Erase. Erase. Start again. Erase. That's the process. You spew forth some blathering crap and then you erase it and try for something original. You are somewhere here on planet earth and presumably, you have achieved the miracle of consciousness. One day your consciousness will break down and you will decompose and become meat for worms. And then your atoms will disperse and become food for other organisms, conscious or not. Everything comes back in a loop and everything is here most ephemerally.

Haven't said anything about the ski trip last weekend but should record something for posterity. Most annoying thing was....forgot the friggin camera!!! DAMN!!! Well I'll just have to go again then won't I? Anyway, there's nothing quite like gliding along on the white powder, the only colours around are the blue of the sky and the white of the snow, reflecting each other and making the blues bluer and the whites whiter. And then when you get home from the snow and put your head down on your pillow exhausted and close your eyes and the vista opens up again and you can feel yourself gliding downhill again, those blue skies, those white slopes....

Sometimes you do the right thing, sometimes you just have to screw up completely. At least in so doing, you know that you are still alive.

It's a lifetime quest for those little moments, little spiritual moments when beauty outweighs despair. They only come fleetingly and unexpectedly, those little moments.

If there's any one motivator I can think of, it must be boredom. Boredom is capable of pushing a person towards all sorts of recklessly inspired acts. What would we do without it?

The day is cold and lonely, desolate really. There is a particular bleakness to this time of year, when the chill is dry and the wind zips in from the west. The eternal aridity of Australia.

There are those times when you can't help thinking of the people that are already in the ground and you have to wonder what they are doing, if they are happy. The mindless hordes march on, oblivious.

So what are you supposed to say after all that? All that drunken disgraceful behaviour.

Is anyone ever going to relate to anyone? Is there any kind of relationship apart from combat?

It's art, just expression.

Gonna stop me are ya?

A plastic bag over the head, a quiet evening.

Now there was something else that came to me while I was sitting in the Vault bar, downtown Sydney, Pitt Street, looking out onto the passing parade of pedestrians. There's a certain clarity that comes as you sink into the second bottle of beer but it's lost now as I dig into the fourth Scotch. It wasn't about the fact that people are fucked just fucked. No it wasn't especially negative. How limited folks are? No that wasn't it. I should keep a notebook with me or lug my notebook around town. Yeah anyway there's no need to do the right thing or to amount to anything, is there?

Nobody is normal. Just have a look around.

Feel it coursing through your veins. Let it all in, hold, release.