Sunday, 22 January 2012

A house without books is like a room without windows. Vintage a window to cultures.

Sitting here in vintage nest cafe in Bellingen, a prime hangout spot for those searching for something else, something a little bit odd, something previously loved that still clings to the edifice of a decadent past. Unbridled by modern constraints this place breathes life from a different pair of lungs, into expression. From the people who work here to the ever changing decor, joy is taken from the simple things.

Drinking a pot of english breakfast tea, at a large elm wood table feet dancing to the up beat rhythm of wise man by Slightly Stoopid.
 The phone just rang and apparently it is for me, I'm without a mobile phone at the moment as I lost it jumping into the pool to save a drowning child; and yes that story sounds about as empty as a monster hiding in the closet. We deposit our fear in faith and clear our minds to the notion that maybe we as adults are still secretly scared of the dark, things that go bump in the night. I'm no longer shipwrecked on the idea that everything has to be explained. Sometimes in life things just happen and words can't always be put to them, maybe I jumped in the pool to save a life, maybe I jumped because it was my duty as the lifeguard, maybe it was out of reaction, maybe it was to prove something to myself or to others; who knows. There are always any ways a story can go, can twist, can end. In the end it is all what you believe. Anyways backing away from that tangerine of a tangent, my phone took the consequences of that child's step off into the submerged state, the deep breath before the plunge. Not cpr, not even a box of rice could revive it