Overheard Productions is getting its mojo working — but slowly and incrementally


Sometimes you can end up in the right place at the right time.
Tote bag by Laneway . There are signatures on the back. This was a gift in return for me doing an interview with them back around about the time King Arthur was rounding the corners on his meeting table.

When I get more than five minutes on a QWERTY keyboard again*, I’m going to change some titles and move files around so the categories are a little more predictable and meaningful.

* At the time of writing, I could not predict it would take 25 days before my fingers touched a keyboard again. In that time, I did not have any consistent access to an IBM/PC QWERTY system.

As I write this, I’ve been 14 months with no PC to call my own. Think you’ve got tech troubles? Walk a mile in my moccasins.

You might have come here for a music blog and found a middle-aged man, wringing his hands over the cruel world in which he make his way, with a pure-ish heart (mostly harmless) and the best of the good intentions.

So my brooding, insightful, musings on the vagaries of existence are going to where all self-indulgent dross lives: Tumblr! [That was the plan.]

By way of a hopeful transition, I share this insight I had at 3.30am on Tuesday morning (yikes, what date? Tuesday 5 February 2013, maybe?) on Cronulla Beach.

I’d woken in the night, afflicted by niggling self-doubts, and all those concerns that come with the struggle to satisfying the basics of good old Maszlo and the bottom tier of his triangle.

I’d given away any thought of more sleep that early morning, and was driving towards a 24hr club for a cup of coffee, bright lights, and whatever sport was on TV.

But halfway down the Kingsway to my destination, I felt that pull of the moon and the sea — it’s gotten stronger since 2005 and gets stronger day by day.

So I turned YIGgy the Econo-Battle Van around and headed down to Cronulla Beach, the scene of an existential incident from last week

I’m still processing this one.

Diving through the water’s surface after a fast-disappearing 15 year old Chinese national. With the help of his Dad who finally sensed the danger, we got to him, and the young bloke started Year 11 in the Shire the next day.

I was getting out of the van in the dark, thinking about the cruelness of some, and FFS why ARE people so unkind?

And the crashing of the surf meant I didn’t hear two young people approach, and I looked up only in time to see their silhouetted figures almost upon me.

I was expecting a request for cash or cigarettes, but these guys were down with me on Maszlo’s basement.

Just arrived from country NSW, they were newly homeless.

And cold.

She had been kicked out of home for being pregnant — four months along. All they wanted from me was did I know where they could find a blanket.

Yeah, I did.

I pulled out the large colourful doona/duvet that came with the van and handed it to them. Yeah, I was sure. I’ve got plenty and am usually kicking this one off when it gets too hot. Autumn will take care of herself when come she will.

We talked for a bit and they went on their way to hunker down for the rest of the night, always darkest just before the dawn.

If I’d had more strength I would have searched up a support service or seven, but anything online has been a total struggle since I left Canberra twelve days ago. I thought I might see them later that day or the next but I never did.

To say this simple, coincidental meeting and exchange has strengthened my resolve and steely determination is to put it incredibly and massively mildly.

It’s 4.15am and the breakers are rawing, I mean, roaring their encouragement of some life choices I’ve been making.

Listen sometime; they’re like an enthusiastic crowd.

There’s a fat lune croissant hanging in the sky, now too high to give the sea that alluring silvery frosting.

It’s also making me think of breakfast. Mmmmm, croissants.

The lights of the city* shimmer and flicker in the distance, drawing me as they have from age zero (Station Street, Guildford and Canyon Road, Baulkham Hills and Junction Road, same suburb and yes, Kirrawee and Miranda).

And there’s something that feels very right about this southern beach, the cool sand, the untamed foam — and yet ranged behind me, the towering and sprawling mass and mangle and tangle of humanity and consumerism and lives and souls.

A song rattles around in my head, which I may go and sing to the waves:

“Oh, the beggar at the side of the road
Says, ‘Brother, give me shelter’…”

(Kavisha Mazella)

All is well.

Help each other. I intend to for the rest of my life. But for the next two days, it’s time to help myself. [That so did not happen!]

Abnormal service will be resumed soon.

(In the meantime, you should totes check out Laneway, the band. ‘Totes’? See what I did there? Oh c’mon!))

And THEN have a listen to this timeless classic by The Lucky Wonders that sort of tells you how I’m feeling right about now (fore:ohzix, Tuesday 5 February 2013, having taken yet another few kicks to the solar plexus today…)

* Yeah, lights of the city, my great-grandmother’s left testicle. Daylight revealed what I believed to be the city skyline was in fact this. And if you know/knew where I’ve been working for the last four months, that would be strangely funny and coincidental. Lolsanaustraliannationalregisterofemissionsunitsapaloozer!

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