Taking flight
Children like Frank Perkins know surprisingly early (I'm sure he already knew while loitering on the jetty) that something isn't quite right. In my day not only conversations in the school-yard, but the newspapers, the cinema, the radio and then the television told me that something wasn't quite right. All the other boys were little cubes (that's how I thought about it), sturdy little building-blocks with stable futures, while I'd turned out shaped like a pyramid, a cuttlefish, a party balloon - anything, but not a cube.
-- "Corfu", Robert Dessaix.
I think I'm beyond tired, but the journey is just beginning.
I have scenes of Melbourne crowded into my head, like the old man with a beard that could be nests for several families of birds who was standing in the mall, not really absorbing anything external to himself, seemingly perceiving through a set of senses attuned for a different world. I've seen him many times in the main city streets, but the most perturbing memory I have of him was when a couple of restauranteurs some shops apart made him shuffle to and fro between their cafes, each telling him when he reached them that the other guy will give him free food.
Maybe today I felt a little brave, so I said hello, and he said, "I'm just having a bit of a walk today, it's a nice day. Are you having a good day, love?" In truth, he had been standing in the same spot for more than fifteen minutes.
Tomorrow morning I leave the grey of Melbourne behind for some time, and while I am away, she will don the freshness of spring, then after that, the stark brightness of summer. It is not possible to say farewell to that which you hold dear to your heart, that which has had a hand in shaping your soul.
Posted by sniffles at August 20, 2002 11:53 PM