I like it in the city when, the air is so thick and opaque

Only... two and a half-ish months to go...

Completed Bachelor's degree? Check.

Renewed Aussie passport? Check.

Backpack that is bigger than me? Check.

Travel insurance? Check.

One way ticket to Spain? Check.

Job and accommodation on arrival? ...oh...shit!


photo: Anna Rosa Krau

Music the great communicator, use two sticks to make it in the nature

Sometimes I love my job. Today I was talking to the children I look after about dinosaurs and why they no longer exist. Turned out we didn't need to google as one child was an authority on the topic; his grandparents were apparently killed by T-Rex, back in the day. What I love the most, is that he believes it. It reminded me that when I was a child, the era my parents grew up in seemed like the stone age. I wonder if one day my (future)children will ask me whether cars had been invented when I was their age.


Photo: Geoffrey Barrenger

Now he's trying the whole day, to switch off time by causing train delay

It's 8am. I was woken by the smell of fire. I jumped out of bed and ran into the kitchen, convinced dad had forgotten to unplug the toaster and we were both going to die in an electrical blaze. No fire in the kitchen. Okay, so maybe one of the apartments below us was on fire, I looked over the balcony. No fire down there, but the smell was even stronger. It's the air.

For a while I lived in a small town in England. I used to walk around the old side of the village to smell the smoke coming out of the cottage chimneys, the woodfire smell was somehow comforting. This smell is not comforting. There are no cottages, no chimneys. This is the smell of something that has ruined hundreds of people's lives.

When the bushfires started many of us weren't shocked; living in Australia we're no strangers to the occasional bush fire. These fires were different, even before they started they were predicted to cause havoc. The fires have taken over 181 lives, destroyed wildlife, property, and entire towns. This is something that Australia has never seen before. Even the sky over Melbourne City is red. The smell waking us up, reminding us of the people and animals who have died. It no longer feels surreal. It feels like a nightmare.

If there is a time I have ever felt patriotic it is now. Getting sentimental usually makes me cringe, but I am amazed and impressed at the way Australia is pulling together to support the victims of these fires. In times of crisis the true nature of the Australian people comes out, and it makes me happy- to the verge of teary- to be one of them.

You can donate to the Australian Red Cross Bushfire Appeal

Photos from: smh.com.au

Photo from: ninemsn.com.au

Spread your love like a fever

I have this habit of falling in love with songs, in languages I don't understand. I load them onto my ipod and then listen on repeat for days. I'll speculate on what beautiful or sexy things the lyrics say. One day I won't be able to take the curiosity any longer, I'll google it. Inevitably, it will say something along the lines of 'bitch, I want you to lick my butt sweat' and my heart will be broken. No more google lyrics. Lately I am listening to a French song, Le Vent Nous Portera by Noir Desir and Manu Chao, and I don't want to know what they're saying...not at all.

Photo: David Dunan

I don't care about clever, I don't care about funny

I have recently discovered that I am the ignorant person. Where art is concerned that is. I've never been the type to spend all day browsing art galleries, even the Louvre lost its appeal to me after four hours; there are only so many ancient statues one can look at before they lose their magic.

Every season or so I visit the National Victorian Gallery to see what has changed. I was there last week. Not much had changed. I was walking through the Modern and Contemporary Art sections, most likely embarrassing my accompanying friend by smirking and raising my eyebrows at almost every single piece. How is this art? It doesn’t depict anything recognisable and the accompanying summaries are completely far fetched. Even the names aren't worthy of art: Untitled no. 18, Black smudges on paper, Vertical faded stripes. Oh, come on! Does anyone else think that perhaps the people who 'ooooh' and 'aaaah' over these pieces do so because they think everyone else 'gets it' while they don't?

I understand art is often a very different thing to its audience than it is to its creator. Art is fascinating because we can draw things out of it, get lost in it, understand it(or atleast understand the meaning we draw from it). But how the hell you can get lost in 'Vertical faded stripes', I don't know, unless you're on acid. Can anyone shed some light on why such useless unimaginative things are placed in national art galleries? Maybe I should paint polka dots on a photograph of my breast and say it represents the struggle between conformity and personal freedom in this messed up world. Maybe I shouldn't.

With all this said, I appreciate artwork you can see a story in. Renaissance paintings, Medieval manuscript art, Modern photography; they all appeal to me. They capture a moment in time, and the viewer can create the rest. I like art when it is obvious in its beauty. When it's not pretentious. Like these..

Sure, they may be 'Fashion Photography' rather than Modern Art pieces hanging in a gallery, but I'd rather stare at them over scribbles on a canvas anyday, and I'm not ashamed to say so.
Photos: Geoffrey Barrenger

I'll give you some yarn and you'll give it some spin

It's too hot.

Photo: DavidVasiljevic

A stranger's hand lingers unnecessarily close to her bottom; the elbow of the man in front of her not-so-lightly grazes her breast. She opens her mouth to protest, gasps, and chokes, on the suffocating aroma of sweat. A schoolbag sharply hits her in the back of the head; a grunted apology from a lanky pubescent boy. A shuffle. Chaos. Rearrangement of bodies. Now faced with the hairy underarm of a woman reaching for the escape signal. Close eyes. Don't breathe. Another shuffle. She hears the muffled sounds of another person's music 'it's getting hot in here, so take off all your clothes...I am getting so hot'...OH PLEASE NO.

I've got a question for you. Where do you see yourself in five minutes time?

Overkill? never.

Heat from the sun somedays slowly passes

Photo: Geoff Barrenger

To blog or not to blog. It's not really a question since I'm um..writing a blog entry. I created this blog to record my impending move to Spain, but it's just sitting here, empty, calling to me. Write in me you daft cow, you're not even going to Spain until May. Apparently my blog thinks it's English.

So, Spain news? I cried in the post office today! Not full on 'I have no will to live' wails, just a single tear of frustration. Renewing my passport is turning out to be an epic bother. Well, I suppose it's not quite up there with Greek tragedy, but I muttered to myself like a lunatic all the way home. Must remember to bring old passport. Must make a new appointment. Where the hell is my citizenship certificate? Don't cry. Damn it's hot. Oh, a donkey.