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Bay breakfast.

Fabulous ride. Been wanting to do this since getting the bike. Down the valley with Moruya River on the left (to the north) mostly on a path, stopping to take some photos of this spectacular but underrated countryside, with lunch at the boat ramp just downstream of the oyster beds.

Then back, on the southern side of the road along the way turning into the old Congo road and through stunning Aussie eucalyptus landscapes. A couple of valley views to the southwest thrown in.

Loved it.

I’ve charged the ebike from solar previously, nevertheless it’s pleasing to see it successfully charge again.

Cold beach shower, then a ride around Moruya Heads. Gets the blood moving a little, been far too long, and a charming cruisey way of getting involved with my surroundings.

When I had a physical base, which mostly were studios I lived in, no matter the esoteric nature of artwork in which I’d been heavily ensconced, I would exit that place and enter the world with consequential connections always back to that place. The world, that is, was a matrix of strings whose epicentre was the base. I walked through the matrix, connected back, with the effects of the base bearing upon me.

For instance, if I travelled 5kms to a shop or a bar that expedition was tied back to the base at a measure of 5kms. If I travelled to somewhere frightening, the measure was the safety of my base.

I was never really free. The world wasn’t a free zone, unfettered. Wherever I went, or, equally, importantly, thought about, it was tied to the base and the base by some or other measures and means affected it.

Thinking about it now, the bond is profoundly restrictive. Comforting, helpful in some ways, the base however is limiting in ways and to an extent we don’t normally contemplate. Rather, we rush to find a base and spend time and money fortifying it, even if mentally.

It owns us.

I still have possessions in storage so I’m not there yet: but being homeless means the matrix of any place disappears (except for connections such as to a doctor) and the connections are to wherever I cast my mind.

When I go to a new area, I am the epicentre. It’s an epicentre of nothing, save for the van and what it is and represents, to which I am (extremely strongly) connected, I am an epicentre otherwise entirely academic. A figment.

There are no connections back to any other place, nor any measurements because there is no “to” or “from” by which it relates.

Unless, again, I create a figment: where to go next. Suddenly I am the epicentre and the imagined place – always imagined until I arrive, and the figment begins altering by degree: location of water, coordinates at which to absorb a view, upon approach – with its existence having no bearing upon me.

Except for what is before me, I now exist as a centre of the absolute minimum, a disconnected and unowned epicentre of a vast world of imagination into which, absent the next idea of where to go, I quickly disappear.

So far, I like it a lot.