You’re a F@#king Weirdo

weird·o n. pl. weird·oes Slang

1. A person regarded as being very strange or eccentric.2. A deranged, potentially dangerous person.The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language

weirdo weirdie

noun eccentric, nut (slang), freak (informal), flake (slang, chiefly U.S.), crank (informal), loony (slang), nutter (Brit. slang), oddball (informal), crackpot (informal), nutcase (slang), headcase (informal), headbanger (informal), queer fish (Brit. informal) All the other kids at school thought I was a weirdo.

Collins Thesaurus of the English Language

Are you? How do you react when someone calls you a weirdo?

Until searching for the definition I wasn’t aware the word had such negative connotations. If you hear something often enough it loses its edge becomes normal and accepted, which seems to have happened here. The word just comes through as vanilla. I could at this point break into any one of a thousand stories all about weirdness.  My weirdness. Although it has been called eccentricity a few times too. This seems somewhat more dignified and befitting as I get older, kind of like how grey hairs give some men bearing.


You are a fucking weirdo. Thanks for that. Ever so pleased that you had this opportunity to share with me your thoughts on my personality and general humanity.  There is a rage, seething just below the surface, it carries sharp edged weapons and other devices for inflicting harm. It is OK though, this rage is contained, kept inside a little pouch. Rage with the safety on.  By no means is this rage carried as an implicit threat against any others person. That’s not the reason it is still carried. It is fuel. Picture iron man’s arc reactor.

he man

Anger if left to its own devices will always destroy.  Harnessed it can move mountains, part oceans and heal the sick. This seems a far more productive path on which to tread.

So go ahead and call some one a weirdo today, it’s such a nice thing to do.


Terry The Terrible Troublesome Trolley Training Tramp aka The T7 Project. Chapter 4

The wind and nothing else.

It blew as I sat carrying away all those parts of me that were not chained down. Bringing with it new ideas that built up like snow drifts against the walls in my mind. I struggled against their weight but it was of no use. They did not collapse, they were smothered, buried, gone. Not a clean slate but a fresh one, funnily enough as pure as the driven snow.

I felt a presence beside me and turned to see Terry standing there.

“Come, the journey continues.”

“Wait! Hold up there Mr Mystery Man. How about a little less ‘Ah grasshopper, there is no try only do’ and allot more ‘what the fuck is going on?'”

“OK, I if pleases you, let us explain what is happening”

“Let us?”

“Yes, think my young friend, you do like to think don’t you? I’m calling bullshit on your thinking until you start using your brain.”

Before I could protest and/or punch him on the nose he continued.

“Where were you coming from before we met? What were you doing?”

“I was walking home from uni.”

“Good keep going”

“We had had group reviews that day. Yeah and I remember sitting there trying to contribute something to the discussion but was being distracted by a really strong smell in the air.”
“Good, what was the smell”

“Bullshit! That’s right I remember now. There was a strong smell of bullshit in the air that I had never noticed before but once I did I couldn’t get my mind off it. Once the review finished I left and headed home not to my studio as I normally would. I just wanted to go home and take Saddy for a walk. Then I found you, no, met you. I didn’t find you by chance did I?


“What, are you some psycho stalker or something?”

“Do you want me to be? Where did you work after you left school?”


“And what did you do”

“Fruit and Veg boy”


“Collect trolleys”

“From where?”

“The car park”

“Nowhere else?”

“Yeah I used to go out and hunt for them sometimes, up the pines over in the Don and in the creek”

“The creek? Think about that”

“Um, I pulled one out that had been in there for a long time. It was rooted.”

“Then what did you do”

“Took it out the back and cleaned it up, or at least tried too. It was pretty rooted though.”

“Yes you said that”

“I get it! That was you wasn’t it?”



“It was my brother”

“Yeah that makes sense he wasn’t that heavy”



With a sense of wonder.

Yesterday I wrote (albeit very briefly) about children’s farms. The reason for asking those questions is that I have been thinking allot lately about how I see the world around me.  I have been trying to step outside myself to gain an objective view through my own glasses. Is this even possible? Perhaps through some sort of philosophical process such as:

Transcendental perspectivism is a hybrid philosophy developed by German-born philosopher, Professor Werner Krieglstein. A blending of Friedrich Nietzsche‘s Perspectivism and the utopian ideals of the Transcendentalism movement, Transcendental Perspectivism challenges Nietzsche’s claim that there are no absolute truths while fully accepting his observation that all truth can only be known in the context of one’s own perception. This is accomplished through an appreciation of the emotional relationship between two perceptions (the “perceiver” and the “other”).

Thanks Wikipedia for the above quote.  This transcendental perspectivism may go some way to explaining what I am trying to achieve. Maybe, but I can see a back alley approaching and feel a strong temptation to duck down it. (Stop. Focus. Will yourself to say on target – see earlier post entitled “Just what do you think you are doing young man-don’t you know you’ll go blind?”)

I feel a sense of childlike wonder when I move through space.  A constant state of amazement.  WOW!  Curiosity about how things work, what make them tick, why? WHY?  I want to explore everything and get lost in the process.

Can this state of being be harnessed? Focused and directed? Or will that negate the very thing that makes it so enjoyable.  It’s a constant battle. Should I “go with the flow” or do I need to use some type of rudder?  I found the pine cone in the above photo while I was walking around in the pines near home, I was supposed to be taking the dogs for a quick walk then on to the renovations at home. This quick walk took about 4 hours or half the working day and what did I achieve? Well I now know I great deal about that block of pine trees, all its hidden nooks and crannies, that it has a least two clearings that get full sunlight at ground level (a rare thing in a pine plantation) and that a road drain runs into it and this turns into a small creek when it rains and this in turn has eroded the soil to the point where several trees are in danger of falling down.

Question: Is this useful information? Was it a profitable use of my time?


…………….Flash!…..he saved every one of us!


Allot of people speak about inspiration. Being inspired into action, looking for inspiration, waiting to be inspired. Seeking inspiration by going to galleries and museums, through travel, seeing the landscape and meeting the people. Just to name a few.


Don’t look for inspiration.  Look to inspire.

Be inspiring.

That is not to say you should walk around with your head stuck up your arse, blind to the world around you.  That’s just silly (and smelly). Soak up your surroundings, digest them. But more importantly ask yourself what are you doing, who is watching you, how can your actions inspire those around you.

We need people to inspire us but if every one is looking elsewhere, who will be inspiring? Be that person. Be someones inspiration. Be that firecracker that is shoved under someones seat.





Just what do you think you are doing young man? Don’t you know you’ll go blind!

Over the past several months I have been thinking allot about business. Starting my own. During my commute to and from work I have been listening to a vast array of audio books about business. Business school on wheels.  Listening to business gurus (some interesting and informative, some plan freaky in their evangelical fervor) to biography’s of successful entrepreneurs and everything in-between.

As I listen, I shift through all the information trying to find the lowest common denominators. Looking for the common threads. It’s not easy. Nobody agrees with anybody else. You must do X says one. If you do X you are bound to fail, says another. Reams and reams of conflictual information.

I love information. I soak it all up like the proverbial sponge. One thing that my time at university allowed me to do, was hone my research skills. Hours and hours spent wading knee deep through books, journals, websites, cross-referencing, checking out the books and journals in the bibliography then following it into the bibliography’s bibliography, and so on onto forth or fifth generations.  Spending even more time (actually the most enjoyable part) following threads down side alleys into the grimy back streets, getting lost and mugged, then staggering back out into the light.  Tired, bruised and battered but holding onto some gem of information, a key to unlock whatever puzzle I was trying to solve.

So this is what I have been doing whilst racking up the kilometers in the car. It has taken some adjustment to listening instead of reading and not being able to take notes easily but one must always, as my favorite character always says, “display some fucking adaptability”.

What are the results of my distillation process?

Hard-work, persistence, good planning and research, bravery and shear balls.

Shear balls seems to be a big one.

Where was I going with all this? Oh yeah, I was going to talk about my business idea. But time has gotten away from me. Cows to feed and all that.

A thought to finish on. Is it better to teach and or learn sustainable living practices or just teach and or learn self-reliance? Will those who are self-reliant gravitate towards a sustainable future or just exploit today?



A by-word for filth.

I found an old book of mine containing bits and bobs written around the time I was oh so deeply in love with dada.  (google dada if your not sure about it, but be careful, you could fall down the rabbit hole) Enjoy.


A by-word for filth languishes on the precipice of denial.  Reported to elope with strangers my sensibilities are rancid, putrid and dank. Spat with vitriolic force a poison oh so lovely.  Sunsets turn; turn on me, for what? For whom? Zoom! Throwing blindly it always rests. Resets.  Never against but astoundingly present for all time. 

Wind dozing with its self- referential pace slothful and pure.  If not for one then for all.  Changes rent stuffed.  A burning drip of love spent.  Building up rolling out, plugging the gap.  Mind that gap. Repetition only confuses, sent lengthways to grope and dive. Wading against reasonable expectations, never duping sadly.  Seeing into light swallowing fields resting. Step right up one night only for the rest of your life.

A never-ending procession of confrontations by my green candlestick I hold so dear. Grimace as I plunge furnished, my lack of responsibility gritting.  It all equals naught but one time it did, slender and yet skinny not dissimilar in any environment. Relentlessly resting retried formulation of a unmentioned pandemic. 

Reaching slowing banging on about this bloody slow full stop.  Changes rent sheared with glee turning hot.  Left in weekly spasmodic weakly driven.  Banging on about this bloody slow full stop. This bloody slow full stop. Tirelessly tying to stop.

A         slow             full            stop.

.        <— that is the slow full stop.

Terry The Terrible Troublesome Trolley Training Tramp aka The T7 Project. Chapter 3

I sat there, upon that rocky outcrop, rearranged. Time wasn’t standing still, it was hoping from leg to leg as though it desperately need to pee. I could see Terry standing there, in what had become ground zero, gleaming, alone. He looked up to me a wry smile upon his face. That cheeky bastard was smirking at me as if to say “You didn’t expect that did you?”

No I didn’t. I didn’t know what to expect. I wasn’t expecting anything. This smugness he was displaying was pure arrogance and it pissed me off. What was I doing blinding following this strange man on a ‘journey’? It was right out of a B-Grade Kung-fu movie. Since I first found him near death in that car-park our time together couldn’t have been more vague. It was meta-vague.

He had said nothing but a few of words, seemed to communicate almost entirely with significant glances. Who the hell was this man? Where had he come from? Why had our paths crossed? More importantly, what the fuck was I doing here?

Questions rattled about in my mind like a coin in a clothes dryer.  I didn’t seem to be able to make heads or tails of anything. I had nothing with which to gain purchase, scrambling like a man chasing a shore footed mountain goat across a cliff face, and feeling just as pathetic. Panic began to take hold. My heart pounded, hands trembled. I had my eyes open and yet could see nothing. The only sound was white noise, but I could feel the wind. The wind.

The wind and nothing else.


Stay tuned for the next installment.

PS no references today

Terry The Terrible Troublesome Trolley Training Tramp aka The T7 Project. Chapter 2.

After we finished breakfast, Terry asked if I had access to the internet, and could he use it. I did and showed him to the computer. He struck down with great vengeance upon the keyboard and furious anger upon the mouse until he found the information he was seeking.

As he surfed, I hovered about trying to see what he was up to. Without turning he said to me “Go and prepare”.

“For what” I replied

“The journey”

Sensing I wasn’t going to get any more information, I went upstairs and packed a bag with some clothes, a toothbrush and some food. When he saw the bag he said.

“Bag, where we’re going we don’t need bags”

I put the bag down and followed him out the front door. We walked and I tried to make conversation. He wasn’t rude about it, but silenced me with a look. We were walking not talking.  He led me through town and we headed into the hills. After a couple of hours climbing up into the hills we came to a heavily wooded plateau whereupon he stopped.

“We will rest here”

Happily I sat down, leaning my back against a tree, listening to the breeze working its way through the trees.

“Can you see the rocky outcrop upon the next ridge?” he asked

“Yes” I replied

“Go there”

“What about..” I started but he again silenced me with a look.  It took about an hour to reach the ridge and when I sat and looked down I could make out a glint of metal through the trees where Terry was. He was not moving but I could hear a kind of droning noise, kind of like throat singing.  It became louder, well louder isn’t quite the right word, more intense is a better fit. It built and built until I felt, not heard, an explosion. It went right into the core of my body, scrambling my cells and leaving me stunned.

I saw Terry there upon the plateau where I left him, not I single tree left standing.

Stay tuned for the next installment.

PS Again prize to the first person who picks the two references, movies this time.

Terry The Terrible Troublesome Trolley Training Tramp aka The T7 Project. Chapter 1

Terry The Terrible Troublesome Trolley Training Tramp aka The T7 Project

This is the story of where The T7 Project comes from.  It may sound fanciful and more than a little nutty, but bear with me and read on.

The exact dates are somewhat unclear but sometime in the autumn of 1999 I found Terry alone in a car park of the east residencies of Monash University’s Gippsland campus.

I could see that he was nearly dead, I knelt down beside him and I listened, just to hear the words the dying fella said.  He said “They let me out of the trolley bay up at Tuckerbag, where for ten long years I payed for what I done.”

He trailed off, repeating the words are mutt, are mutt, are mutt, are mutt over and over again.  Why I didn’t just ring Tuckerbag to come and get him I will never know.  It would turn out to be a decision that would change my life forever. Slowly I started to push him home. Slowly, because even though he was near death, his right front wheel had a mind of its own.  And so we walked, me cursing that bloody dicky wheel under my breath.

When we arrived at my house I carefully dragged him up the steps and into a bed in the spare room. Where he collapsed and slept for two days straight. One morning as I was walking downstairs I heard noises coming from the kitchen and found Terry bright as a button fixing breakfast for us both. I started to ask him questions, eager to know his story but he silenced me with a look and said but one word “Follow”.  So I did.

What happened next was one hell of an adventure.  Stay tuned for the next chapter.

PS A prize for the first person who names the song and artwork referenced.