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I don’t write any more because I have too much other writing to do, and because I have not been anywhere out of the grid for months. In a coordinated yolo four of us left work early on a Friday and drove directly west, into the low winter sun. The car was filled to the edges with our first life attempt at buying food for 8 meals and 4 people instead of a solitary one. We drove for 3 hours, to the base of some hills filled with jumping roos. Then we sandwiched everything together in the ultimate stack of complementary opposites: beer and pie, bbq and salad, tshirts in the winter sun, the wilderness and whiskey, poached eggs and newspapers, mountain hikes and hammocks and not a scrap of work. We watched Gone Girl which was inappropriately juxtaposed with the landscape of inquisitive emus, and we sat in the hot tub each night and looked at the stars. The Southern Cross is very small or very far away, and if you join the dots differently it becomes the thread on the end of a knuckle of salami afloat in the milky way.


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