Inside the Music

 

A few years ago I suffered a bout of deep depression. It was the perfect emotional storm: I was 7 years into 10 years of research and writing for my thesis, my father died and I tore ligaments in my left ankle jumping off my board in shallow water. Luckily I had accrued sick leave and some long service leave so I was able to take a break from my job. 

For a couple of weeks I was on crutches - I couldn't walk on the beach and I couldn't surf. I couldn't do much for months so I stayed home and lay on the bed while my long-suffering patient partner brought me cups of tea and pretty much looked after everything. He didn't try to cheer me up - he was just there. He and I both understood without ever discussing it that I needed to stay in that black hole until I didn't need to be there any more. It was many many months before I climbed out.

Part of my recovery was a set of 10 Kum Nye yoga poses. I felt unmotivated and I hated them but I did them religiously every morning. I collated a playlist to listen to as I did them and this was on the list. It used to make me cry.

When I hear music like this nothing in the world really matters. Sometimes I still wish I could stay inside the music forever and never have to face the world again.

Music: 'The Legend of Jesse James (Mary's Song)', Nick Cave & Warren Ellis

Dogs

 

This is anthropomorphism at its most ridiculous but I swear that dogs have a sense of humour too.

Photos: Random Facebook memes. Unknown source.

Rat Year, 'Cat Year'

For some time I have been feeling world weary and despondent. In the scheme of things I am extremely lucky. We own our 5 acre bush block with a very modest 'shed' dwelling in a small coastal town, in a locked down state virtually unaffected by COVID. I still have a 2 day a week job that pays my bills and, because I know how to live frugally (when you are an artist you learn pretty quickly), I can afford good food, a decent car and a visit to our vegan cafe once a week.

In an attempt to claw back some peace of mind I have reduced my Facebook friends to 22 - just family and close friends. I check in regularly with my 80 year old mum 400km away on Messenger so I need to keep my Facebook account, otherwise I'd probably ditch it altogether. I've stopped watching current affairs, stopped following environmental pages on Facebook too, pulled out of 'groups', stopped signing endless petitions to politicians to try and get them to change their dimwitted minds, stopped talking to people about climate change - I'm either preaching to the converted or talking to a brick wall - and generally, decided to withdraw from the world as much as possible to live in a bubble.

Instead of listening to our national broadcaster on my 45 minute drive to work I put in my ear pods and listen to gems like this from Al Stewart. This guy has a formula and it works for me - great lyrics and a great melody, orchestral backing interspersed with emotive guitar, haunting saxophone and keyboard lead breaks. Wikipedia says he is a 'Scottish singer-songwriter and folk-rock musician who rose to prominence as part of the British folk revival in the 1960s and 1970s. He developed a unique style of combining folk-rock songs with delicately woven tales of characters and events from history'. He released Year of the Cat in 1976. This is high up on my list of 10 favourite songs - classics that I never tire of. I hope you enjoy it.

From now on I am going to try and blog about things that are more uplifting, enjoyable and sometimes still thought provoking but not depressing. I can't change the world - the next generation will have to do that. It's their world now and they are going to have to fight for it like we never did.

The New Crazy

I'm struggling to accept the new 'reality' - dealing with climate change deniers, despots running once democratic countries, COVID, and rampant destruction of the environment. We are facing a new reality where once respected scientists have no authority, where world leaders tell barefaced lies and make it up as they go and nobody seems to be able to stop them, where the populace invents its own reality because it doesn't like the one it is being presented with. 

I feel as though I am losing my mind - except I actually think I am one of the sane minority left on planet Earth.

This is happening now.

Even people I call friends - and there are only a few I call 'friend' - have started denying humanity's part in climate change ('it's just cyclical'), suggesting the whole COVID thing is a 'hoax' (including a now ex-friend who practised as a medical doctor for decades) and defend Trump because the media are misrepresenting him (even though he is condemned by his own filthy mouth and constant Tweets). 

What the absolute fuck? We have now officially returned to the Dark Ages when ignorance reigned and people were burnt at the stake for opposing the status quo. There is mass insanity in my country, maybe in every country. Once rational, decent people have lost their fucking minds.

This happened last year - and we weren't on the East coast where the fires were catastrophic.

I'm gobsmacked that people can't see the evidence before their eyes. And then I remember that they simply can't bear to - THAT reality is too frightening. And then I get really mad because I'm suffering because I CAN see what is happening and I can't lie to myself about it. I'm exhausted - I feel as though I and my fellow realists are bearing the burden of this when so many others are living in a delusional state of 'everything will be OK'.

I don't have any answers. The only way I know how to deal with this madness is to stop watching the news, go for walks on the beach and work on our bush block - watching the little birds, kangaroos, rare sightings of bandicoots, insects and frogs - trying to protect a virgin block that I know will one day be destroyed by climate change or developers who will smash the whole lot down to build more houses for ungrateful, stupid humans. I have a condition known as misanthropy.... and I'm not alone. 

I'm afraid I'll have to leave the last word to Munted Bear because he is so eloquent when it comes to matters like this.

image 1: Title unknown, David Sandlin

image 2: Screenshot, 'New York Times', September 2020, Facebook feed

image 3: Author, photo of rental property 2019

image 4: Author, original concept, hand drawn and digitally coloured

2 Years On

Hamish at 8 weeks with his mum Misty in the background.

Today is the second anniversary of the death of my beloved Hamish. I still miss him more than I ever thought I would. I can't honestly say he loved me as much as I loved him. He was quite possibly more in love with his toys but that's OK. He was loyal and brave.

When he was young he would run like the wind - stretch out his long poodle legs and glide like a cheetah, yapping excitedly in his poodle way. He was skinny and agile and wore the skin off his nose rounding up the soccer ball so we had to take that toy away from him unfortunately.

Hamish was obsessive about his toys. In the photo below he pulled every one of them out to play with, then got a bit confused about which to choose. The ball won out in the end.

Hamish would also share his dinner with his favourite toy 'Donkey' sometimes.

This is Hamish having a 'play date' with his lovely sister Hermyne (black poodle) and the gorgeous crazy dog Hobbit from next door.

Towards the end of his life he didn't really enjoy his walks. Being the runt of the litter he had a heart condition all his life and as he aged it caused him to get very tired. It was heartbreaking to see him try to play with his toys, get excited for a short while and then collapse on his bed. 

But he still enjoyed riding in the car.

If there is a heaven for dogs I'm sure he's there. If not, his spirit lives in the tree under which he is buried on our block. I visit him regularly and say 'How are you going Hamish?' It's a rhetorical question of course. He doesn't say much but I know he's there somewhere.

The End........ 

Smile

May as well keep smiling. Another good one from Captain Scratchy who I follow on Instagram.