tales from an ordinary world

2003-04-07

It's time to resume my journey on the Lost Highway.

It's time to become encased in amber once again - helpless and silent, the way I'm supposed to be.

At least I'm good for something.

2003-04-11

Everybody's talking. I'm happy for them, though sometimes it's hard to hear myself think.

We're still under attack. The birds are circling, watching, waiting. And now the rain's coming, too. Wash away my fears, until there's clouds in my bed. Tell me I'm doing the right thing, and then leave me alone. A drummer boy, facing the west. I'll play it 'till the sun goes down and then I'll dream of sleep.

2003-04-12

Fitzroy Gardens, around 8:30pm. The possums are making plans, you can see it in their beady-eyed poker faces, hunched over and rubbing their hands together with glee as I pass them by.

They'll never take me alive.

2003-04-18

When I'm feeling sad and lonely I go for a walk up Sydney Road for a while, with Jonathan Richman in my eyes. The moon hangs over me, wanting to know what I'm doing here, but I just don't need any more questions right now.

2003-04-19

An old man in an electric wheelchair motors along the side street, stopping in a car parking spot by the side of the road. He hops out of his chair, armed with a walking stick, and walks 50 metres away from the road into the park area, before turning around, returning to his chair, and motoring off once more.

Much later, on Sydney Road, a woman walks past with a small green parrot perched on her shoulder. What's going on ?

2003-04-20

Afternoon sun shines through eastern suburbs train. There's a lot more grass on this side of town. I'm a bit groggy from lunch, retreating behind the seat with the sun in my eyes. Say hello.

2003-04-21

The music seems to have complete control over my mood, which is only a bad thing for a little while. Rummage around for something a little more upbeat. Match my steps. These red shoes have seen a fair bit of walking, and there's more to come. I ended up in Thornbury today - there's so many streets I've never been down. The graffiti's more pronounced, more vocal, more social in the north - a large proportion of my photos end up being of these words and occasional drawings. I can't take photos of people, it seems...impolite. I take photos of things, instead. Some things are best left remembered, though - the cut-and-pasted newspapers on the wall of the "comfortable chair" cafe, for instance - a pile of famous front pages through the years, newspaper styles I'd almost forgotten, and the advertisements around the edge. A mix of memories in black and white print. Where was I when...?