Jack Who?

A letter addressed to somebody called Jack was slipped under the door. It was telling him in no uncertain terms to hit the road and not under any circumstances to come back. I know its rude to read other peopls letters but anyway. I took it as a sign, packed my work clothes into a box with 'Open in case of Emergency - $200 fine for improper use' written on it. Threw the rest of my tatty belongings in the rucksack and headed out for the airport.

Sydney has been good to me and good for me also i guess. Truth be told i needed the routine it provided, i needed the comforts of the big city, the regular bathing, the fancy foods and fluffy towels, and lets face it, the money. But in the last 5 months i've hardly travelled more than 2 hours away from its hub in any direction, and even then usually in the air conditioned comfort of Fionas' V6 (the finest flatmate in the southern hemisphere by the way; she makes me smoothies before work and brownies for after, truely a lovely person to live with! 'Ok Fi, you can untie me now...'). A slab of land as big as Oz and this really was the proverbial drop in the ocean. I had a month and i wanted to go from Cairns to Sydney to take in as many sights of outstanding beauty as possible whilst avoiding the hoards of English gap year students getting banjoed on what is aptly called Goon.

First stop, the foothills of the Atherton Tablelands to stay with Glynn 'coming to you live from the ABC newsroom' Greensmith. Those who know the great man i heartily advise you to get out there and cadge a few days in his hammock. The joys of Cairns taking a backseat to kicking back on the verandah or swimming in the creek, surrounded by rainforest and all its associated squeeks, yips and chirps. One thousand thankyous to Glynn and Emma for a great week, i was so chilled when i left i floated down the Bruce highway to Airlie Beach without even untwisting my legs from the lotus position along the way.

Airlie Beach is the jump off for the Whitsunday Islands; 72 mostly uninhabited slabs of rock of such stupendous lovelyness it almost hurts. My choice of transport around them was of course the sailboat, my choice of travelling compardre was John 'the nicest Banker i know' Bentley, fresh in from the square mile, looking to invest heavily in some Chillian stock we met over the tablefootball table. God's little joke about this stretch of beautiful Queensland coastline being that you can't actually swim in the sea for 7 months of the year cos of the fiendish, deadly jellyfish, oh and the fiendish, deadly sharks and the crocs too, both the fiendish and the deadly ones...fact pretty much everything's fiendish and deadly round here, even the koalas look at you funny. Unpeterbed, we had a few days good sailing, some very tasty fish suppers and managed to maintain Englands superiority over Chile in the world table football league. It was delared a success.

Next, Fraser Island; ha, they give you the keys to 4.6ltr 4x4s and let you head off into the worlds biggest sand island with nothing more than a tent and a slab of 4X! What were they thinking? Highlights, apart from the obvious benifits of being somewhere so beautiful, have to be the Spaniards and the Dutchies in our group. Mr Rodriguez, you are without doubt the funniest drunk i've met in a long time. hope to see you in NZ!

Ah DagNammit, just realised this is turning into a list. Can't stand lists. You see these couples sitting in internet shops, entering their blogs from written notes, one dictating one typing; 'Day 47, had musili, milk, semi skimmed, temerature, mild, wind, light, south south east...'.

Oh well, in for a penny.

Road trip with Dutchies; learned to sing a 4 verse dutch folk song.
Noosa; posh beach resort, slept soundly.
Brisbane; cycled, appreciated art.
Byron Bay; stayed in a wigwam at some sort of hippy Butlins, took didge lessons, met nice Irish girl.
Port Macquarie; went fishing all day in the rain with lovely Hungarian bloke who invited me to start a business with him in Berlin, no fish caught, crab stole bait.
And finally, Sydney; riotous final blow out involving one of the most memorable poker games i've ever been to and quite a lot else besides. Jaquizzi bleached my boxers quite oddly. Sean and Fran, many thanks for your kind hospitality over the last few months. I'm so gonna miss that view.

Fly to NZ in 2 hrs. Anticipate needing a jumper.

"I have of late, though wherefore I know not, lost all my cynicism..."

There is ample opportunity whilst away from home in foreign lands, distant from restrictive forces, disruptive factors, both real and perceived, to consider issues of greater significance than the every day. The chance is there to grapple with matters of import. It is possible to use the very tenable maxims of 'if you don't ask you don't get' and 'if you don't try you'll never know' in every day life. Becoming aware that it is possible to do all the things you want just by putting the necessary wheels in motion makes this 'sterile promontory', o'erhanging firmament and all, a far nicer place. If I have lost all my mirth in the past, I have it back now. Anything can be achieved is the order of the day, and with this in mind im seriously considering growing my hair long again...

Saul Good.
Hyde Park Barracks, Sydney, 13-01-06

The Marquee was long and low and was being thoroughly washed and rinsed by Sydneys third night of rain on the trot. Mild precipitation this wasn't, the social smokers had already decided against it, leaving the hardened and resigned to hug the Barracks walls blowing blue steam through the drops. The warm sweaty interior had a dank humidity, slightly too wet to be cozy. This was the kind of gig where dreads smell real bad.

When Williams' opening poem struck out through the cheers and chatter it took half the room with it instantly. People stood mouths half open, straining to catch every word. Syllables rolled over syllables, the metre rose and dipped and twisted in on itself impossibly. Long lung defying deliveries occasionally giving way to the repeated affirmation 'I am'. Half told stories hung unfinished in the crowd as the gathered congregation of low slung jeans and phat laces refocused attention on the man on the mic.

Listening to spoken word delivered at this speed can be all consuming in the same way a subtitled film holds you tighter. Scared to look away for fear of missing something, the audience is carried willingly towards the poems conclusion, and when it reaches its climax, and the beat cracks like the whip in the poem, 'Sha-clack-clack', and the hairs on wet necks stood erect, and the oppressive atmosphere turns electric, Saul Williams had set his stall out.

Its true that free form lyrics combined with the tight boom-tish of a hip hop rhythm has never been an easy marriage. Sometimes the poems can be enhanced, but often Williams suffered similar problems as Ursular Rukka at the Opera House late last year; either the beat is shoe horned round the words or the words round the beat, the flow can seem constricted. Despite this, for the best part of two hours, tightly knitted phrases of injustice were juxtaposed with a self proclaimed power to overcome. All without a single syllable smudged, not a single misphrasing, not one stich dropped. He said 'I am' and he certainly was.

http://www.saulwilliams.com/