Back to Sunshine

This is not far out of Geelong. Check out the weird cloud. This next photo is coming back into Sunshine:

Another day of hanging out, on the Yarra with a bunch of happy campers, and now I'm back home. So I guess it's time to start thinking about the future: that'll be about 6 months long.
Plans: get a job, meet Bill Mollison, build a windmill on top of the Footscray Markets.

The second one is probably easy in a physical sense, but as far as process goes, there's a lot of me going on there. You've gotta have a plan, a system, a reason. Like, even if your guru lived next door, how would you prepare to meet him? And just because he's old might not be reason enough. Personally I find the whole idea of having a guru totally ridiculous, but I've got one, so somehow I have to go with myself on this one. Praps it's like the sport shoes: don't think about it too much first. (Lucky it wasn't me working on the Nike ad campaign, it would've ended up something like this: don't think about it too much, because you know, sometimes it's better if you don't go into all the detatils and fall over yourself in self disabusement, like, take a risk, don't caution yourself on this, ok?)
The job and the windmill have a more intimate connection. I'm hoping the former will lead to the later. Or I'm proposing the latter in hopes of attaining the job.

It's a fantastic view from up there. I might go have another look tomorrow. No, hang on, I've already got a thing to do tomorrow, and I'm on a no more than one thing to do per day week. So it'll have to be Wednesday. That's currently a thing-free day.

Any other plans?

Oh yeah, but I aint talking about stuff that doesn't want to be talked about. Because some things have a very precarious connection to materiality, and talking about them sucks all their existing energy out. They might float off like grey balloons into black space, or they might get wrecked. Don't let the words out or those kind of thing just fade away to nothing, or worse still fester away like small festering insects, and you have to create a whole new energy field for them, and build it up all over again before they can happen. I'm not into that so I have to keep these little thing-plans under my hat. You gotta be real careful with stuff like that.

"Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines" keeps going around in my brain. I wonder where that comes from. I am haunted by these little things. TS Elliot? It scans a bit like "I am moved by fancies that are curled around these images and cling/ the notion of some infinitely gentle, infinitely suffering thing"

What is that?

Wait, I'll go look.

It's #IV of the Preludes, and it goes like this:

His soul stretched tight across the skies

That fade behind a city block,

Or trampled by insistent feet

At four and five and six o'clock:

And short square fingers stuffing pipes,

And evening newspapers, and eyes

Assured of certain certainties,

The conscience of a blackened street

Impatient to assume the world.

-

I am moved by fancies that are curled

Around these images, and cling:

The notion of some infinitely gentle

Infinitely suffering thing.

-

Wipe your hand across your mouth, and
laugh:

The worlds revolve like ancient women

Gathering fuel in vacant lots.