Right from the start, I’ve had a deep seated urge to create something. By nature, a dreamer I was attracted to art in all its forms. Music, literature, painting and sculpture all captured my imagination but some of these things I showed zero aptitude for. I am one of the few people who has the distinction of failing visual art as a subject in junior secondary. I didn’t just fail — I failed miserably with a score in the high twenties that was generously rounded up to thirty.
Ultimately, I found writing as easy as falling off a log. That…
When you embrace darkness it takes you in, welcomes you and then when you’re comfortable,starts to bite.
Collateral Damage- Postcards From Hell
I’m on more than nodding terms with darkness. I have felt its cold touch and bear the wounds of its jaws. Despite this I know its attractions and understand how easily one can be drawn into the abyss.
Much of my early adulthood was spent beneath a thick blanket of apathy, fear and hopelessness. That was my choice — it was how I chose to cope. Failure was always on the agenda because failure was cultivated.
Ritchie Blackmore just turned 76.
It doesn’t feel right writing that. Heroes are larger than life. They’re not meant to grow old. Blackmore has always been my hero. Well at least from the age of about fourteen or so.
It’s not just because Blackmore to my mind is the preeminent guitar player of his generation — the bridge between Hendrix and Van Halen that Page/Clapton fan boys never acknowledge. It’s the aura of the man.
When I heard Rainbow Rising for the very fist time I just remember thinking, I can never play like that. …
Over the past five years so, I’ve spent a lot of time writing about politics. I don’t see the point anymore. There’s a lot of money to be made doing so, but you have to disengage all working synapses and become a cheer leader for one side or the other.
Writing about politics doesn’t change anyone’s mind about anything. We now live in a system where there are many different tribes all spewing their version of rightthink. It is impossible to have a discussion with any of them. They are wedded to their version of reality. …
One of the great blessings of working from home is that I get the opportunity to correspond with a range of people whom I otherwise would not. Two of those interactions inspired this article. One where I was moved to write that life is precious, the other where I wrote drink it all in.
I kind of surprised myself both times . Not because they’re particularly insightful statements — but because I dared to write them. It’s amazing how far I’ve come on this journey. My book Postcards From Hell leaves little doubt that the young man who went by…
I arrived in Ararat with 3 guitars, a broken bed, a sound system, a couple of thousand dollars worth of vinyl and a massive chip on my shoulder.
I wasn’t planning on staying long. I had no ties and could check out anytime. That was the plan.
When I finally left, some thirty three years later, I took the above photo, which in many ways summed up my initial feelings about finding myself in such a place.
Regular readers know that I’m a passionate supporter of Julian Assange and his efforts to expose the criminal underbelly of all governments. This morning I’ve been blindsided by the British Court decision to deny the Assange extradition to the United States.
Close followers of the case would have noted the judge’s apparent antipathy towards Assange. Her contemptuous dismissal of much of the defence team’s case did not go unnoticed either. The extradition seemed to be all but a fait accompli.
So, what the hell happened?
The judge has dismissed the request on humanitarian grounds. She noted that Julian was a…
I know success. Or so it would seem.
Before I was thirty I was the Accountant at a small country branch of the Commonwealth Bank. By the time I’d reached fourty I was managing two branches for the same organisation and was on a salary I couldn’t jump over. The bonuses on offer were the types of bonuses that blurred lines and made concepts such as integrity seem rather quaint.
I couldn’t believe my ears. It didn’t sound like two guitars it sounded like three over dubbed around each other so that there was this cacophony of sound- and the shredding pieces simply had to be sped up. Nobody could play that fast — nobody.
I declared it to be overdubbed which caused my friend to burst out laughing and call me a cynical bastard.
It took me a while to get my head around that. Back…
I’ve been coming home to football for a while now. It’s been a long journey and there’s been more than a few stumbles along the way. I am almost there. Every step closer hurts, but hurts so good as the song used to say.
I haven’t broken into a run yet, but its only a matter of time.
There are a couple of ovals two drop punts away from where I live. Inevitably, my daily walk takes me onto those ovals. It really feels like coming home.
I always walk across them and pause at the spots where I’d start…
Freelance writer, musician, non — aligned political junkie, all round pain in the arse