Sydney smolders. Smokestack lighting. Vapor trails off a high rise. Moments of wonder. Can I climb down twenty floors? Control burns like a necklace around the Big Smoke. Nature reminds us all of the inevitable. When we go it will be minutes before she is back in business.
Kinokuniya. Cosplay. Crowds.
I feel an overwhelming need to make things. I have to get back to creating. The feel of a pen in my right hand, paper smooth under my left. This feels real. Almost like I’ve never given it a chance, but stupid or delusional I am not. The industry has a maxed out card. No more credit. So if there is any hope it will come from outside.
There is a harshness here but in a good way. Like the people are a reflection of the land. Capable. Hardy. Sydney is rough around the edges, like all cities. A tattooed arm strokes a young leg mid thigh while the rights works his IG feed. A bar that smells like a bar. Wood rails soaked in years of despair and celebration. Bedfellows those two. Footy on the tele. A low grade throb at the base of my skull. My old friend has traveled with me to Australia. People, noise, heat and conversation. Drop down menu replies to the questions I’ve heard for so long. Trouble mustering the troops. Sixty percent of the grade based on research.
All I look for is a clear shot. Take a breath, blow half out and hold. Concentrate. Squeeze that shutter button, but to get to this point, crosshairs on the target, is so rare now. Layer upon layer of job, life and culture in between. Harder to find clean zones, places of unfiltered life. Further into the bush. What are we racing against really? Global warming or the deadening of our soul? Complacency? Gentrification? Sterilization? The idea that hitting “like” actually means something? The muscle we are most exercising is the one circling our thumb as we swipe, swipe, swipe.