Word-whore. I write 'em. I talk 'em. Information, politics, media, and the cybers. I drink. I use bad words. All publication is a political act. All communication is propaganda. All art is pornography. All business is personal. All hail Eris! Vive les poissons rouges sauvages!
I know we shouldn’t feed the pied currawongs, but they actually came looking for food today. There wasn’t any. But when I put some out, this chap returned a few minutes later — scoffing a few while keeping a wary eye for the cats dozing only a few metres away, then taking a few spare nuggets back for the juveniles in their tree.
A family of pied currawongs lives next door. Beautiful, smart birds. Recently we’ve been leaving food out for them, and they’re happy to steal a few bites while keeping a wary eye for the cats.
Today one of the parents brought two of the juveniles with it. While I didn’t get the camera in time to snap the family portrait, I did sneak this picture of one of the juveniles on the neighbour’s fence.
I’ve always thought that my essays are my best work, even if I say so myself. I’ve done observationals before, like Saturday Night at The Duke and Burnt out sofa, burnt out life. But this one’s different.
As I walked home through Newtown last Saturday evening, I started sending little observational comments to my Twitter stream:
Actually still on Darlington Rd, a long-haired woman plays melancholy guitar on the terrace-house balcony as a currawong flops past.
As I moved into King Street, I kept going. As I went to Kelly’s On King for a beer, I kept going. I discovered that a rapt audience was watching my comments — although not everyone liked the volume of material. I suggested they use Twittersnooze to unfollow me for a while.
The 140-character limit imposes a certain staccato style which I quite like. I was chuffed to be compared with Oscar Wilde and George Bernard Shaw and (especially) Hunter S Thompson!
Here, then, is my first attempt at Live Gonzo Twittering — as others decided to call it, though I’m not sure the label is quite right myself — across about 90 minutes last Saturday night. the only changes I’ve made have been to fix some typos. Is this the best way to present it after the fact? Enjoy!
Continue reading “Gonzo Twitter 1: Saturday Evening in Newtown”
I haven’t seen the “official” writings about last night’s Earth Hour yet. I thought I’d record my personal reactions before absorbing the Sydney Morning Herald party line.
’Pong was booked for a photo shoot on William Street for stock agency Gekko Images. Apparently it’s the first time ever that the illuminated Coca-Cola sign in Kings Cross is being turned off. “Magnanimous gesture for humanity,” I think the headline should read. ‘World’s largest caffeine pusher ceases visually polluting one tiny bit of the planet for 3600 seconds.” Their share price plummets as we speak. The moment must be recorded for posterity.
So at sunset I find myself on a train, city-bound…
The unknown bird call which woke ’Pong and me the other day has been identified. This morning I spotted the beautiful pair of Grey Butcherbirds (Cracticus torquatus) on a tree next door.
Today’s morning chorus also included 30-odd long-billed corellas, a scattering of rainbow lorikeets, a low-flying pied currawong (I love the way they fly well under the main canopy, staying hidden) and assorted pigeons and miners.
Another reason to love this village: just walking to the post office, I encounter five different species of birds!
Rainbow lorikeets (noisy and obvious, but still pretty), Australian magpies (confident and my favourite), Australian ravens (with their languid calls), noisy miners (yes, they’re noisy!) and pigeons.
OK, the skyrat pigeons can go. But the rest are just wonderful — even the aggressive miners. And add to that the family of pied currawongs that live nearby and several other species and you have a wonderful community in which to live.