The Yurt

The Yurt

The frogs are loving this weather. It’s been raining and blowing on the coast here just out of Sydney for three long days and each night as I lay down to sleep beside my daughter in this yurt the frogs sing us into the stormy night with the insistence of Steve Reich.

I love this place but it’s not always easy being here. On the first night of this trip I was spooked by the ghost of my father. His ineffable presence was everywhere in the decaying wood of the place. I see his ambition in the grand aspect of the land looking down the coast to Sydney. Naturally he’s indistinguishable from the fact of my presence here and the soft breath of my sleeping children.

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Hell is Chrome

Hell is Chrome

“When the Devil came he was not red / he was chrome and he said / come with me”

Scrolling through Instagram the other night I came across a picture on the account of an old friend. The glossy perfection of the image perplexed me.

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