Notes of Substance

DRAFT (this unfinished post is a test to see what I can do from my phone)  From the Outer Circle to the Sandridge line, I have been travelling along the tracks of railways that no longer exist. Through the viaducts and along the lines that once were, tracing stories and tracking ghosts. Sandridge line: all change The train used to head across the river to Port Melbourne from Flinders Street Station. Now the bar on old Platform 12 is serving crinkle cut chips, 'burgers' made with mushroom and tofu, and arancini balls as the trains clank and roar through behind us.  View from Arbory, old platform 12 I sit here with the river traffic and the reflections, travelling back and forwards. All aboard.  Next stop is my Outer Circle line. A story of humming electricity, the metallic taste of blood and a brutal coming of age. Add to that dodgy politicians, speculative land deals, and the folly of infrastructure built for no good purpose. Starting to sou

PAUSE My window of opportunity came on the Punt Road bridge, perched in a silver carriage at Richmond Station, as I headed into work.  Below me was an empty Punt Road, the north-south nightmare which is Melbourne's usually clogged arterial. A police car stood at the lights and in the distance a cluster of fire-trucks waited outside the petrol station.  I checked our online site and scanned Twitter.  Not much in, just mention of a gas leak. 'More to come'... So I snapped a pic through the smeared glass of a Metro train. In it went with me via email as I entered the building. I was  published on Punt! Websites are a flow of information with unpredictable blockages, overloads, leaks and outages. They also offer windows, little snapshots of the world.  My pic entered the ether of the Internet, lived online for a few developing hours, then fell away from the traffic as events flowed over it. Though the link lives on, i t won't

It's been a long time since I've had total me-time, and so far it's been about 12 hours. Though I'm missing the family in a funny way, it's just been so good! I can do what I want and eat if and when I feel like it. I've had local Pinot in the sun, surrounded by grape vines. I've stopped and stood in freezing air, watching waves form. I've pulled the car over to see sunset over Swan Bay, framed a picture and taken off again. I've meandered through retro shops, made a number of small disorganised purchases at the supermarket, planned two dinner options, and watched the last of the surfers see out the light.  Now I've made myself a drink and turned the heater on. All is well in my bubble.  Just breathe it in while you can.  Postscript: 

Found deep within my parenting files, a reflection on 'work' and meaning. You’re at a formal social function and the person sitting next to you asks, as an opener, ‘So, what do you do for a job?’ Many is the time that I have drawn a deep breath, looked at them and considered, ‘Why have you asked me that question? First up, of all the things that could be said? Have you bothered to use your imagination?’ At times I have simply said nothing, allowing the yawning space to spread out across the crisp white tablecloth, taking a mouthful of my red wine, breathing slowly in and out while I wonder if I should waste one of said breaths on an answer. For it’s not that the specific question is invalid; it is quite acceptable in certain contexts (say a job interview or further into the conversation.) It’s just the unthinking, staid, narrow–ok, conservative– nature of it that undoes me. I have tried diversion (I’m sorry, did you ask me about my favourite vinyl release from the 80s?), I