falling

anywhere but here. another shopping centre, too many people, furniture that has become more and more complicated despite those low, low prices. you wanna pay in cash or sweat? now i find out i’ve even gotta drill my own fucking holes in the doors. where did all the time go? and the feeling. the allen key’s long gone. everything’s extra. no matter which way you step, you’re in somebody else’s way. »

ear, nose and throat

She’s got gold on both wrists, a Winfield red in one hand as she browses a fat, glossy fashion mag outside this café. But that’s how it is ’round here. I drink tea and read my book, feeling silly for forgetting the keys to the office. On the way home, I pass yet another house-being-worked on (this suburb is renovation town, after all), as a Divinyls song leaks from a radio somewhere. »

a loving tribute to my city

A girl’s head shakes with the bus’ window as she leans sideways to read a bright pink book, just in front of me. I stare at the little shapes on her hooded top until I realise that they’re little people walking, moving, writhing and have to look away, out the streaky window at the traffic lights and a green, walking man. Later, somebody steps off the tram and I notice the words on the back of their green pants are saying “Mekon Delta”. »

what’s your name?

i’ve been all sorts of things. a helper, a listener, a doer, a lender, a friend, a student, a worker. a traveller. a worrier. but what now? i’m not a photographer. i’m not a writer. the future’s uncertain, as ever. i strive to be useful but i fear it’s not enough. »