Miscellaneous
This document Declassified May 11, 1973 I sense the presence of others. In this Place This continent and its islands This country is one remove from the cultural source, twice removed, three times; a continent–country that is an ad hoc triage on a home caesarean gone wrong. Every culture longs for a place in history that never was. The Portuguese call it Saudade. Like visiting my mother’s hospital bed in Canberra (Ngunnawal Country), my grief upon leaving her each day was for the impending loss, not a longing to return any time soon. The air goes slack when I think about it and I can’t breathe. So I try not to think about it. Longing for a history that never existed almost makes it come true. This continent is times apart; removed, here, from the cultural source, the land; and removed, here, from the people; removed twice or three times or four. This entire continent houses ghosts. My parents have married many times, in many countries, as many people. Over the centuries they came, on boats, in planes, as refugees as settlers. Fated, the lovers always find one another. I too have been born many times over; each time, always to them. When I look out to sea I see turbulence and fear. I live near rivers because they are the way: jalan-jalan; in so many languages “way”, “road” and “walk” are the same word. Roaming gypsy-rivers, curious and braided. Led by what may be, and desire. No confusion or hesitation. Their songs let me know where I stand. I feel safe. When I look at this city I see trouble. (Declassified May 11, 1973) What could that thud thud thud be? A thrumming and a hounding. [dull mechanical pounding at a distance] It scrambles my brain, so my thoughts, just at the edge, here, at the edge, are muddled, and I don’t recognise my thinking as being distorted Time passes. [Whispered (again? — why whisper?)]: “It’s after midnight and most of the street noise has died down. Only the odd car or person passing.” [record player needle on vinyl] [mechanical thrumming] [voice] [hard-sole shoes on wooden floorboards] : magpies and crows and parrots and cockatoos and curlews and owls Birds. Do they fly here, too? [5am: unearthly noise — hydraulics? — wakes me] Grinding cutting. Machinery metal being wrung. A strained twisting “Big developers making big developments for big money:” [needle on vinyl] “Penal colony, Farming, Light industry We don’t need to go into that here …” [needle on vinyl] [record player needle scratches vinyl] This Country, the Ancestors, they travel, they do. A classified longitudinal study conducted back in the 1950s and ‘60s proved the Ancestors follow the songlines by using the Earth’s frequencies, so much more compressed in the southern hemisphere, to travel. They come and go by moving within the core patterns of the world. (universe) Time passes The Ancestors used to live everywhere, but now it’s just small pockets. (extinction?) It’s getting harder and harder for them to travel because their way is broken by fences and roads and buildings and Boundaries; (Declassified May 11, 1973) no more jalan jalan [cicadas on the wind] cicadas on the wing A flowing bridge, repositioning like ribbon in wind. The mangroves fight back. Simply won’t quit. Acoustic resonance progress [a distant mechanical thud] [what could… [needle thrum thrum thrum] City greats river mangroves remain Simply won’t quit. [gears thrumming: thud and clunk and throb] “the machines click and tick as they contract or expand; a persistent electric hum, wires before a storm” I can’t recognise my thinking as being distorted Trees of old I sense the presence of others. This Place This continent Its islands