So I found out that the other night, while I was sitting back marvelling at nature, being all creative with my self indulgent short narrative, a large number residents of a blacked out city about three hours south were in despair over the smashed remains of their homes. And a young dude was killed.

It certainly had a sinister demeanor, which I guess is what inspired my writing effort in the first place. For one thing, for a storm system to possess the strength and intensity to travel some four hundred kilometres north is rare. It was, however, substancially weaker by the time it got here.

I hope everyone’s okay..

I decided against Byron shenanigans for now. The weather south of brissy looks like too much of a shitfight.

Bored

So the concept of having a blog is kind of shitting me. It’s an annoying juxtaposition because on one hand, I love the idea that people read the crap I write. But on the other, it seems bloody pretentious. I can’t work out whether having one adds to, or negates my street cred. Shet.

Anyway I wrote the thunderstorm thing while it was actually happening because I was bored this evening. I attempted some creative flair this time, just as a change from the normal self indulgent newspaper-column-esq drivel that I put here.

I just decided on a whim that I’m going to Byron.

I love freedom!

Thunderstorm!

The storm season is late this spring.

It’s the sixteenth of November 08. After spending yet another consecutive day of intense heat down at the beach I sit on the front veranda of the old family homestead. For the past two months the days have been lengthening. The nights shortening. The air growing heavier.

Normally they’d have come by now. By now it should have arrived.

Making it this far up the climb to summer without any hitting is unusual. As the temperature and humidity intensify, day upon consequent day, the thunderstorm inevitably comes. To cool things back down, to break the cycle of buildup. Normally. It’s how it’s supposed to go. They rip across northwest to southeast. Sometimes they approach from the southwest, then bend around eastward, catching us along the way.

Every so often a freaky one will rise up on the northern horizon like some incensed, fiendish beast of the heavens. Once full size it will begin its rampage, bearing down upon us at breakneck speed. Ripping crowns out of trees and throwing them onto roads. Dumping inches in minutes.

Usually something like that.

But so rare for it to grow this hot with no thunderstorm at all. Until of course, tonight.

The radar illustrates a front moving southwest to northeast. A slow, yet incredibly intense front of swirling wind, and rain an assault of icy needles.

For the past hour or more, the lightning filling the entire horizon has been grown from a mere flicker, to larger and brighter flashes lighting up a full one eighty degree expanse of sky, yet soundless so far. Sitting on the southern side of the house, looking out over the yard and the bush beyond, the damp, heavy air is nearly soundless. Not a breath of wind. Only a lone cricket breaks the balmy vacuum.

And then you feel a breath of slightly cooler air. And suddenly you not hear, but feel the furthest trees a few kilometres away swirling and churning. The rumble is carried through the earth as massive gums begin swaying back and forth in a nervous dance.

The light show creeps further up the sky. No bolts yet, and the thunder is only just becoming.

The old man emerges from inside the house.

“We’ve seen a lot of storms here eh”

He doesn’t say what we’re both thinking though. Neither of us have seen anything quite like *this*.

He stands for a moment, looking out at the horizon silently, regarding the approaching wall of nature with a kind of anxious reverence not normally seen in my father. Before long he retreats for the house. The distant trees churn more. Closer trees are swirling in the wind now too.

The wind gradually picks up.

It’s moving so slowly. Yet so ominously and surely towards its ocean destination. We’re directly in its path.

The wind begins to whip up all around the house and the yard. A Coell calls from a distance. The sky’s almost constantly awash with crisp illumination. Flash after blinding flash dazzles my night eyes. The thunder rolls in, not so much as distinct claps, but more a continuous, rumbling dirge.

Dad pokes his head out the window.

“Does it seem to be getting closer”

“Yeah, slowly. It’s getting louder.”
“Yeah”

The wind is now dances across the forest and over the house, stroking the surroundings with cool, damp silk. Rising up from the horizon is its blindingly luminous master, almost at full height, from the horizon to the top of the sky.

As I notice some of the larger, heavier leaves get whipped across the yard, the first massive bolts shoot across the horizon, directly to the southwest. So huge they stretch from one end of the sky to the other. The wind picks up further. Each gust stronger than the last.

The cell’s so large and intense you can’t make out distinct rumblings of thunder. Instead there’s the constant sound ploughing over the landscape droning louder and louder. Suddenly the wind wanes, and this makes me uneasy. I know that when it rears up again it will be twice as strong as it was. Distant trees rumble in rhythm with thunder and oceans of rushing air.

As I notice a slight chill on the edge of the breeze, the entire scene is momentarily lit up by a huge series of distant flashes. Eery, blue-grey daylight. Then it’s all plunged back into darkness.

And then for awhile, nothing seems to happen.

Until the dull rumble is punctuated by the sound of a lone few raindrops on the roof of the shed about twenty metres away. Then drops reaches the house, multiplying steadily in numbers. Then it all unfolds.

Within a minute the sky is torn apart and it’s pouring, dazzling bolts are streaking the night sky, and wind whips freezing rain against the house and against me. A frog announces its approval, while I smile up at the sky, from my chair, holding an icy beer. Summer!

Three

So last week I drove to Brissy.

First up I hung out with my old mate and for some reason we found ourselves in the city looking at shops because he needed a shirt for a wedding we were going to. Neither of us had much idea, so it was quite hilarious.

That evening I went to my sister’s. We drank curry and ate wine. The next day it was hot so we caught a bus to Southbank and swam around.

Since then a friend of mine who happens to be in Veterinary Science has expressed a certain amount of horror upon hearing that I swam at Southbank. “Disease ahoy,” she said. But I feel ok, and the water smelt reassuring, kinda like a hospital.

And furthermore I really like the vibe down there. Nothing like a free swimming place to bring a community together. I like Brisbane. It’s a comparatively small, friendly place. I don’t know if I’m imagining it but people in cities and towns other than Maryborough, on average, more attractive. Bris is no exception. And I’d actually go as far to say Brisbanites are more friendly than folk in this cow-town.

I thought I saw two girls I know in the city as well. I’ve subsequently found out I was wrong about one of them, the other I’m not sure. Maybe the heat was just getting to my braaaaiiiin!

On the warm evening of Friday, Sis and I found ourselves wandering in an unfamiliar part of West End. As I regailed her of how I deemed the suburb to be excellent and that I’d like to live there, she was busy trying to work out how to get to the main part where the restaurants were. We ended up having to ask two strangers for directions. The first was a walking out of his office, clearly chuffed with finishing for the week. As we popped our heads over the hedge hedge and asked how to get to boundary street, he smiled and gave us a few easy pointers. Then offered us a lift down. What a dude. We stupidly declined the lift then got lost again.

Once we were on Boundary street we were still having trouble finding the place we were after. I asked a random girl who also smiled and gave us more directions.

Kind of refreshing being able to engage with normal people on the street, rather than inbred yokels with a chip on their shoulder that I always seem to get here. “Ahh ya fucken wanna go there? Mate me in the fifties couldnt get a dime for a shindig. Yep nup, fuggen dogs, fuckem I say. Whered ya wanna go yasay?! Carol. AYE CAROL. THIS CUNT WANTS TA KNOW WHERE COLES IS. HE DOES”

Strewth.

Yeah I’m tired and can’t write straight, shut up, I’m trying.

We eventually reached our destination, a little vegan restaurant called The Forest. An all-vegan restaurant was a Big Thing for me, considering that anywhere else I’m oblidged to regard the menu with a suspicious eye. What a place though. The food was so tasty, and it left us feeling satisfied and energised, and not full and lazy. We proceeded to the Powerhouse up at New Farm where we met up with my mate from paragraph one. Saw the Panics on their homecoming tour. What a concert. Phew! We also had absinthe. Heh.

Then on to a rather packed Ric’s where we chilled and danced a bit.

The next day I woke up mid morning and headed north up the bypass, stopped in at my mates place in Newmarket for him to jump on board, then hit the highway.

That afternoon we rocked up at the church to see two school friends get married. Initially it seemd like all the old school friends seemed to have changed, but when we all hit the reception I realised that we were all still the same people, and we seemed to fall back into the the old ways of interacting. A few embarassing stories were re-told. I fully realised this fact as a bunch of us madly danced to love shack, just as we did at our school formal. Same venue too.

I’m tired. Time for sleepland.