Friday, 23 January 2015


Sudden desire to go and look at a castle or silently gaze from a train window at slow-moving mountains and fast-moving sheep. Or wander through a street market listening to foreign chatter, making fuzzy calculations trying to figure out if the souvenirs for sale are worth frittering away the monopoly money or not.

Been too busy caught up lately in a whirlwind of supposedly January blues-busting gig announcements, cinema visits, music music music clothes clothes clothes boys boys boys. Proceed to checkout. Check in. Don’t see the money leaving. The cultural collateral. Learning the new words to keep up-to-date in this ever evolving language and scene, believing the hype. Fresh to death. As one event fades and the train pulls out of the station, forecasting money which hasn’t yet arrived going on the next ones.

I desire space. Head space, breathing space, the final frontier, cut and paste. A deep inhalation of true majesty rather than the stop start quick-fire leave-me-breathless jolts of entertainment we convince ourselves are the path to happiness and fulfilment. Meditation on something other than remembering the password to my See Tickets account or what time I’ll get in to Victoria.

Suffering screen burn. I need to re-focus. Clouds, faces, faces in clouds, statues, mannequins, rotisseries, lights, plaques, I need it like oxygen. I need to fill journals with something other than worn out hastily pasted in ticket stubs. I need to wait in line to go to a new country instead of waiting in line while my bags are turned inside out with more precision and implied distrust to enter a gig than when trying to enter said new countries.

All of that feeling smug and superior when you get the latest reference from that viral YouTube video, high fives with taxi friends as you quote it at the bar. Feeling accepted because you know the lyrics and when to put your hands up because the tune’s about to ‘drop’. Knowing phrases like ‘the drop’. Killed it.

I want to stand at the edge of a foreign shore, swaying in the density of a different atmosphere, an unfamiliar breeze rustling through the faint hairs on my arms, hearing the call of strange birds, and the smell of a sun-kissed sea.

Photos taken from here and here