Adelaide River to Daly Waters: through the windscreen Through the windscreen, the drive south from Adelaide River toward Daly Waters reveals the continent’s layered past, unfolding mile by mile. The journey is not merely a passage through space; rather, it is a confrontation with history itself, where the frontier’s rupture transforms the land into a living narrative of loss, power, and the slow, stubborn return of what was once taken. Once you cross that violent threshold, where modern roads carve through the repressed ghosts of the interior, you can never see the Australian outback the same way again. The bitumen transforms: no longer a mere ribbon of asphalt, but an audacious thread of technology stretched tenuously over ancient, dreaming ground. Southward, beyond the iron-stained ridges of Pine Creek and the sun-scorched Barkly plains , the story changes. Here, the land speaks of colonial bravado undone, of cultures and nations ground and reformed by force. Telegraph stat...
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Jonus works in an office. He has worked in this office for 20 years. He wants more but he doesn't know how to get more. Jonus feels anxious and threatened.
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Jonus would dwell on detail. The detail would observe him. For hours Jonus would stare and ponder. Stance could feel the coldness. It worried her. It took her concentration. She new things were visualizing and as they appeared to become real Jonus looked more and more dangerous. Jonus was now disappearing into himself daily. Stance could hear water, feel heat and feel weight. She knew it was anxiety. She had to take action.
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Into his mind did Jonus leap. His rock was safe. The river flowed strong. The flames were growing. Impending doom. Impending fear. Anxiety glassed his lungs. There was nothing to do but fall. The time is now. It was to happen. Jonus was lost from control. He needed to sleep. As long as the river flowed he could sleep. Sleep Jonus demanded of himself.
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Get out of my head. I want you out of my head. Sure you want to belong but I do not feel safe. There is some beauty in this fear but I still want you out of my head.
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Jonus felt the heat of each flame. He rested for a moment and perched within contemplation he waited for something to happen. And happening did pass him by. Jonus couldn't tell if it was an angle, spirit or memory but it knew him. In a fleeting moment the happening reflected a transcendental understanding. “You will be confronted and you will become frustrated, angry and full of hate. It will happen and you will gain control through revenge. In a short moment you will understand me and through misadventure become me.” Jonus understood a contract was made but couldn't be sure consent occurred. Motionless Jonus contemplate fate and reflected on his many missed opportunities.
Jonus and the 3 sisters
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And then the three sisters motioned towards Jonus. They were beautiful in threat, size and power. Veiled with petals of flame their beauty radiated. Jonus was in want. Wake up Jonus the sisters giggled. You have much to do. Your journey to enlightenment is to begin. We have waited so long for you to be with us.
The Highway and the Lost Soldier The midday sun around Adelaide River does something violent to the bitumen. At forty-five degrees, the Stuart Highway softens like melting fat; it turns into a black mirror, rippling with an unnatural, liquid glare that pools over every low rise. That is where it waits. He is always trudging south, away from life and deeper into the blistering furnace, his boots making no sound against the tar. The Highway and Lost Soldier Standing From two hundred yards out, he resembles a stranded traveler you’d pull over to save. He wears sun-bleached, disintegrating drill cotton that matches the bone-white dust of the termite country, his head angled down at an impossible, broken angle against the glare. No broad-brim hat. No swag. No water bottle. Just stiff, unnatural limbs jerking with every stride. “Driver... look at his face. We need to stop—why won't he turn around?” He is no lost tourist. Could he be the linesman from the Overland Telegraph days who tore ...
The Terminal Horizon Tourist Bus Discovering the Terminal Horizon The Long Highway Out here, the world ends not in silence, but in fire. The asphalt bleeds into cracked red earth, stretching toward a bruised horizon where the sky refuses to cool. Behind the glass, you drive chasing ghosts through a desert that forgot rain a lifetime ago. Beneath the Scorch Every road leads deeper into the furnace. Even below the surface, the rock fissures and weeps, hot steam rising through subterranean fractures where molten veins pulse in the dark, feeding an ancient, unforgiving heat. Broken Arteries What we built couldn’t hold. Rails twist into the dunes, swallowed by iron sand and wind. Bridges split down the seam, concrete splintered into raw bone, tangled rebar, and dying wires crackling into the smoke. The machines stopped; the wasteland stayed. The Last Horizon And when the road finally runs out, there is only the ash, the petrified stumps, and the quiet. You are a lone figure sitting in...
Incandescent - Ode to the Endless Scrub Beneath the vault of fallen light Where red dirt cools to iron stone The ancient country meets the night Unyielding, patient, and alone Cracked earth yields to twisted root To hardy bark and spinifex Where time leaves neither mark nor foot Nor petty boundaries to perplex Rank upon rank the pale trunks rise A silent host that drinks the dry Repetition stretching past the eyes To where the flat horizon lies Trees behind trees in quiet grace A labyrinth of slender wood Carving the stillness out of space Where centuries have stood Above, the sky ignites its coal A canopy of smoke and ember Holding the continent’s deep soul In dark and fiery surrender No hurried end, no measured shore Just red loam, shadow, branch, and tree The scrub that breathes forevermore Into the quiet of infinity. Be Creative and Innovative with Knowledge John Bennett - AKA JJFBbennett , is an independent artist. You can view and subscribe to my work via Blogge...
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