Sunday, August 06, 2006

( * ) Although, It Is Nice To Have A Good Cry About Lost Love.

I got up early and was going to head outside with my camera... but there was no sun. None. Cloudy and overcast. Dull and washed out. Bugger!

I finished, The five people you meet in heaven. It made me cry. Not that I'm adverse to crying, but I was wondering why I was quite so emotional. Then I remembered the drugs from Friday night. They always make me emotional.

Stupid drugs!

Stupid emotions! (*)

I got restless and head out with my camera the minute even a speck of sun shone through the clouds. They'll be crap. Shafts of sun light on walls and all that. The things ya do, huh?

I think I was a bit house-bound, so just as the sun was dipping, I went out for a walk. I love the day just as the light begins to break. I love the fractured feeling of dusk.

There were lovers every where, hand in hand. Smiling. Walking. Making suggestions for the night.

Shopping bags. Trolleys. Dogs. The lot.

Smith Street was busy, alright.

There was this really creepy guy with a beard and hooded parker, talking to himself, outside Go Lo.

You know, as we're all trained to be scared of now, terrorist looking. He followed me up a side street, back to Gore.

Young single white male's body found in a dumpster. One ear bitten off and a both his testicles torn out and shoved into the sockets where his eyes used to be. A thorny rose stem protruding from his arse.

Surrounded by a sea of rose petals, smeared into the concrete, one by one. Blood, bone fragments and a geriatric Minolta camera, completing the scene.

He was coming up behind me, gaining ground, mumbling into his beard, with threats of retribution, I'm sure. Armageddon is such an ugly word.

I sprinted around to Condell Street. You can't catch me! You can't catch me, I wailed, (not unlike Sally Field) as my feet didn't touch the ground again until I was back around on Smith. My legs were like steel springs...

As I said, I think I was just a little house-bound and just needed to run.

I bought a roast chicken and three roast potatoes and window shopped until it was too dark to see.


3 comments:

RIC said...

You do know how to exercise your imagination, no doubt about it... That guy would never be a terrorist; he's an outcast gay... (I say so!).
So now emotions are stupid?! No comment!!!
I believe you must have watched a film by Buñuel called «J'irai comme un cheval fou» («I'll go like a mad horse», literally)... Just check it out, guess you'd be surprised...
I'm glad you're somehow back on tracks!
Thanks for your comment! Though a bit laconic, it's quite welcome!
Wish you a pleasant week!

FletcherBeaver said...

He probably was an outcast gay on Smith Street, now that you mention it. He was probably following my to the lane way up the street a bit.
Emotions are dumb! No doubt about it. They only lead to moaning and bed wetting.

RIC said...

... If you'd be here in Europe, i.e. in the UK, I'd say that's SO typical British... As you're Australian, I have no clue.
Thanks God (or... whoever) we still have emotions and feelings: I LOVE to laugh, but crying and weeping is SO much better than, for instance, taking pils...
I rest my case.