First New Year Concerto!

Contiune from the below...

Now my fancy slightly different turn. Few years back while I was backpacking around Australia, I encountered so many tottering old ruins and traces of early settlers; heartfelt little striving lovers’ nest, part of our history; tiered of blazing silhouette of red soil; O yes her bloody signatory broken outback, O her merciless assaulting bushfire and proclaimed her promises! O intensity, her leitmotif embracing power of mate-ship! Well yes, you can not help but fell in love with her! Yeah her name is AUSTRALIA!

In NSW, early 1900s, one bed room small cottage, O man, a lover had nine children, an old metal beautiful cooking fire stove was the middle palm size living area, imagine the nine children was thriving, can you believe? Or from miles miles from no where, under leaden bluest blanket, lonely ruins of settlers’ nests, where they have gone now?

In Broome, I bumped into an old estate garage sales. An old sand stone house, with jasmine flowers striated open backyard, coiffed midday sky at lazy summer shade, books on an open table tray. O I felt unexplainable strange feeling. What lovely old things were in whoring shades. Among, an old tattered leather bounded, ink written dairy, dated back to November 15, 18111911, a gift from “Bryan” fading ink is swing at a time. An enchanting word of word enlivened from tatted saint/whoring pages were welcomed me into the opus-world of hers. Glory of personality, sheer of vermillion uncluttered, rage raged anger pure gold agony that warped into cool rational paranoia, complained unkind endless spaces, heated brutality and amours delicate romance. Basically she was a whore well in her mind anyway! O how could I not enchanted by the scent of uncouthly refined sprit? Was pang of jealous about her requited beauty? Declaring, confrontational ruffles of space, frank discussions of traitorous life that enviably refugee at pages, intended her straightforwardness and boundless practicality. Her desire to be free like the space, yet also was dismayed by the gateless space. Well yes there is all really! From there I start obsessed of ordinary people’ diaries, their memento of word of world. It is such privileges, when you are dealing with very personal item, feeling of nobility dealing with such quilt of personal sentiment. It is rare a personal dairies exposed on secondhand dealer but sometimes accidently they do, for my fortune, so I get my wondrous thrills from someone else mistakes. Thinking that there is nothing secrete of our life really! Our passion and yearnings are same as whether 2000 years ago or today, just masked difference tune and shade that is all. Just little dig to see all of these clearly. The composition our life!

I tell you what anyway, I would not miss any of them if I go my sea shore tomorrow for rest of my life for not reading any of the books but living with mist ravaged wild flowers, dragging insects, fugitive birds their compounded nodding winds, stream of natural pinball embellished words of colors, sky moon stars sunset will be there… mantic then I could go walk on early morning with my devilish brother and catch bejeweled sunbeam waves…