Million Billion Trillion

how is it that you can tell, even if you dont know someone
that their eyes are holding somthing, that question, that dying clarity
"i have a question"
how is it, the first time you touch someones hand
a tear falls
how can you live a whole life
or two separate lives
and meet for a second, a second that changes eveything
a second that cancels out them all
"what happens when I die"

we never say hello or goodbye or share any personal thing

just one intense exchange
life/death

what happens when I die?

its like time is an imagination
and when your in a moment
its completely irrelevant

before and after

we are just there

strangers begging answers. inescapably connected by our immortalities.

grabs my hand and presses fingers, we souls look at eachother

"forasmuch as ye are manifestly declared to be the epistle of Christ ministered by us, written not with ink, but with the Spirit of the living God; not in tables of stone, but in fleshy tables of the heart..." 2 cor 3:2

what am I, but what Grace has given me to be, a timely messenger

what are these insignificant seconds but lifetimes

what are we all, but you and me and this 'holy' moment

so, im working hellish hours, but coming home to the farm inbetween shifts. theres no place on earth like it(: I can't see civilisation in any direction, at night the stars are close and heavy, the rain and mist, the bright pink and orange sunrise, the deep purple sunsets, picking mushrooms, firewood, eggs, vegetables, walking in the bush with Scoobs who just knows how im feeling and is so cute and loving..the breathtaking running (literally) my favs have now got to be Yabby Damn (hills), Silo (flat and fast) and Billabong (hills and flats). Sometimes mum and i go and grab a coffee in narrogin and use the heated pool and spa. ahhhh i just love the lull.

life is good. and quiet. but building.

First Aid Kit - Universal Soldier

im trying to find the words to tell you how
im trying to find the words to tell you
im trying to find the worlds to tell
im trying to find the words to
im trying to find the words
im trying to find the
im trying to find
im trying to
im trying
im

Frida(:

I already feel like nursing has given so much to me, in understanding myself, how to live here, how to be a part of someone elses life, to be a professional, to be confident and humble most of all, at all times. ive read back and cringed at the excessive reflection and how inward ive become. that this bloging activity is a ginormous puddle of mud to wallow in. but things are changing.

i arrived in a foreign land 4 years ago. I do it all the time, laugh through it, fudge and create, but it just wasnt working here. they were all so good at it. and ten years younger than me. I remember watching a soap on TV and thinking how i walk onto the scene every day, people acting at me, expecting me to act back. So i just didnt bother. I hate false screens I hate madeup i hate impressions, gimics, bright lights.and it my fault for thinking that everyone was a part of the same story as me. it was a mistake. nursing has taught me to have time for people. im not even talking about alot of time, just exclusive time, and people are like rosebuds mostly. its probably just feminine sentiment but its a joy to see connectedness to have little strands of relationships here and there. i dont care what they say about professional boundaries, nursing is friendship. If I just followed the book and obeyed the protocol and met discharge criteria, i might as well build machines. I hate the inhumanity of public health theory. of philosophy in general. people will always ask, what if this was your son or mother or daughter, and the final answer changes. but, i think for me its always the same, i already think as if they were, treat them like they are my own. the phenomena of genuine giving is that the the giver is never diminished. its like mitosis, the half is the whole. when i pray its one of the things i always ask God for, somthing to be more aware of. I know the bigger picture too. My life is full of people who cross my path and the first moment they get to speak to me, want to know about God. 3 people last night. my counsin last week. one of my work collegues. my theology classes (i had to switch between three and got to talk about my Savior in all three of them(: thats 60 people...from the moment were born to dying, our paths were always going to cross! how cool. some talk about the holy moment. This is God putting me in thier way, on purpose. Its the only way I know im walking in His way. Im learning to be bold. Im usually shy and keep my thoughts to myself, diplomatic and in alot of ways, submissive to other peoples pov. Im not sure if its just a getting older thing were you dont give a damn what other people think of you anymore or that I feel more educated, but I dont really have a problem speaking up anymore, particularly on other people behalf, which is so important in nursing. Ive been making a study of history. politics and economics over the past 4 years and know so much more than I did before, I really care about what goes on and how it affects me, the people I care for and those who are marginalised by human greed. BUT now I feel like Ill speak up about it, and give my humble opinion, because there is no way i can know it all or exaclty how it all fits together, but Im more confident in my own sense of justice and my own social responsibility. i think this is a maturity thing, I never cared for such things when i was 23, but wish i had have, alot of valuable time wasted being cool. I find it hard to find other people who want to chat about big stuff with the same level of understanding. they probably know more facts etc, but the principles of listening and learning from others just eludes some people, and its usually the fanatics that will talk and talk and talk and just end up in some impossible extreme. I would just love to hear reasonable, practical ideas that can help here and now, the person next to me etc....and thats why ive loved reading Raj Patal(: I wish we had this brain function where our phiosophies could be put into a cerebral world within us, and as we postulate, our brains integrate it into a would be world...if we could foresee the effect on the littlest, least, weakest among them, then we could gague how efective that philosophy might be. without having the most precious on the dinner plate of the most vulgar. ill write more later, i have some work here to do. We had an old man into ER just now the acute cholecyctistis, he's had some morphine and metoclopromide and it seems to have taken the edge off his pain. anyway, ill finish his admission, hope for a quiet rest of the night and right some more later.

cold air down the bottom of your lungs, long hills, "chhhhhhhhhhhhssssssssss", the last 10 meters of the hill before you plateu and you look left toward the noise out in the king george sound....Whales! (southern right and humpback) and thier calves playing in the bay........WOW....this place is spectacular with green water and white sands and islands, but the wildlife, just makes you burst and run really fast(: Love this place.

Its about a 35 degree day in this little desert place, im on shift at the hospital (its quiet atm) and Im going to try and finish this prolific chronical while the inspiration is trying to strike, well the heat is trying to melt it away, but lets see, lets just see if I can imagine, if I can imagine a place that no one else on earth would believe, that people must be previosuly conditioned to adapt by spending 6 months at a scottish highland bootcamp of madness sustained only by meals of fresh loch linhhe salmon and neeps, and salmon and neeps, im trying to imagine…middle of the irish sea, whipped by artic winds, a little island with a strange name, and somewhere on it, past the country clubs and seaside airport and airport seaports, residents on motorcycles travelling faster than the speed of light, cats with no tails and distrurbing preoccupation for three legged men (snytax of this sentence rocks!), I find in my mind a two story victorian house with a french name and lots
of people from south africa and nations beyond the call of duty, some thick smoke passing the welcome of a blue smurf at the door that’s always open. Are we alice? Is this wonderland? Nats the strippy cat and Mo the queen of young wayward hearts. Follow the smoke to the kitchen, high yet? Or you prefer a captain morgans spiced rum? Theres a thousand bottles in the yellow room and more in the least chilled out chill out room in the world, theres some mushrooms and the crew sitting around the table, maci maci ncing ncing and Juan and Gideon dancing some dutch dance and really enjoying the music of their homeland. Some will come and completely abodon their roots and some will come and stay for a while and return home with travel bugs the size of minature galaxies and some will come and bitch and moan about everything they miss and I guess it’s a yearning for comfort and familiarity, for ease and simplicity, which is what I though 38 demesne was or wasn’t, at least that’s what I
thought at the end of it all….it was and it wasn’t all ease and simplicity all comfort and familiarity….

Ive just remembered im remembering not imaging! A car that hoots involuntarily when you turn left which carried Landi and Justin across the scottish moors and east england lowlands and put them on our doorstep for Christmas…I never considered it before like this, but we really did get a great present that year, I made two SPECTACULAR friends and you were reaquaitned with these shining stars and all the joy that would follow the little christmas tree and Salavador Dali getting festive, those russian tinsel hats in that pub which I can’t remember but its on the high street opposite the camera store and near the tiny, really tiny chinese takeaway store with one table for the option of eating in. These memories are like a maze and they’re proliferating….i don’t know if ill find my way out. The night the whole house rocked and the day you deftly climberd through the keyhole to get into the house. We almost got dragged into drug fueled 60-80’s kareokee in the front room, or was th
at just me, and the second they cracked out celine dion I made a run for it, back the freezing quarters and david grey and cigarettes! I cant believe I smoked cigarettes and spent my money on cigarette imagine how many sweetiepies I could have bought! Sweetiepies……..but look at all the friends I made smoking cigarettes…acutally I think most of them run a cartel out of thailand right about now. Pre-frozen wine classes and warm wine with Jasmine. Oh! Rank memory! I can ALMOST SMELL Holly’s feet!!!! I shared a room with her remember? And would wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of someone munching on pringles under the covers. Its must be that military training. Bar George and Colors and how I used your self induced vomit technique to have what seemed like 2 or 3 21st’s in one night(0: you’re a legend! I think this is the first week on the isle riding in the rickety white van, when it wasn’t being crashed by Dallas, being groomed by mike marshall to be worthy recep
tionists of the premier hotel on the island and someone must have forgot to tell him daily…. “they don’t pay us enough to care!” haha. So much to learn for that job. Dr Barry’s morning paper is more important than anything on earth. Forget everything you ever heard about a cholera outbreak, the paper is paramount. Jackie Gelling will have been on a ski trip recently or european city break probably, Jackie Gelling is the poshest woman in the world with a crush on George Cloony. Claimed crush that is. Julie Glanz would never admit it, but I bet if you put a black hat and cloack on Cloony and made all his new money into old money, she would drool embarrassingly over the hollywood celebrtiy too. As for posh, Glanze has it down, I don’t doubt for a second all her books are leather bound and her furniture smells of mahogany

I fall in between wanting to get it all down and wanting to live out the moments again, but of course the nature of existance is that we can’t live out moments again, but I can try to get it all down. Like the promeande with lights and occassionally ginormous waves crashing over the wide streets gardens, the horses that trot back and forth and I think they must live their lives in rewind. They live out the dreaded years first and then bask in the glory of the home of rest for old horses shuddering at the thought of having to lug about the Food and Services Manager of the hotel, a middle aged overproportionate women from Bolton who besides wanting to get a ‘hunk of meat’, as in a lad from Reading Football Club, had also been witnessed riding the pergatorial horses back and forth instead of the ill concieved alternative, walking. The home of rest for old horses. Robbed of their youth by lazy overeaters like claire de lune. Eww I have a vivid moment in mind when she stood in the
foyer and hiked her stocking up so that her thighs were in full view of staff and guests alike, and as fate would have it, Dr Barry on his way to collect his morning paper. Her nails ripped a huge whole in the woe betide stockings and she snorted with laughter. I know im making her sound ridiculous, but wasn’t she? Not far from moments like when Holly and Vasti played the crying game in tower house and said I should join in, because don’t you just feel like a good cry every now and then? I kinda laughed, you know, awkward turtle moment. Tower house for tony&guy, crystals, scones and indulging in beauty therapie= not for crying with your girlfriends. No way those two should ever be allowed to eat a Yorkie.

Ive raced way ahead of myself and completely left out Dallas’ awkward moment, named Dean. Actually come to think of it, he might have had a few(; Hmmmm swaree at York Road/Palace? I bet you’ve never kept company with a 29 year old who had: degrees in law, music, dance, hotel management and the Overall degree in Everything that is being spoken of at the moment. Ornathology? Done it! With a rusty MG outside to prove it – oh dear….IT DOESN’T WORK! Blakc belt? Kacha! Oh dear. His side kick Martromboniemism. What more can I say? His name really does say it all! RRR, Lindzoid Asteroid, Chantele french poodle (Dallas’ bff) many a concept was birthed by that funny little eccentric creature. As we would always say, marching to the beat of his own guitar. Its almost like he could hear every tick of every biological clock in the world, ticking, ticking, ticking and considered it his duty to make sure everyone pro-created whilst they were able, or at least felt under pressure about it,
and that they were happy. Are you sure your happy. Are you SURE you happy. Well, we were, now were not. Julie, Jackie, mike marshal, nats, Mo, George with the same tape cassette stuck in his car stereo. What a whack job that place was. (think we fit right in). I think lack of dedication to customer service of the minions coupled with poor judgement of the management actually really made that place. I think that’s what kept people coming back. I know Micky Rourke enjoyed his stay but we couldn’t quite figure out wether that was due to schedule 8 drugs of addication or a good night in the lounge bar with Frankie and co. The whistling irishman and that blonde women who always worked out and then drank coffee – lounge bar coffee. Hair in the soup of the bald-headed chef’s bistro, maitre de too clever to be fooled, too french to mince words. The stinky chef who smelled so bad that he made you turn green Linds. And we almost had the pull the car over to breath even though our windo
ws were wound down on a blisteringly cold night. Dallas’ well known soft spot for his type. Buzzes are (Wawa – Sarah!) who looks really pretty, no, really pretty….no explitive pretty, “um…sorry?” when a pixie hands you a compliment don’t expect her to let go of it! When a pixie gatecrashes your party…you WILL drink! When a pixie says someone is a tit…they are a real tit, no, literally. When a pixie sees an area that has turned from black or white into grey then there is no grey area and its time for a chat and a ciggie in the bistro. And the Benoni braindrain is back on.

Im describing the ship of fools, two hot potatoes at the helm (whattity tottity) and im missing the most Treasured part. His accented had just a hint of merseyside, just a dash. And I think he fell in love with me at first site (it was profitable times for me) or was it that he thought “you’re the oogliest thing ive seen in my life”. Thankyou. Throw liquid paper. Duck from return fire. Reception covered in liquid paper. Pure joy of watching managerical staff on their hands and knees cleaning up mess that I provoked him into making. Sniggering. Jeering. Haha Breech of protocol in the Viscount Suite. “Treasure, your bum’s talking.” “Protien Spill in the Alexander Suite”- lindsay on the two-way radio. We need to have a phone sess al a Geroge compliments of the fortunes of Gube. Speaking of whom, the millionaire gave us his read hot tip which was, as we had long suspected: save and re-use your tea bags.
A new staff member in place by morning.
Definitely justified daily coffee and dose of escapism at Ottakers. Little mozart with his pile of books about genei, a dash to the philosophy to check with the oracle and make off with the jupiter finger. Seriously its way better than the bird.
Even the hum drum routine of daily life on the isle wasn’t without little inescapable joys. Scotty dogs, a flash of a smile from feegan that I know gave me goose bumps and made me all weak at the knees. (you ask, is manx talent THAT lacking??? Im afraid so). Well, acutally just short of the absurdity of a crush on feegan or being accused of stalking trevor tonks…t,t,t, tonks…(heather and I spat our milkshake out when we were sitting at the promenade view café when we saw trevor tonks’ butt crack….heather took pictures) was, the closet thing we could concieve as the piece of meat Claire De Lune talked so eloquently of….introduce to the dulcet tones of a cat pissing on his Bed of Zen…Royston Barry Taylor. Still can’t believe you fancied his sixth toe. Imagine a candle lit dinner by the window in the kitchen, with our once-used strainer, all the coca cola you can drink and really loud conversation about “Rewthie””Rewthie”…all while the little 6th gets its groove on. oh gosh! Ill
wait 4 hours for a flaming great pizza rather than that! Door Slam! Was that the night Dallas and Just came staggering down york road and dal’ pulled my closet over on himself spilling all my laundry powder, then starting mock-mating things that were standing still. Wouldve been great if it co-incided with your and michelle’s catchup with Gordon’s Gin. A great memory for me, and Mrs. Nairn…who had 47 checkouts. And raymond, who was so boring….to his face!! Im laughing now, cool memory. But I was talking about everyday hum drum which in retrospect was lovely, like 2 for 1’s at tesco’s and toasted cheesies with garlic sauce, or those fantastic veggie burgers and whack a video in the microwave, hunker down on the footon and let the red wine drift you off into sleep….or quite often…into REM and Boney M. Go to sleep 4 am, wake up 7 and do it all again. The huskies on the high street, the photo shop, boots for your corn plasters, a massimo at Ott’s and a tuna melt. Lonely planet b
ooks. File 21 is where you go when you die. Day trips to the calf or the port or casteltown, or the liverpool arms to play pool under the psychotic gaze of local’s who had never seen a mainlander before let alone someone from farthest corners of the island, beyond the once in a lifetime trip to Ballcutchel even. No wonder marrie-anne loved that place. How relieved to find people with similar mindset as yourown. A whole pub full of people who would have to agree that there is no way that the swiss speak german, the swiss speak swiss. And I speak Australian.

Should I leave the isle? And return again and leave again?! Hannalize was SO outdone by me. And I by Lizzy. And us all by Caroline. I think she has found in the isle a friend for life. A rock that understands her completely (; that’s a kinda joke, if its too harsh, ill take it out, because I really do love her. Alas, I am afraid it is time to leace the manly isle, to reverse you ship into the airport and set sail for liverpool and fairer seas….every place we go, it seems, we’ll never find another like it.

This is about 1/10 of our adventurous lives….which would never have eventuted if we hadnt escaped the daffodalia paraphinalia……and found ourselves quite, in australia…..

And for this I must afor warn you that Perth does not give coffee service positions to those without a doctorate in philosophy. Now, I know that this was in actual fact a Pilgrimage to see John Howard perform his greatest diplomatic hits, but I didn’t think he would indluge you, being foreign and all he would soon send his people to tell you “…ummm, no, she’s not staying” thinking you little higher than an indonesian in a rickety boat from nations beyond the torres strait. Before you overstayed your welcome (the visitor who came to stay! And little do they know your future plan! Haha! ) I think you would have made a go-er of the job in Norseman, except that Bod kept called with semi-death threats and ah yeh, he can just &*%^ off. And after spending time at farm fables, several days in search of the boring ass maze and a few days of eating melting moments every moment you were off to see more of our great land….middle of nowhere. I just heard stories of germans and chairs a
nd 45+ degree days and I thought it wouldn’t be long before you would make your way to…….CAIRNS!!! So glad you did! I mean a snorkler at heart, what were you doing in the middle of the desert? I came on a short holiday to make one of you friends, Cat. Lost phones, fire alarms, great barrier reef, mud flaps…..yeah. im such a nut. Great memories again though, captured by the photographer on the catermeran….you and dad, such a happy couple!! Ahah! Im sure you can write billions of chapters within chapters of all of these….you should and then we can compile them and have the nurses read them to use when were comitted at long last to the nuthouse!

games that were never meant to amount to anything will finally play themselves out...

there is nothing poetic about life right now. I can't even make it up, or prick myself deep enough to find blood. but i am still very good. I am a professional me. things are 50/100 and its enough to mean that most of the time in insainly happy with life, every time a blessing is counted, there is another to be had etc...but the same things elude me. Life is going too fast for me, even though im more caught up on stuff. Its night shift 0130 and ive a mountain of admin work to do...if nights are busy and im on with the motormouth it is my strategic alternative. to save myself from the catholic nun with a million wild children. I would like even one, child, though, wild or tame.anyway, its freezing cold, the old dears are all tucked in and only up every other hour for the bathroom, so unless we get an emergency, its a long night of admin ahead. I hope for the publics sake, it is an admin night. ive lots of challenges ahead. I think alone and time is perfect for fears to arise. at other times ive done mad things without a second thought because ive been in a rush, but now ive stopped, i mean i call uni a dead HALT, it is frightening to get started again. i want to pack and leave but im afraid now of alot of things that ive never entertained before. and just because ive had time to dream this nonsense up. things seem more impossible now for some reason, who knows what. i just want to sleep. but that could be because it is 2 oclock. in the morning. my dad's an alcholic. ive said that before. and i thought it would be shocking. but its not. it cost me to say it out aloud and almost anyone doesnt know what to say about it. its such a demon. and i hate it. i dont know how it affects me, just that it makes me really sad for my dad. because i dont think of him how most people would like to think of thier dads. but how harsh is taht? imperfection is my old friend too. it may be just my job, but there is so much suffering in life, just in the day to days of some people, or a once in a lifetime but never again for some, or just some people suffer beacuse they cant recieve joy. this is what i think is the best part of what God made of me...i seem to have sqwillions of joy receptors so that anything skirting around, even remotely sends me sailing. but then i think i have melodrama recieving points too and im a sucker for a sad story, i love climbing in with the passengers aboard woe train and getting a sense of the deep end, the highs seem really high then. how lovely and disgusting i am. proverbs has a lot to say about foolishness and women. and the more i know of us, the more obvious those traits are, in me, in others. but i dont think, in honesty, i am foolish, but of course i am. but i dont want evil things or want to use someone else for myself. i guess this is good. but good enough? is the trick really to appeal to all the evil outside and be an inward beaming light? the harlot and the whore theory. do men want shakira behind closed doors and ruth in the open light? or the other way around? what am i supposed to be for you? you know. im crazy. i have all these self improvement stuff, like i want to belly dance and be size 4 and have smaller boobs, and learn to cook, and be just half as beautiful and talented as ALL the women I ever see are....i dont think guys understand somthing....in the search for perfect and beautiful THAT is 99% of women....its just the way were made...........in the search for lovely and caring and loyal..........it would suit you all to be blind.

(this is really lazy writing, but like ive said, non of this is ground ive wanted to cover, or in so much detail, or so often in time)

remember we split grass and talked about the new play book
or some ibsen scene with a funny twist
Crasky and Bose checking out the hot chicks and offering luchtime tutoring
we all know the old potassium in water trick
coach had us doing suicides and running the red
we couldnt wait to make it back on thursdays for chocolate cake
and bread
the girls all excited about how similar they were to the company of spiders she wears a blue dress in the rain
troy headed out one night and when the bus came in the next day
we were all in tears
events of youth that didnt make it into the sunscreen song
the kids smoking down bush
afternoons stretched out in utopia
or dragging my french horn around school with cracks in its side from where the previous owner didnt care or had parents who didnt have to sell a kidney to let them be there
the blazer smell when your rained on
standing up for the speds in the canteen - that was me, im not saying everyone did it, i mean no one really stood up for them. was driving the backroads home, now in present time, dodging kangaroos and checking for singal, wanted to send a sms to my sis in uk. where was i goin with that? for one, my sisters tumor is shrunk! and im thrilled like. the second is that i drove past Luana's old place, and I remember thinking that somthing not right was going on there, i wonder if life was just one single pace slower, if we'd catch up on the things we miss, the BIG things we miss. Im sorry. and im still speeding by the cold night winter struck sky in my old car, for the people that say have you got a minute youd better, for your sake, give them an hour, dont bite the lip. for the people that say "iiiiiii..." give them a river cause they get swallowed whole by the emptiness, so quick.