a festival fell upon us - the rain we dealt with made mud with the hoards of families making their way home at the night-time - together the beasts were held and hidden, and my friend and i walked with them, laughing and talking like hiccups to their mass parade of normality - there is no mud on the ground, the ground is in fact mud - we trudge on - we trudge on this ground that has been for millions of years, and right now, my friend and i walk together, amongst all these people and families - the surpreme value of byo beer going right, not rightous - and crow's animal husbandry rips my heart out and brings it on home and shows it to me to remind me that this is it and it's byo in this life - not so much in death
i wonder about my flat - i know the person living in it has a fold-away bike, and lots of pot plants in the outside - i never knew! - apart from that, my sink, my toilet, my kitchen and my room is now belonging to another - someone not me - i sit here now and think on my memories of that place - my flat - the centre of the fucking universe - i sit here in a room dedicated to study and music and shadows, and i think of my flat that was not much bigger than this room - i think about my times there - manic, literally - and yes, the depth and a nasty depression or few endured alone - my weekends alone there consisted of beers, music, the nsc, a bike ride, and some written words writted after watching my favourite movie - and so whats changed now? - not so much nasty-jenny - but i can't change peoples minds - i spend my time doing as i wish - i sleep when i want to sleep, im gone when im gone, i read when i read- the music always plays and the tv is cursed in my place now - i converse with lady-l over the stove we discuss ourselves and the dinner table we talk of the world and i lean back when i finish my meal and think of life - sometimes i walk around the lake alone late at night, really late at night, and i see the ducks swimming at moonlight and i remember trying ti write about that after walking to my friends house maybe five years ago, and here i am now, living over yonder - those ducks i fed as a youngling have of course died by now-time - but the ducks i see swimming now in moonlight are connected in a long line of blackburn ducks - some of which i've known, some of which i've missed - this now generation see me three times a week - sometimes running like a madman - sometimes walking like a poet-man on a saturday afternoon, feeling psychedelic as the path leads me and the trees smell- sometimes walking the night-time paths and disturbing the bats and possums as i think about the sadnesses of life, and the beauty of all this time we're allowed
the woman opposite me is another woman i sit opposite on a train on my way to or fro worktime - i step right up and sit down in the disabled seat and ponder over my book and/or music-ears - book wins over and so i pull it out and begin to read in my black leather jacket - the woman opposite me is a yuppie - old, almost elderly - impossible hair, fancy nails i don't care to recognise, clothes that don't remind me of sex and clothes that i therefore don't recall - she does nothing but sit, but doing nothing but sitting is something i can understand - i picture myself from her point of view and i see the patrhetic-man trying to be the scarey-arty-man - no matter how much t.waits i listen to, and no matter how much i try to hear the saxaphone of the lonely-night-time-city-man im still this gangly silly-man who says the wrong thing all too often - i look at the woman and see a newspaper at her feet - i think about grabbing it but remind myself i have a book to read - a book about a good soul girl who keeps fucking up her life and find herself surrounded by fuckheads and drunks and losers - it breaks me in two - one half sad - the other miserable - i've seen the writer of this book play music live, and i get the feeling he doesn't get his inspiration from nowhere - it makes me sad - i live in such a small populated country, and there are so many more sad people out there in such large populations - to meet a few of them, in my lifetime, is enough to kill me
i don't want to finish this now - but i love antony and the johnsons, and im thinking of their albums now - and so now i'll listen to them - but you'll hear from me again soon
lets hang again soon - i think it's time again to hang again soon - (for today i am a child) - i know somehow you are northbound along a northline - i love darwin - if you're melbourne, then im darwin - i love it - though im sure the heat could irritate, like football for someone how doesn't care in melbourne - anyway, whereever you are right now, think of me in darwin - i see myself there sometimes.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment