Get your rock off

29 11 2009

The sun rises. The sun sets. It does it every day.

The sun rises. Things are set in motion. Breakfasts eaten. Commutes bird-flipped and snarled through. Knees skinned in playgrounds. Milk bought at corner stores or removed from front doorsteps. Gardens weeded. Lawns shorn. Houses made and deals built. Relationships cooked, cialis cialis cakes ended. Beers inhaled. The sun sets.

It does it every day.

Every damn day. Pulling us from lid open to lid closed, viagra generic like a human Goldberg contraption of knock-on reaction and forward momentum and don’t forget to take out the rubbish.

The sun rises. The sun sets. It does it every day.

But sometimes you have to pay money to be reminded to even look at it.

Of course it’s free. The sunrise. The sunset. But when you’re standing in a car park with a glass of bubbly and store-bought salsa hanging off the lip of a corn chip, you don’t mind that you’re paying for it. Because you’re too caught up ogling a bloody big rock as it flashes its sandstone thigh and reflects the gaze of that huge ball of fire.

Why am I in a car park? Why am I looking at a bloody big rock? Why am I rambling about the sun?

Because I’m a bad Australian. Read the rest of this entry »






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