being back at the farm for christmas was brat. I was petulant. I was 14. but kinda St Francis of a c c. getting up walking and listening to Nirvana, thinking about the grunge's take at Nature! driving through Wagga, noticing all the Co-operative, things supermarkets, farm supply business, being close to the farms but far from the city hippies, hippies does that word even count anymore, reading southern gothic, Carson McCullers the 'heart is a lonely hunter' thinking bout rural socialism. The National party, a weird mix of socialism and free-trade, romanticism and patriotism. We wanna make all the money, we like rich, but we wanna trades as Co-Ops, and but when we are poors support us cause we are the guts, balls and soul of the nation. Towns being put to sleep, having the fake water stopped, land wont sell. The grapes of wroth. It always feels like its coming to a head, coming to the break out there, that things can't move beyond this part and its gonna bust or revolt. But it don't.
To tunes, being angst and away from Melbourne makes what I can do when I get back so freaking possible! I spent the first bit of 2009 riding in the back of a car, I pulled up my hood and promised and promised, good ones not melancholy ones to come back and make better art about all I am confused about. I am surprised that I am thinking about these things, but I like thinking about human solutions to stuff and ourselves, But then the determination causes trying. Trying to hard. Banging up a manafesto! this trying is poetry and not like making. If i just gets the freak on with it, it will all be there. Those things are only base. But i thinks it will be ok, cause I've noticed. Over earnestness, failure.