i went to look at the rock. i walked around it. it sure is a big fucken rock.
it was just like when i saw stonehenge for the first time and couldn't stop thinking about spinal tap. only this time, my brain kept referring to all those memories of the bankrupt leyland brothers' world in NSW, which i believe is still there. the theme park has been closed for years, and now there's just a servo and the empty fibreglass uluru standing in lurid orange between the trees. i was annoyed and amused by the way iconography disrupts your capacity for witness.
then i went to kata tjuta and walked around that, and yes, there was wonder. i camped amongst red dunes, under a magnificent desert oak, with stars and stars and flies for company. and a banjo. and a fair amount of wonder at the rock, which i could see from my campsite. and a car.
holden caulfield made the trip in style, and didn't mind exploring dirt tracks or driving over the odd bit of spinifex. she is a trouper, and very patient with me. i talked to her. i even called her affectionate names.
what is this mysterious car-love? it is very interesting. it has many layers. the safe-unsafe feeling of being in charge of a machine, and then not, like a conversation between wills; the safety is an illusion, but that's why it's safe, like a story. moving that fast is odd. it feels wrong, illicit, daring and sexy. and they say it is liberating, and it isn't, because actually i am paying for something that was given to me before. hitching is liberating, but you depend on others. driving is a privilege, but you depend on yourself. it's more like joining a club - liberating only insofar as you have permission. but its riskiness is liberating, too. i don't know.
actually driving an EH is more like joining a cult. she got lots of attention. she and the rock had an australian-icon-off:
i'm glad that learning to drive at my age has given me perspective on a phenomenon that most people take for granted, because everything is research. i'm also glad i have this opportunity to feel seventeen and daring. but i feel sad too, because it seems inconsistent with the swag style of travel; i don't want to remove myself from the systems of generosity and coincidence that sustain me.
which is why it was particularly satisfying to pick up a hitch-hiker on my first road trip. he was a very quiet plasterer from adelaide, big and tattooed, one of those men who can look frightening until you see their eyes. i didn't tell him he was my first one; when people have told me that before, i have felt awkward, and he looked tired. i dropped him off at the pub.
he looked just like the guy out of crow season. it's odd when your characters appear like that. like having a secret with the universe.
it was just like when i saw stonehenge for the first time and couldn't stop thinking about spinal tap. only this time, my brain kept referring to all those memories of the bankrupt leyland brothers' world in NSW, which i believe is still there. the theme park has been closed for years, and now there's just a servo and the empty fibreglass uluru standing in lurid orange between the trees. i was annoyed and amused by the way iconography disrupts your capacity for witness.
then i went to kata tjuta and walked around that, and yes, there was wonder. i camped amongst red dunes, under a magnificent desert oak, with stars and stars and flies for company. and a banjo. and a fair amount of wonder at the rock, which i could see from my campsite. and a car.
holden caulfield made the trip in style, and didn't mind exploring dirt tracks or driving over the odd bit of spinifex. she is a trouper, and very patient with me. i talked to her. i even called her affectionate names.
what is this mysterious car-love? it is very interesting. it has many layers. the safe-unsafe feeling of being in charge of a machine, and then not, like a conversation between wills; the safety is an illusion, but that's why it's safe, like a story. moving that fast is odd. it feels wrong, illicit, daring and sexy. and they say it is liberating, and it isn't, because actually i am paying for something that was given to me before. hitching is liberating, but you depend on others. driving is a privilege, but you depend on yourself. it's more like joining a club - liberating only insofar as you have permission. but its riskiness is liberating, too. i don't know.
actually driving an EH is more like joining a cult. she got lots of attention. she and the rock had an australian-icon-off:
i'm glad that learning to drive at my age has given me perspective on a phenomenon that most people take for granted, because everything is research. i'm also glad i have this opportunity to feel seventeen and daring. but i feel sad too, because it seems inconsistent with the swag style of travel; i don't want to remove myself from the systems of generosity and coincidence that sustain me.
which is why it was particularly satisfying to pick up a hitch-hiker on my first road trip. he was a very quiet plasterer from adelaide, big and tattooed, one of those men who can look frightening until you see their eyes. i didn't tell him he was my first one; when people have told me that before, i have felt awkward, and he looked tired. i dropped him off at the pub.
he looked just like the guy out of crow season. it's odd when your characters appear like that. like having a secret with the universe.
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