The Picture

This is Brenton and I on New Years night.

New Years

Each year I think in my mind what my aim for the New Year is. It's always something small so its achievable, and then I act on it every way possible. Last year it was to reintroduce music into my life, let it be real in Perth as it was in Karratha. No - more.
My band came along.

5 minutes before this year I said to myself i said :
Shaun: Seshna, this year you have to be noticed, you have a band and a demo and almost a damn album, this year you have to make sure people notice
Seshna: Hot diggity-dog Shaun, you're right. I needa start kickin' some damn arse.

It was only about an hour later I got my chance. Low and behold, I was called on stage (through no means of myself of course). I thought what better time to start my new years resolution than now?
So I jumped up. I needed a method. The crowd were there, it was new years. I saw them as if they were Mr Wu's pigs to a dead mans carc-ass. I stumbled to the mic. I held the guitar. I opened my mouth.

Maybe I could put it this way - The English language became my means to an end. I held nothing sacred for the 5 minutes I had on stage. I'm glad my parents had left beforehand.

The reaction was amazing, it was like I was Elvis thrusting my pelvis like back in the 50's. (I wasn't actually thrusting my pelvis, but it achieved the same effect) People's jaws dropped like the plastic circus clowns waiting for the little balls to be smacked down their throats. It may have been a little unseemly, a little left field, but it bloody worked let me tell you.

Funny - I thought this day and age, this part of the world, especially being this town - the people wouldn't be suprised/shocked at these things I said.

Maybe we're not so bad-arse as we think.


Damn I want my guitar.

my new guitar

It's currently 10pm, we're on Red Alert for a category 3 cyclone so I have to keep this short because the power keeps going out.
I need to write this because I'm hoping that by expressing myself a certain recurring dream will stop. It's torture.

It usually starts with me entering a room to find a brand new Fender Telecaster sitting there. Mine. The one I feel like I've been wanting for ever. It's just sitting there, all pretty lookin'.
I approach it and everything is as it should be - the smell, the lighting, the silence. I come closer, like a professional hunter approaching a rare animal, like a unicorn - just for that one touch.
I keep my mind clear of any aggressive thoughts, I keep my eyes kind. I slowly edge on forward.
My hand is calm, my breath is steady. I hear the angels singing quietly. Que the crescendo orchestra.

I lean on in, steps might be too abrupt now. No startling, this is my only chance. The time feels right, my steady hand goes in.

I hold it, it is mine. I've gained its trust and love. We are now one and the same.

Then Lucien walks in, throws me some keys and says "I also got you something else, walk this way" I follow outside to find a Pimp mobile - complete with fluffy dice, sub woofers and uppy-downy suspension.

With my new guitar, we drive into the sunset.


"You say that dream is torture?" I hear you say.
When I awake, is my beautiful guitar still there? no! my Pimp-mobile? hells no! I wake up at 5 in the mornin to dad hittin my foot "big day today"