Mount Anne Circuit
Is home a place or a feeling?
On the slopes of breathtaking ridges of wild beauty, where time stopped but also exists in a state of violent change with every gust of westerly wind, I could not bring myself to sing.
Every song I tried to hum faded away in the vastness of the valleys.
Anne was kind to us, so did Eliza, Sarah-Jane and Lot’s wife. When the winds forget, beautiful silence echos in the cliffs, sprinkled with tickle, trickle of small streams.
I want this place to be my home, but all the signs advise me against it. “Life threatening, severe hazards” declares the warning sign at the start of the hike.
I walked here as a nomad and then I was the temporary emperor of polymeric flexi textile, nano-fibres, ultralights and sexy tights.
My temporary empire, my safety, my shelter, on the edge of the cliff or the shore of the lake, is a plastic sheet stretched on metal bars made abroad.
I’m wrapped in a vortex of Goretex, traversing the landscape in search for place of peace and rest for the body, a refuge of safety where the empire of my soul can expand and concur the fears and the peaks.
A place of resting where there is an exposed black bucket with a lid where I can do a poo and look at the view.
I am a toilet dwelling emperor, responsible for not shitting where the drinking water comes from.
How long can I sustain my empire?
Be a plastic emperor?
Is home a place or a feeling?
lutruwita / Tasmania
December 2021
Long live the Toilet Emperor
Looks lovely Oren! I missed you when I was down in January. Will be down again shortly I hope!