tales from an ordinary world

2000-04-04

"If either one of us could drive
we could drive away
and the time of our lives
could begin today"
The Lucksmiths.

My head is spinning. Odd news is coming in from random friends, and for the first time in a while I almost got totally engrossed in some random work stuff. Strange things are afoot in the world, and it seems to be sending my brain off into the clouds. I feel like I need a day or two off to recover, but I know it just won't help - these rhythms always seem to sort themselves out in their own time, preferably without my interference.

In other, earlier times, life was uncomplicated. I wished for more Lego, train sets, or later on, nifty computer equipment. I didn't have many needs, because I just wasn't paying attention, I suppose.

I remember being in Sydney for a few days in August of 1992 with some uni friends. We got on a bus from the train station, and sat up the back watching the taxis swarm around the bus like angry bees. Home was a backpacker hostel in Kings Cross, a street or two away from the sleaze strip. In one of the nearby bars we played pool - one of the Daves and I held the table for what seemed like ages, by luck more than anything. Later that night I ended up helping to carry home one of my friends after she drank too much. The pharmacist around the corner was a Kiwi - I don't remember what we bought there but it cost "sux ninety-five, thunks". While sitting at a table waiting for our fish and chips one night, we took turns trying to throw the tear-off lid from a can into the can's hole. Somehow, I got it in on my first try. Walking along the street towards the hostel, I remember seeing a small poster or two advertising some club called Wig Out, that was being DJed by the now late Robert Racic. Most afternoons, I'd seek out a payphone in order to make the promised phone call to my girlfriend, although it seemed more like a chore than it should've. I called one or two other friends, just to say hi, and felt guilty that I enjoyed those phone calls more than the ones to my girlfriend. One morning I followed my friends - firstly to the DSS so they could pick up their dole cheques, and then to a comic shop. Outside the shop was a guy sitting on the pavement holding and ice cream container. He sat there, chanting "buskin' ... buskin' ... buskin' ... " and held out his container for money. At the hostel, most of us stayed in a huge dorm room downstairs, but when a few more friends turned up a day or two later, some of us moved into another room upstairs. In this room one night, as it rained, I stared alone out to the street, watching the people walking home with their red umbrellas and black suits. A Stephen Cummings song called "Uncrowned" repeated itself in my head and I found myself frozen solid, unable to move. I think I might've been holding my umbrella, too.

And it's something like that, in the moments before madness. Everything dissolves into helplessness as old memories mount an all-out attack, forcing you into submission. It's over. Come back home.