the soundtrack of contemporary life

Waiting by the mailbox, by the train
Passin' by the hills 'til I hear the name
I'm looking for a saw to cut these chains in half and all I want is
Someone to rely on as
Thunder comes a'rolling down
Someone to rely on as
Lightning comes a'staring in again

I'll wait to be forgiven
Maybe I never will
My star has left me
To take the bitter pill
That shattered feeling
Well the cause of it's a lesson learned
Just don't know if I could roll into the sea again
"Just don't know if I could do it all again" she said, it's true

Waiting in my room and I lock the door
I watch the coloured animals across the floor
And I'm looking from a distance
And I'm listening to the whispers
And oh it aint the same, when you're falling out of feeling and you're
Falling in and caught again

I'm caught again in the mystery
You're by my side, but are you still with me?
The answer's somewhere deep in it, I'm sorry but you're feeling it
But I just have to tell you that I love you so much these days
Have to tell you that I love you so much these days, it's true

My heart is in economy
Due to this autonomy
Rolling in and caught again
Caught again

My heart is in economy
Due to this autonomy
Rolling in and caught again
Caught again

To Binge, Gorilazz, featuring Little Dragon

life lessons that are priceless – dreamtime

«Back in my more scattered days there was a time when I decided that the solution to all life’s miseries would begin with marrying a nurse. Cool hands and commiseration. She would be a second-generation Swedish girl who left her family farm in North Dakota to live a new life in Denver, her hair would be long and silvery blonde, and she would smile every time she saw me and always be after me to get out of the house and go have a glass of beer with my buckaroo cronies.»

 William Kittredge, as quoted by Philip Connors in Fire Season, Field Notes From A Wilderness Lookout

life on the other hill

Fog on the river – a common enough occurrence, but one which never fails to delight, with its reminiscences of the Fool’s childhood in the shadow of a lighthouse.

To this day there is little in my dreams of the boating life to beat the romance of a foghorn going in the early morning, over the chug-chug-chug of a small purse seiner coming in out of the mist ...

... and crossing in front of our veranda on its way to the anchorage off Praia do Peixe, around the bend.

Today, the veranda remains (and the house attached to it), but the sea view is long gone, replaced by the concrete expanse of a marina and assorted buildings. I’m sure it’s all in the best interests of the greater population, but I can’t help feeling that it was better before – when boats were fewer and more modest, and a “private” beach was a just few steps down an iron staircase.

No one likes to be robbed of privilege.