns getting low.

Lighting up the faded pastels of the highway motels real nicely.

Lights go red.

Lights go green.

Lights go red.

Traffic backs up and we all crawl along in this beautiful stinking postcard afternoon together.

 

Death to Smoochy

There was an ice skating scene with a Barney the dinosaur knockoffplayed by Edward Norton and a clown played by Robin Williams. I was watching it hungover. It was in the afternoon. On analogue television a long time ago and I thought it was pretty great at the time.

It was out of all context. Just a holiday to someplace.

You know Dany Devito made films?

Bad Scans

Film. Love to shoot it. What a drag it is to get your negatives back with some shitty 500kb scans with the crunchiest compression though.

I held out on posting these images while I decided whether it would be worth sending the negs off for a proper scanning treatment. I’d already paid enough though.

Hey, its a staff party on the gold coast! All booze, skyscrapers and shitty cocaine.

I was working the next morning so I took it a bit easy by drinking my red beetle-juice and ducking out when things got loose.

The Sun, It Rises

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I was so worked up.

Driving down the main drag. A two lane, road riddled with potholes and traffic lights they have the audacity to call a highway. Arms beading with sweat, hot air blasting me in the face. The tip of my tongue burned as I took a hard drag from my hastily rolled cigarette.

Head full of bullshit no good thoughts running in a loop. This music was no good. I needed something mellow to un-knot my brainpad before it goes full meltdown. I flick though the phone and fumble my cigarette. It falls between into the leg-hole of my shorts falling all the way back to my damp ass. It burns.

Red Light.

I brake hard. Stop hard. The guy behind me nearly goes right into me. Horns. I hate them, obnoxious. When they’re directed at me though, it’s funny. Even if I’m the biggest dickhead in the world, the guy on the horn looks like a bigger one. The cigarette has burnt me a new asshole. I reach into my crotch, pull it out and take a drag. Then I laugh a little. The lights go green.

The suns at the nice point where all the tall buildings are real orange and the streets are dark wth shadows. I’ve pulled the car over and sit on the hood for a bit looking at the scene. Red taillights going towards red lights. White lights coming the other way. Neon signs turing on and an LED billboard in the distance looking like a second sun Rising from the west. I like Neon Signs. The inventor of LED billboards should be dragged behind a horse-cart.

Yeah, it much better scene to looks at than be a part of. What had me so worked up? Some really small shit. Something I would build up into an elaborate story to complain to someone about at some point, but it was pretty insignificant. And it was petty to get so jacked up over it. Sometimes, you are the problem. You’re the badguy, the dickhead or in this case the jackass customer wants to bitch to two jerks about how they fucked up your order and how now you got to make TWO trips instead of one.

 

Wood Chips

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It’s another Monday in the kitchen. The weekend rush is over, now its time to get to work organising the kitchen for the week ahead, to restock the cold room and unpack the largest, bulkiest delivery of the week, which is comprised of dry goods and long holding products, like cheese. The washing machine is on the fritz and the frier needs and oil change too but thats enough mundane detail from the life we chose to live. As thrilled as I know you are to hear it.

I’m joined by Tommy Gun the cool Kiwi who is slicing very ripe tomatoes as I unpack the delivery.  Now join me as I run my knife along the packing tape of a box to reveal a collection of goats cheese logs…

I pick up the perfectly round cylinder and flip in in my palm, slapping it down on the bench to grab Toms attention.

“What do you think of this Goats Cheese we’re using?”

Tom shot me a downcast look, “Not great bro, I don’t really dig it hey”

“The taste?”

“Yeah there’s something about it, hey. Its not right”

“Yeah its shitty alright” I roll another roll onto the bench

“You know what it tastes like? Its like a goats cheese made by a robot in a some kind of, not too distant, dystopian future where automation has progressed to a point where all food production has been taken over by robots.”

“Yeah, its got no soul!” Tommy exclaimed excitedly.

“And it tastes like plastic too… Cheap though.” I say, with a resigned shrug.

I bundle up the rolls and grab some other bits and make my way to the cool room. Outside the clouds are rolling in, creeping over the sunshine. A few customers are walking up the steps, two by two. Another trucks pulled in with the fruit and veg. He’s fudging about in the back of the truck, no doubt somethings missing, I’ll deal with that the on the way back in…

Across the road the last rays of light hit the ocean as the traffic begins to back up through the intersection.

And I step off the steamy street, into the cool air of the walk-in.