the train leaves adelaide, which isn't hard, from a field of strip mall backlot multinationals: bunningses and barbecues galores galore. having nothing else to do that day and a mild hangover from the usual circus antics (though blessed by a few familiar faces) i decided to walk to the station and wait around somewhere with a book. there wasn't anywhere human to wait, though, so i ended up stumbling from concrete verge to carpark in a confused haze. i guess most places have these dead zones, but any time i end up in one it feels like a shock. a jolt to the alleged dignity of being human. i can't stop thinking, this place wasn't built for people. it was built for cars.
the train, the famous (well, in australian train circles) and notoriously badly engineered ghan line stretches up australia's middle like an ineffectual cinch. it's pretty, not in spite of the fact that there's not a lot to see, but because of it. red dirt. trees. the changes in the desert-dilated sky made even more melodramatic by comparison. all you notice is the light; strip mall hell but a distant memory.
i stepped off in alice, my new home for the foreseeable, two weeks ago. it's such a stunning landscape i've been endangering myself on the roads, looking askance at red rocks, at changes in the light. nights, the stars are flung overhead like a thick rug to the big city's string bag. i swear i can feel their warmth.
i've moved in with three others to The Ranch, a five-acre block on the edge of town. the extensive bush of telegraph station is my backyard. my quarters are in the shed, which i share with a great big 4x4 and (at present) an injured magpie lark we have nicknamed MonoClaw (little no legs was taken, obviously, and anyway he's still got most of one.) I'm happily fixing the space up and making it my own, hammering away and singing old time work songs, planning and plundering and generally being terribly resourceful and competent.
i'm happy here. i'll let you know how it goes, but for now - and this is a big deal in my recent history - i've gone a whole fortnight without once yearning to stick my thumb out at the highway. hmm. a home. weird.
the train, the famous (well, in australian train circles) and notoriously badly engineered ghan line stretches up australia's middle like an ineffectual cinch. it's pretty, not in spite of the fact that there's not a lot to see, but because of it. red dirt. trees. the changes in the desert-dilated sky made even more melodramatic by comparison. all you notice is the light; strip mall hell but a distant memory.
i stepped off in alice, my new home for the foreseeable, two weeks ago. it's such a stunning landscape i've been endangering myself on the roads, looking askance at red rocks, at changes in the light. nights, the stars are flung overhead like a thick rug to the big city's string bag. i swear i can feel their warmth.
i've moved in with three others to The Ranch, a five-acre block on the edge of town. the extensive bush of telegraph station is my backyard. my quarters are in the shed, which i share with a great big 4x4 and (at present) an injured magpie lark we have nicknamed MonoClaw (little no legs was taken, obviously, and anyway he's still got most of one.) I'm happily fixing the space up and making it my own, hammering away and singing old time work songs, planning and plundering and generally being terribly resourceful and competent.
i'm happy here. i'll let you know how it goes, but for now - and this is a big deal in my recent history - i've gone a whole fortnight without once yearning to stick my thumb out at the highway. hmm. a home. weird.
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