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Thursday 25 April 2002
Miss Maude wonders what its all about.... Melbourne in April. The shadows appear longer yet undefined, soft shapes move across my face and I no longer need to squint. The sun reaches out to me with soft gentle hands and cradles my rigid head. From around 6:30 am (I'm awake by 5:20) it starts like a Burmese sunset and glows golden, lingering for the whole day. I swoosh down St. Kilda Road, the Shrine of Remembrance is lit up and radiant like an Aztec Temple. I'm a willing sacrificial offering. I enter the subterranean world of the Sofitel Hotel carpark. Down there, the air feels very thin and has a suffocating quality that brings me to a slight panic almost everytime. Thirty seconds later I am enclosed in a circular glass capsule and I ascend up into the spaceship of The Great Space. I never tire of this marvel of structural engineering. Its a massive science fiction cathedral. If I avoid the obvious (at trying to be inconspicuous) commercialism around me, I can be invigorated by what normally is a dreary work day. Every chance that I get, I am out the door. As I walk, I'm trying very hard to forget the dull burning pain thumping rhythmically up my right leg. My wince looks like a smile and each passerby either smiles back or give's me a quizzical look. On the corner of Exhibition and Collins Street sits a little old Eastern European woman, she has this very grating way of blurting out "HER-ALD SUN......... " "HER-ALD SUN......... " "GET THE HER-ALD SUN" A young painfully-thin woman dressed in a black immaculate suit, just about loses grip of her recently consumed bowl of Lowans Extra Light Toasted Muesli and soy yoghourt. She gives the old girl a look of burning hatred. For a brief second I thought she had morphed into a Gigeresque bio-mechanoid creature, ready to pounce on HER-ALD SUN....HER-ALD SUN'S throat. Off I go, striding towards Hudsons Coffee shop. Near Australia House there are a couple of old buggers hanging around in spiffy suits, gearing up for OLD BUGGERS DAY (ANZAC) no doubt. Hudsons Coffee has it's usual inpatient customers waiting for their caffeine jolt, served to them by the always cheerful and (amazingly) relaxed staff. I groove along to the Chillout music being constantly played there. Jeremy, a skinny, dreadlocked lad addresses me in the new hip way of talking, "Michael. How goes it - yeah ?" "Have a great day - yeah ?" Got to love it. I always have a chuckle at this cool free-spirited and flowing speech.
Meanwhile just up the road at the Old Melbourne Jail, a ray of gold beams through a grated skylight and brings old Ned's armour to life like the robot in the B grade Sci-fi"The day the earth stood still" I saw the Kelly Gang Exhibition the week before last. Not only did it give a glimpse into what must have been a very difficult life, but made worse because his father was "A certain Man" from Tipperary. I was totally freaked out by the creepy stories displayed in the upper cells. The story of the innocent man hung in the 1920's, accused of murdering a young girl in a city lane. Forensics testing in 1995 revealed he was not the killer. He went to the gallows professing his innocence to the end. ________________________________________________________________ As I scan the sky from where I tip tap away at this dusty outdated keyboard, its pissing down with rain, and hasn't stopped for the last 12 hours. The sun will wane in and out over the next few months, and I sigh with the anticipation of the oncoming winter. The days of the endless sunset have gone.
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