he decides to break free from the constraints of day to day life, and the whole world is there to witness his change in mind and lifestyle - just a bag and the road and an audience to send him off and someone to say goodbye - that's cool, they tell him - i wish i could do that, they tell him - i want to do that as well, they tell him - they stand around his loaded backpack like it's a newborn snug and bundled into a price-tagged pram - and soon it's time to go – he arrived early at the train station and bought a bottle of cola – taking it into the public toilets at the station, he quickly skulled back a third of the bottle inside one of the cubicles - careful not to drop anything on the floor, and carefully breathing so as to not to breath in too much, he refilled what was empty of the bottle with scotch– admitting to himself that this may be a new low, but enjoying the tragic beauty that came with his actions
on the train he’s sitting next to middle-aged woman reading a block-buster novel - he has a window seat and outside the dusk is dying into night all over the industry outskirts of his home town - chimneys and pipes and steam and graffiti that gets weirder and weirder the further outbound the train yanks itself - the woman next to him, reading the book, was the first indication that this trip wouldn't match the romantic and spiritual solo journey he had envisioned in his head during the days he thought about how his life was wasting away minute by minute - as she continued to read, he looked out the window, slowly tapping his thumb on his thigh as he slugged back another sip of scotch and cola
a baby somewhere begun to play incessantly with a toy of sorts that generated a loud, repetitive, electronic sound – the baby’s mother, he assumed, was simply thankful the child wasn’t screaming or crying as she let it continue to play with the noisy toy – the woman who was trying to read her book in silence, begun to turn her head in the direction of the mother and child every time the toy wanged out it’s loud electronic noise – not saying anything, but simply staring that them, hoping that would portray her annoyance – this in turn soon became more annoying than the toy itself
by the time he was on the bus, the cold purple dusk air swam smoothly – he sunk back deep in his seat and rationed out the scotch and cola he had remaining in his bottle, reciting haiku in his head as he watched the trees gush-by and become spooky as the bus headlights paid them little attention and the bus continued to speed down the dark rural highway – he felt safe, content and in control of absolutely everything – he felt certain his fellow passengers could smell the scotch on his breath and the air surrounding his seat, but understood that they didn’t mind - he allowed himself to be simply taken by the bus and enjoyed the movement he was experiencing
the bus driver helped him retrieve his bag from the under-carriage – the dim red light from baggage area recalling the time the isolated sea-side bus-stop was once a crime scene – wishing the bus driver a nice night, he heaved his bag onto his back, and with the realisation he had no reason to care about time or places, he walked himself down the dunes to the beach, stumbling and bouncing as though the sand was laughing and hyperactive – he had indian sitar music playing in his ears – japanese haiku read in his head – and the cold australian friday night dusk charging electricity from the air, sand, trees and breaking waves – he succumbed to his aloneness and spun his head around the millions of stars reigning above, allowing the scotch in his head to spin in the opposite direction
the lazy trees branches brushed and scratched his shoulders and the bag on his back as he took the off-road direction to the small house – from this point of view, the house seemed completely desolate, soaked in darkness and dripping with the black night – trees shielded the stars, keeping their influence at bay – the relief of dropping his bag to the ground of evident by the cool of air on the sweat on his back – fumbling for keys, and jiggling the rusty key-hole, he pushed his way inside disturbing the dust and stale air and begun preparing himself something simple to eat
by 2am he was lost on familiar ground – he begun to doubt his eyes, and doubt whether they’d ever adjust to the brick wall of shrub-darkness that surrounded and confused him – backtracking, he simply couldn’t get it right – about to give up, telling himself it’s probably for the best and that he should probably get to bed anyway, he thought to use the light from his watch to guide himself beach bound, in small five second bursts
he was back on the beach, absorbing and being absorbed with thanks from the isolated darkness, the seemingly infinite stars and cluster-dusts, wall-to-wall – the waves broke with a constant gush the same way they have for millions of years, and he realised he was standing surrounded by a natural entity, and that was the way it was millions and millions of years ago – this sand – these waves – this water – that mountain range – he picked up a small rock in his sandy hands, and it blew his mind wide open – alone, he sung his amazed and boozey thoughts and moved in relation to the waves and water – the stars, nonchalant with the minor spec of insignificance, dancing on a minor spec of insignificance, for an insignificant amount of time
from somewhere after hours of silence he woke up, warm and comfortable, rested after an undeserved good night's sleep - with no idea what time it could be, he found out and walked towards the light - he ate some nuts and dried fruit, and stood on the sagging and weathered sun-drenched balcony - feeling it's warmth, he woke up some more, and amazed himself as he sat in the sun and thought about all the stars amongst stars he witnessed the night before - having never done yoga before, he improvised what he imagined it would involve, performing some moves in his underpants - saddened deep down that this moment was tainted with the slight paranoia he felt wondering if someone was watching him - later he meditated, in the warm morning sun, thinking about the wind's influence on the flying dragonfly
the water was icy - it was still a sunny, sunny day, but the ocean's water cut deep, relentlessly - there was no-one around, but he still felt as though he had to submerge his head and body under the cold water as soon as possible, to somehow prove himself - with no wind the waves were calm and smooth, moving his bobbing body like a dance - closing his eyes he felt the water move around him like spirits - he once again felt the insignificance of the lonely planet,earth - bobbing in a silent space, caring only for itself due to the nature of the existence of the universe - things happen - his aloneness exacerbated these feelings and thoughts, and for at least one moment, he touched on the everything, the all, the answer and the meaning behind it all
the pub was closed, shut down - he knew he'd need a drink and so he kept walking along the road with the knowledge the local store should be open and selling booze - this was and it did, and so he bought six cans of beer thinking they'd be lighter to carry home - taking the long way, he walked along the beach on his way back to the house - the idea came that a perfect way to lighten the load was to drink a couple of the beers, and so he found some unbelievably perfect shade in the high dunes of the beach and sat in the sand and leaned back sipping on the store-cold beers - the ocean in constant motion, the sand competing with the hidden blue-sky stars - he allowed his thoughts to be taken by the three or four beers he drunk in the dunes, having conversations with friends and people he knew in his head - was this a sign of impedning madness, or was this a cure for his undiagnosed insanity that would change the world one day as he always thought it might?
he drunk all night - listening to music, slow and sad with all the doors and windows open so he could hear the music as he pissed off the balcony and often wondered around the trees and shrubs that the kangaroos had longed abandoned - the slow sad music took it's time, just as he did - strolling and stopping to touch and feel the dewy leaves - listening to the twigs and dead leaves snap and crackle with each slow step in the dark, every single moment moving with time towards some sort of inevitable - and with this newly realised knowledge, he drunk one more beer to the clouds above, and remembered the stars of the previous night, and the ocean of the morning, the beers and sand dunes of the afternoon and all the thoughts he thought alone while never speaking a word
he packed his bag late that night before going to bed - he set his alarm for 7.30am to give him 20mins to wake up and walk back down to the bus stop - he slept but it didn't do much - the next morning he woke to a miserable sunday morning - the birds even seemed tired - he slept on the bus, and he slept on the train, and before he knew it he was home - returned - and it was as though nothing had ever happened - ever
