The art of (my) gentle revolution

1. Start dancing lessons

2. Practice self control (particularly as regards eating, spending, wasting and watching)

3. Bake a Pie

4. Start learning French

5. Save money

6. Read at least half of  the books currently unread on my shelf and do not purchase new ones until that has happened (important caveat, books can be purhased for me)

7. Watch less tv

8. Take more chances

9. Give one night a week to writing

10. Walk daily

11. Talk less and listen more

12. Be increasingly comfortable around new people

13. Sing frequently

14. Take more photos

15. Catch a barramundi

16. Do not use cynicism as a crutch

17. Throw out one thing a month

18. Buy clothing and footwear only from vintage/recycled shops where possible

19. Understand what it means to grow up

20. Eat at this allegedly fantastic Japanese place my mate Brad went mental over

21. Make my blog look a bit nicer

22. Judge less

23. Send more postcards, inc’ to people I don’t know

24. Talk to people I recognise instead of acting like I don’t see them

25. Spend more time chatting with my Grandma

26. Buy film for my polaroid and use it

27. Go out dancing at least once a month

28. Develop less irritating and useless crushes

29. Attempt to make dolma

30. Learn to play that Turin Brakes song/ any song on guitar

31. Figure out how to get around hating on church in general

32. Get to know family I don’t keep in touch with

33. Jump out of a plane

34. Take an interest in the world both around me and across oceans and not hide from the truth of it

35. Talk to strangers

36. Knit things

37. Be kind

“God help us to change. To change ourselves and to

change our world. To know the need for it.

To deal with the pain of it. To feel the joy of it.

To undertake the journey without understanding the destination.

The art of gentle revolution.


Michael Leunig.

The bar of haunted heroes..

It’s been a no good day. You sit, your arms resting on the bar, hands resting on an empty glass. It’s late. The barman walks past and you push the glass toward him with a nod.

“Not your night?” He says in a voice that says he doesn’t care as he pours.


You take the glass without meeting his eyes and he moves to your right and says “what’llitbe” to shape slumped over the bar next to you. You barely register what the shape says in return. Something about the voice, though…

In a couple of drinks time you know for your own sake you should hit the road. As you turn away from the bar you look around you and notice the lump to your right is still there. It moves and a head lifts, bringing with it the smell of bourbon. Large white eyes blink and focus, blue, matted fur sticks up at odd angles. He sees you.

“bruuh..” it wobbles on its stool “uh.. hu..heyyous.. Iknow you…” the voice is cracked and raspy but still familiar, still the same. A shock runs through your body. You never thought you’d see him again.

“Oh. Hi.” You respond, looking at your feet.

He seems to suddenly be aware of his appearance, looks down at himself, his paws self consciously touching his head and chest.

“I.. you werend meand to see thish..” he begins, staring fixedly at a bottle behind the bar, but still swaying on his seat. He opens his mouth to say more but you cut him off.

“Yeah. Don’t worry about it. It’s late.” As you stand he touches your arm and says “wait.. please”

“What?” you ask, your voice colder than you first intended.

“Jusht.. jusht give me a second.” He looks up at you, squinting as he tries to focus.

“I need… Oh man… I need to tell you… to exshplain”

He belches and the stench is enough to make your eyes water.

“You need to take a shower, that’s what you need.” You try to leave again but he holds your arm tighter.

“But.. buddiiwash.. I wasshh.. and we were.. You ushed to love me…” at this statement he seems to slide into a sort of reverie and his paw slips from your sleeve. His eyes half close and his head nods forward. You shake your arm completely free, turn and begin walking toward the door, disgust on your face.

Suddenly he’s at your side, grabbing your jacket, looking into your face, his huge mouth contorted, pleading.

“Please. Please. Tell me what I can do.. Please!”

Mildly panicked, you try to pull free but he’s holding fast and the barman is nowhere in sight.

“There’s- There’s nothing you can do.. you’ve got to let me go.”

“But.. you.. you weren’t meant to see this. And (hic)now you hate me.”

Fury suddenly rises within you and you smack his blue fingers off of your lapels.

“Now? NOW I hate you? Are you kidding me?! I did worship you, man. I did. I WORSHIPPED YOU. And you…”

He looks bewildered and hurt at your shouting but you can’t stop yourself.

“I trusted you. And you betrayed me!!”

“Please, stop. I’ll do anything.. don’t-“ he is crying now, huddled beneath you as you stare down at him in contempt.

You start to walk towards the door again, but the years you’ve wondered and cried and missed him and hated him for that all rise up in you and make you turn back before reaching it and scream across the empty bar at the small blue mess now propped against a table.

“Cookies are a SOMETIMES food?!”

You shake your head, your confusion and anger blurring your vision.

“What the hell happened to you?”

He is looking at you with horror in his eyes and one paw over his mouth. With a broken sob he crumples to the floor, emptied.

You stand, breathing fast, then you wipe your eyes and pull your jacket tighter around you as head out into the night.

You are shaking your head as you walk away from the bar. At the end of the block you pass four shapes that are oddly familiar and pause and let your eyes follow them as they hesitate at the doorway to the bar. One of them looks back at you and slowly lifts a three fingered hand to wave. Turtles.

Definitely a no good night.