SoFt BLack STArs...

Periods of muddle are sometimes decorated by moments of unexpected insight bathed within a sea of meaninglessness.

A (not-so) nice way to wake up to a feeling of nausea and general sickness is to recklessly consume four sizable thin oblongs of 70% Lindt Dark Chocolate immediately before sleep and refrain from sensible teeth brushing so as said chocolate may wreak its maximal oral havoc over night - a quiet mindless confection-fueled act of rebellion against god-knows-what... that in retrospect, achieved the perfect early-morning physiological unease required to resonate with the contents of a Friday yet to unfold.

It was an end to a beautiful week. A week populated by days punctuated by cycling to work besides a polluted urban creek, with the rude daily yielding to the almighty ferocity of a paternal magpie with a sharp beak underneath the same tree and over the same stretch of wobbly pavement. Anxious daily moments coloured by the same concoction of fear and frustration that gave way to a murderous anger noisily psychologically etched within the cowardly appearance of a grown man cycling speedily away from evil bird to the audience of a good-looking-female-passer-by. Said bird unknowingly triggered an ever-so-natural desire to plot its death for the obvious greater good of future generations of cyclists of wobbly pavement stretch. Alas, crazy bird lives, baby magpies remain blissfully unaware how close they came to being orphaned and those killing instincts willfully disbanded leaving the humbling residue of an awareness of my anthropocentric thoughts.

Beyond magpie mania lies Corella Lodge (Drug and Alcohol Detoxification Centre), a quaint unlocked establishment where hope percolates and less-damaged people attend to more-damaged people with not-infrequent success. Stories are shared, modern alchemy is prescribed and love and a patient audience works the occasional magic. The EEL had given me adequate insight to permit a relatively swift fit into my transient role at Corella. I can't and don't share details, 'cos it's right not to. My quiet diligence was tacitly noted and culminated in an generous invitation to attend a Narcotic Anonymous meeting, so as to see, feel and maybe learn some.

It was a wet Friday night. I was late as i'm of the recent habit of not using an alarm to wake myself up... i was inexplicably agitated. Maybe it was the weather, fatigue from a heavy week, damn bird, lack of sleep, nocturnal chocolate habit? Who knows. Arrived and sat next to Helen and fella with a mustache and good skin for a middle-aged bloke. Listened to the last two 'shares'... neither of which i will share here for obvious reasons. Suffice to say they attested to the eternal human theme that 'choice' coupled with 'responsibility' is what defines each human condition, an old idea that is often forgotten and remembered to epic effect. It was an honor to be privy to it. I looked for and found Mignon (colleague from the EEL) later and almost wept at her story of a client from the EEL, whom we both knew, that recently anticipated his impending death and later in the week died inconspicuously whilst sitting tucked away besides the supermarket i often buy fruit from opposite EEL. Life itself is not sacred. Having an audience is. Mignon has left EEL over the incident and hopes to pour her heart into art therapy. She is the only person I know with Luenig's tree as a tatoo.

Drove home in the rain. Might have thought some, but was exhausted mostly. It was late when i settled into my newish futon - the awesome sleep machine. I stayed awake a while and watched The Science of Sleep. A colourfully sad and beautiful tale of love and untempered neurosis. Neat way to end a day.

'Soft Black Stars' (Antony and the Johnsons) is the looped song that is was typed to and is a divinely ambiguous track i stumbled upon on the ride home on Friday.

So there it is Dale. As i thunk it. No more or less important than a rose or unsharpened pencil...

I hope next week is like the chocolate waterfall in Willy-Wonka's chocolate factory, so as to fluffen-up the chocolate I've ingested in the past week... all good chocolate needs bubbles.