Ch, Ch, Ch, Changes

Do you carefully consider your options before easing your way into a new venture or making big life decisions?


I used to to live exclusively in the latter camp and abhor the former. My thinking was, and experience taught me, that if Murphy was going to bite you than he would no matter what so why not just get it over and done with.  A very wise woman once spoke to me about balance, and it has plagued me the rest of my life.  Trying to find it, understand it, hold onto it, achieve it. The illusive bastard, balance.  Somewhere between to two.

Gradually, bit by bit.  Take small steps. Break off manageable chunks. Make it doable. Specific. Measurable. Achievable. Realistic. Timeline.   I used to wake with a coffee and a cigarette. Now I wake with a coffee, a couple pieces of Vegemite toast, a piece of fruit and some exercise.  Strangely enough I feel better for it, sort of, sometimes, maybe, kinda.

Anyway it’s raining out, just the tiniest glimmer of the new day in the sky.  Looks like ill be getting a wet arse this morning.

Have a great one.


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?


The pleasures and sorrows of work.

Some people love their work. Lucky? Maybe but more than likely they worked hard and made many sacrifices to get where they are. I tip my hat to them.

Am I one? No. But I am working hard and making sacrifices in order to join those ranks. It is a slog, a daily grind and constant battle. My swords are sharp, I have faith and see glimmers of light flickering on the horizon. I will get there.

How about you? Do you bounce out of bed each morning full of energy for the day ahead? Or do you trudge slowly down the road, head bowed? For those of you who identify with the former, go on you good thing. For those who are more inclined to identify with the latter this is for you.

5 reasons to love your job.

  1. You have a job. This means you can pay your bills, keep a roof over your head and feed your family.
  2. You have a job. This provides you with many opportunities to learn new skills. Look for them.
  3. You have a job. Some don’t. Think about how you would achieve #1 if you were unemployed.
  4. You have a job. As much as it chaffs us to think about our hard earned money being taxed to support those “dole bludgers and welfare cheats. You also support sick kids in hospital, provide shelter to those in real need, pay the wages of those who protect and look after us. Nurses, police, firefighters, Ambulance officers.  The list go on and on. Teachers: shouldn’t forget them. Sorry to those I missed please add in comments.
  5. You have a job. You are a road warrior. The tools of your trade slung proudly over your shoulder. Marching off to work with your chin held high. You are a warrior. Go you good thing.

All due respect and credit is to be given to Alain de Botton who wrote the book whose title I used for this post.  A great book well worth a read.

…………….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.





The Gates of Hell

After my last post, which side tracked into my information gathering and percolation techniques my thoughts returned to those days spent in the library.  This post contains excerpts from an essay I wrote about “The Gates of hell” by Auguste Rodin. As a visual reference point I have included a small image, check out the web for more pictures.  Most of you will be familiar with the character sitting in the middle.

The Thinker. Or as shown here, The Stinker.

Confronted. Standing aghast. Body jolted, mind frozen. Bewildered, confused, curious, entrapped. You are standing before (cue dramatic music and deep baritone voice over) “The Gates of Hell”.

The structures oppressive size belittles you. Ones’ eyes are swept up, drawn to the heavens, hoping to escape this tumultuous scene. The computer says NO. A scornful gaze carried by three men who stand upon the apex bores into you. The stand accusing, each with his index finger pointed straight at you. These are the “Three Shades”.  Glancing around, “Who me?”, you follow their fingers and discover to your relief, that it is not in fact you but the man who sits below them. The Thinker.

….As you remain transfixed by this solitary figure, from the shadows emerge – something. You can not quite make them out for the light is low. Into these dark recesses you are drawn, straining to see what lurks within. BAM!! you are knocked flat on your arse and sucked in the same instant.  Figures swirl about, twisting and writhing. Receding and leaping out towards you, fingers groping. You are engulfed by entropy, like a piece of driftwood carried by the sea, smashed into the rocks. Trapped within, resistance is futile. You let go and become one with the work, an actor upon the stage, no longer a passive viewer sitting safely in the audience.

…….Your eyes are drawn back once again to meet The Thinker, pausing for breath in this the only moment of peace in the entire composition.  However you soon realise the The Thinker is not at rest, he is not peace, he can not provide you with solace. The anguish and turmoil you feel resonates from within him, he is at once the cause and the effect. The entropy of the work, the fear you feel is the echo of his thoughts.

I was lost within “The Gates of Hell” for months. Completely fell in love with this work.  There is no way to see it but in the flesh, something I am yet to do.  It was explored through the many collections of detail images housed within books written about Rodin’s masterpiece.  The purpose of the essay was to provide a visual analysis of a work of your choosing.  When writing these you are supposed to discuss things such as line, form, colour and so on.  This I found dry and boring and so quite difficult, until I was encouraged by my lecturer to be expressive. Write a story. So I did and before long found myself thinking about everything I saw with this in mind. Still do.

Find the story and tell the story.




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?



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.

Poor little confused and bewildered me.

It’s Stuff not art. Can I call this art? I feel much happier calling it stuff. The more and more I see art, talk to people about it and read about it, the more I am confused.  Seriously, what the hell are you on about? Please come around and un-confuse me. Would love to see you.

I’m cringing as I write this, seems I’ve been having this dilemma forever.

The constant battle between slow full stops and 80’s cock rock.

Pretty bad haircuts and worse facial hair.

My tongue stuck firmly in my cheek. Stuck in so, so deep.


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Hope you enjoyed this collection of stuff. Stuff. Art. Stuff. Art. Stuff. Art. Stuff. Art.