The Txt Trail (Part II)

Part Deux in the The Txt Trail continues to explore the secret files of my loyal Sony Ericsson; the cell of my mind and it’s electronic notes. It’s kind of like the Da Vinci Code meets Postman Pat. Only it’s smothered in incest, and giant mandarins. So more Noddy, than Postman Pat.

“Rain had left the land feeling damaged, torn and beaten. It lay defeated beneath a sweet scent”

“I’m here for a year, not a career”

“My words are repeated until they’re devoid of life, much the same as when autumn drains the life of trees. Their leaves waiver to the ground to be stamped upon by children. Those leaves, are my worn out words.”

“Mirrool: where 16 people live, and their annual event is to hoof a footy ball over the village silos. Mirrool: where the landlady promises to leave the pub open, so you can shower in the morning, and three mysterious men in their 80s clean the public campsites bathrooms. A place where meat trays are won by people called Bob, and a place where you’re only a stranger the first time you visit. I like Mirrool.

The Kick is 30m by 30m, and on my less heralded effort I only just managed to hit the base from 10m away. It was a place where it was impossible to drive the tent pegs in, reminding me of the earth we leeched after taking it from its caretakers. Mirrool is free of NSW’s Driver Revivers, where coffee and biscuits by donation cause the drive to feel like a charity event. So little happens on these roads, you begin to make dramas up, “Did I put the petrol cap back on?” or “Did we pack the tent?”

“Mundubbera is Aussie for Mundane Area, or at least that’s my interpretation. I spend my days punching in faraway towns into my sat nav, and marvelling at the fact I now live on a caravan site complete with a giant mandarin; testament to the fact Mund’ is the citrus capital of the world. This accolade attracts a population of just over 2000 people and a high street whose only high seems to be the Seat of Knowledge sitting slyly outside the local IGA Supermarket. The campsite is far more reminiscent of a refugee camp, where people gather in groups to out-bore each other while their social experiment finds its feet.”

“Route 66 — Dingo town; home of the World Dingo Throwing Competition”

“PICA (Perth Institute of Contemporary Arts) exhibition, Intimate Acts: Patty Chang snogging her mum and dad; someone spitting into their friends mouth; and an Asian-American who scours dating sites for booty calls, then photographs himself in their apartments. Gross. Unnecessary. Vomit inducing.”