What next?

I love and I hate this country.
I want to come home but I don’t want to leave.


If my skin turned brown, and my bank account disappeared,
left to make a living here, with nothing but will and hard work,
With my wife and son looking to me for food each day,
I can think of few greater horrors,

The man who left Australia, not less than nine months ago,
It must seem a cruel joke to my friends here when I tell them of how unhappy I was with my job
Friends with no jobs
The vicious treadmill than should have long since exhausted any hope for a way out
But they smile and they laugh
This trip has been a cold shower to wake me from a 1st world stupor.

Sometimes all I feel is guilt and hopelessness.
Guilt for everything I have,
Hopelessness for the situation we failed to change.

Everything is not so great anymore.


Hounded by bonsai!


Okay, let’s get a few things straight: That is not bonsai, it is saplings, moss and compost held together with scraps of barbed wire. No, I will not buy one. Why? Because I am at the traffic lights, on a motorcycle, on a 6 expressway!