washing cars killing rats and discarded men
Me, I'm cool, just curious as to why lunch is leaving the room under its own power.
Posts by peterbowes
Jun 27
2 Comments
feral cats, three-rubber spearguns and bush omelets. a recipe.
Heard this low growl about 2 am and looked out of the tent, saw a bloody feral cat sitting by the fire - big bastard.
flame grilled chicken dipped in honey chili and rolled in potato chip crumbs
Leave town and travel the darkening highway until you reach the coast. South is best. Park amongst the mosquitoes and casuarinas .. a recipe
vastness as a companion
Gnarly old boys intent on gouging their names and origins into the hard pine as they burnt their nighttime dinner of lamb chops and chuck steak.
lonely young bones
He's at my door now, that shaggy old head. Hungry. Alone. This old friend.
in america ~ florida to texas 1968
When he pushed the cafe door open all talk inside ceased and to a man the twenty or so truck drivers inside swallowed their eggs and browns and breathed in a load of venom and held it fast.
dreaming of byron bay
It's a pity that the old Byron Astra is now just another pub full of posers and old men spinning fabulous lies and lowly mistruths.
michael kew – how he sees it
This is Mick Kew's stuff - It sounds like he does it all cold and hard but the bastard seems to score rather well. He also quotes J Kerouac - which is a fine thing for a writer to do.
voyeurism and the outlaw south bondi boardriders
Everybody fell off in those conditions, and their loose boards smashed and collided their way to the beach - a rolling logjam of splintering balsa and spearing boards
how wimbledon ushered in the 80’s – by mike mantalos
When I got to the bottom of Pop’s tennis bag, I found a zipper. Inside the pocket were letters I had written from my surf trips abroad. Australian stamps mostly, but one from Tahiti that I signed, Love Mike…
tabourie and the quiet surfer
- just a grunt as he paddled past, not unfriendly, just reserved.
the beating
Somebody pulled him off the still body and everybody drifted away. The big man's wallet lay by his side, come adrift in the turmoil.
lismore and the road to the sea
The provincial town, girls on horseback and another dead man.
there is no peace
He comes and goes through the unkempt gardens and weeds, slipping through the back door like a thief - sometimes his mother calls for him.
the bawley mixture: grilled sourdough with garlic, chilli, anchovy and tomato
Why being a surfer and a cook helps with the ladies
the jewish kid, harry
Imagine counting every grain of sand on the beach, and in the park, and all those carried away in cars over the last 30 years. Tourists travelling from here to all corners of the earth. Imagine.
mick dooley cutting back
I don't see anybody doing this manoeuve, even up here at Byron where the waves are so easy you can surf them with your eyes closed
the sydney fishmarkets and tantric sex
What may be construed as sex in public places may be something else entirely.
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