Whats a good story? A good story is one that engages the unconscious, awakens it, so that the unconscious tells you the story of the story so you get a layered meaning.
I didn't go wwoofing today. I woke up to the sound of very hard rain and an uneasy dream where a friend was trying to kill someone. I stuggled with my ethic to tell someone, either the target or someone, and my loyalty to my friend who felt somehow justified in killing this person. Like the character, Istas, in Madbond.
Then the phone rang. It was Hannilore, friend to mum, saying there was rain and floods everywhere, and mum said she wasn't driving anywher in it. Then it stops and mum decided she would drive to Maleny.
As we were barely out of Nambour, mum says, "I've got this feeling we should stay home today, and go up tomorrow." So we turned around. I got to look at the flooded Petrie Creek instead and watch the barred lizards jump into the water as I walked past.
I went in the shops and asked people if they had seen the creek. The Coles and Woolworths supermarket carpark were under water, and Petrie Park was Petrie Waterworld.
The lizards are really cool. They've got these bars and yellow skin and kind of speckled dappling on their back legs. Their heads did not in any way look like this lizard's head.
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That's interesting; what makes an animal's head look the way it does? And it looks like its got a frill around its neck. And they swim really well.
I went to a bookshop. It was a "I might find what I'm looking for" when you don't actually know what you are looking for. And as I looked at books, I thought its really hard to find a truly unusual book. Until I saw "it", Run the Gauntlet-A Silent Communication through the Art of Mental Telepathy, and its by a woman, Lillian Spencer, and she was born in Southport.
She reads tea leaves, and this book is an autobiography, written with her interpretation of her life, as though the events are the symbols of the interlocking jigsaw puzzle pattern of her life.
Today I saw three wallabies, and a dragonfly with spotted wings. I write this as I am sitting with a bottle of someone's homebrewed stout.
Barb is great. She is from Alberta, Canada and she plays a hurdy-gurdy and a piano accordian. She will be playing at BEMAC on Thursday, March 25th. BEMAC is at Yunguba, which is that big old white building under the Story Bridge. Oh, and Barb is taking the bookings.
She plays traditional Hungarian music and her own songs, about her geese, Ahab and Jezebel.
Yesterday when I got here, another woman, Elizabeth, arrived to practise with Barb. Liz also plays the hurdy-gurdy and the psalter, which is like an auto harp or zither that is played bith a bow.
I got to hear them play together! It was very exciting. I sat on the floor and was very still and quiet.
I am sleeping in a caravan with a leaky roof, a rainbow dyed mosquito net and a lone candle. I've only slept in there once but it feels like twice. Why is that?
Yesterday evening, Barb took me to her friend Jane's place, where Jane has constructed a maze out of straw. It is like this and made out of straw laid out in the pattern on the ground.
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Barb, Jane and I walked the maze under the full moon, and I sensed that all of the women who have gone before me and walked this maze under the full moon.
And weeds, Barb has got heaps of weeds. I have shovelled potting mix, and pulled up weeds and collected straw mostly. Tomorrow I am going to Val's palce, who is a friend of Barb, and I am going to plant vegetables for her because she has done her back in.
Barb showed me this fabulous house that's being built. It has a domed roof and its made of mud. Its got a loft for sleeping in and a red velvet tablecloth.
Jane has got two other residents of her house; golden eyed green tree frogs. We got to see them hopping about.
Wow! There is this earthworm, hmm, what do they do? Walk? Crawl? Squirming? across the floor. It must be really wet out there. But there's no dirt for it in here and its got all this fluff stuck to its nose. Now its found the doormat.
And now its time to brush my teeth and finish the stout and curl up under a nice warm blanky. And dream impossible dreams. BTW, the beer is pretty nice.
And asparagus fern really does look like asparagus. John said that asparagus lives for twenty years. It amazed me that more people don't eat and grow asparagus.
I was weeding their garden and they have a huge pawpaw tree that has four branches like this:
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All the pawpaws I'm used to go straight up in a stick.
This morning, Barb and I fertilised the trees. She has natives, rainforest and citrus trees. There's like 50 of them. Then I fertilised the vegetables. This afternoon is hacking lantana.
This morning I dreamt about a tornado, a grey funnel off in the distance that no one wanted to see because they were watching your new series on television. Then I dreamt that someone had bought Del's television script (?) and he was excited. Then I dreamt that I was leaving my house with my car and taking my final bits of stuff with me, and I woke up because I couldn't figure out why I had my green pencil case.
Fly high and wild.
