i ran away and for one wild secret day any­thing was pos­sible i huddled in the recessed entry to the Com­mon­wealth Bank in Garema Place and watched a pro­ces­sion of police who (i was pretty sure) were look­ing for me i guarded my pre­cious solitude for hours today’s an…

The act of saying good­night Is such an act of faith: Belief in rising sun, living chil­dren, Dawns to come

The year my daugh­ter was born I thought maybe we were start­ing to get it right after all A woman was prime min­is­ter of Aus­tralia And Julia was elo­quent and sharp And fought for justice, cli­mate, all the ways (we thought) You’d expect a prime min­is­ter to be And there…

I don’t know how (some) women do it — I see you out there (tumblr, Face­book, twit­ter, lj) — you are as vir­u­lent, vicious, out­raged (hurt) as I feel by this end­less parade, this daily offence, this unre­lent­ing (drip drip drip) stac­cato of dis­missal, dis­ap­proval, dismay…

On the banks of the river Tajo I sat with Alvarez talk­ing about Deleuze Curi­ous, soft — moments of dis­cov­ery. In Queens­land heat — a bar at 11pm after cat empire reigned with those horns and that Wurl­itzer sound circ­ling around the heav­ens — How many of these would…