i got infected with three things last week: some virus that set my throat on fire and set me into immediate necessary hibernation; a new way of dreaming, where the dreams last several days without dis and optimism.
hibernation was good, mixed in with the optimism i think came from tumeric, i got to watch people die on the small screen, got to watch the pope smoke ciggies and put his hand on a lady's breast and hang up nuns' socks on a washing line in the sun (fyi i don't care about the pope, don't believe in that set of things, for the people who occasionally mock me behind my back about being 'religious' having never spoken to me - i forgive you)
the optimism was floating by along with all the plastic bags in the fremantle harbour. it was protecting me as i dic *nothing* for a week in bed. it was slinking around and all that. maybe strutting.
it was flying its little red and blue flag high when i bumped into patrick marlborough at a coffee place. he writes for vice, but now he's teaching refugees and rough kids english skills at a local place in freo. how long will it last though? for some of us even the meaningful 9-5 can't satisfy some thing in us and we have to get out. "most jobs are a crock of shit" i said, and he agreed. we talked about what 'people like us' can do in 2017 in australia, where so much is set up in a way that just can't go on. some of my straight friends, straight as in ex-churchy friends, as in spiritual friends, have found ways to do incredible things through normal 9-5 jobs, really changing the world through teaching or occupational therapy or becoming foster parents or getting married at 19 and being "intentional" with their money and how they set up their share house, or buying property that recently arrived refugee families can live in. patrick told me that the way things are tries to crush culture, and that's the thing we can do - make more culture.
right now, i think about andrew from taco leg - past perth band who played such shows as the infamous marron descent film festival - playing in the concrete box of the old spectrum gallery, singing into a hairbrush. is that culture? is what i'm doing?
i guess the thing that's coming home to roost more for me now is the spectre of myself or my own family or friends being blown up. i guess somehow you get through those things. new world orders come and go, it just takes a while, but typically for me to say, it takes less time than for a tingle tree in walpole to reach maturity. i know a shittonne of kind people. i think there's just one thing missing though for kind people who live on the top of the world: bravery.
we could wait til we're made brave, by real adversity, or we could become brave now, while we have roofs, food, music, pals.