victoria meme: [1/6] emotional scenes » did you know that rooks mate for life? every year, they they build their nests together. renew all those little civilities that make a marriage sparkle. I think we could learn much from them. If I had just spent more time watching the rooks my wife would have felt more attended to.
The seagulls know you have fish and chips, they can hear the rustling of the paper. The seagulls begin to gather. One lands next to you. You throw the bird a chip. You look down, blood pours from your hand. The bird flies off with your finger.
Your train is coming in ten minutes. Your train is coming in two minutes. Your train is coming in twenty-three minutes. A train moves through the station, driverless and empty. Your train is coming in ten minutes.
There’s a man playing bagpipes on Princes Bridge. There’s a man playing bagpipes at Flinders Street Station. You can hear them from your office. You wake in the night; they’re coming from your living room.
Your friend suggests a macca’s run, but you can’t move. Your legs have turned to lead. It approaches.
You topped up your MYKI online. It will take two days to process. You begin to grow weaker. The MYKI glows in your hand. The process has begun.
There are roadworks on the Monash freeway. The signs flash at you menacingly in the night; they suggest a detour. You take the detour, but nobody follows. You don’t know this route. The lines on the road disappear, your radio turns to static. You don’t have to look in your rear-view mirror to know that it’s there. It waits.
Everyone keeps talking about the cool new bar. Everyone has been there. You ask where it is, but no one can answer. But everyone insists you must go. You ask how to get there, but everyone is vague. Everyone has been there. You are the only one who has not. The only one left. You run.
You wait for the tram, but a bus approaches. The driver tells you that there’s track works. You get on the bus. The driver exits; he shuts the door. You hear something at the back of the bus, but the bus is empty. The sound moves closer. The driver never returns.
Your footy team is losing. They’re always losing. The draft brings new players, but they disappear. The footy record lists players that you vaguely remember; where are they? You attend the next match, your team has no men on the bench. You bite in to your meat pie and crunch down on something hard. You spit out a wedding ring, it gleams in your hand. More players disappear.
You sit in Hoddle Street traffic. Four lanes are at a standstill. There’s a man in the car in front of you. You check your watch. You glance up at the man, he has a family now. How long have you been here? The seasons change. Your engine rusts. Your wife is waiting at home. Isn’t she?
You take a shortcut through the bicycle parking on Lygon Street. The bikes are too close together. They seem to be moving. All you can see are bicycles. Forever.
You go to the pub for a meal. You order the vegan parma. “100 percent cruelty free”, the menu says. The eggplant makes no sound as you bite into it.
The next station is North Melbourne. Change here for Craigieburn, Werribee, Williamstown, Sunbury, and a growing sense of unease.
Your flatmate sells terrariums at the Fitzroy Markets. Using tweezers, she inserts tiny plastic people into mossy landscapes. You look closely. The people have your face.
Lost cat signs are going up in your neighbourhood. New ones appear every day. Where are the cats going? Are they running away from something? What do they know that we don’t?
You buy the ornate baroque bed that has been sitting in Franco Cozzo’s window for as long as you can remember. You sleep well. When you wake up, you’re back in the shop. You sit up slowly, becoming aware of the people peering at you through the glass. But it’s not you they’re looking at. It’s the bed. They can’t see you at all.
A new bar opens on Sydney Road. It has a pan-Asian theme. Smiling white people bring you a cocktail named after a massacre. You sip it and think, This is reality now.
This is reality now.
What evil lurks in the empty shell that was once a Spotlight? No one dares even to ask.
Someone has yarn bombed the poles outside Brunswick Town Hall. The pattern grows more elaborate every day. The yarn spreads to engulf the building, the road, the tram tracks and the kebab van opposite. Fire cannot kill it. Leave while you still can.
It’s 2am and I couldn’t sleep, then I got super excited and inspired reading the #regionalgothic tag (check it out if you haven’t already) and got all homesick and proud of my creepy home town.
- There are bodies beneath the marketplace, your grandmother tries to explain, voice raised over the sound of children screaming. The queen Victoria market was a cemetery a century ago. You look to where the children’s screams are coming from but you can’t see them anywhere.
- As you enter each room the man in the suit tells you to acknowledge the traditional land owner. Respect the traditional land owner. Give thanks to the traditional land owner. You must give thanks. They will know if you don’t.
- Saturday is shopping day. You take the tram to chapel street. You follow the lady in front of you down the street. She buys a grey coat. They swipe her card. You buy the same coat. They swipe your card. You follow her out of the shop, into a sea of grey coats.
- You rent a house just off Brunswick street. Each night you are kept awake with sounds of dogs barking and voices but in the morning the streets are empty. It’s rubbish bin night tonight.
- You check your watch. It is Monday. It is raining. You check your watch. It is Monday. It is sunny. The time has not changed. No one seems to notice.
-The baristas on Degraves street eye each other with vicious determination. Each must have the best coffee, no matter the cost. They must feed their consumers. You order a latte. For a second the espresso pouring from the machine flows dark red.
- No matter how much money you put on your Myki it is not enough. You stand at the machine and feed it your coins. It is not enough. It is still hungry.
- There is nowhere to park at Highpoint. You follow the arrows down to the underground parking. You drive through a labyrinth of ramps and tunnels, slowly descending. You reach the bottom level. There is one other car, an old model, rusted and abandoned. You get into the lift. There is only a down button.
- The werribee line train home is always full. You catch the last train, crammed against the window. The train is empty the next morning. They say nobody leaves the west.
- On the platforms the metro officers dress in long coats and gloves. They do not stand in the sunlight. They do not smile. They check your ticket as you walk through the barrier to make their catch. You hold your breath. Fare evasion is at a record low.
- The store keepers in Footscray will sell you anything you need. Their windows are lined with spices, fruits, vegetables, all kinds of meats. You walk past the carcasses of hanging ducks, quails and pigs. You come across a shop on a side street selling cuts of meat you don’t recognise, too big to be pork or poultry. When you return the next day it has closed.
- The tourists laugh at the gaping mouth of Luna Parks smiling entrance, swallowing them as they enter. The locals know better than to go inside. From the right angle, a smile can look like a scream…
- You are on the ring road. You are always on the ring road. You don’t even remember where the ring road goes. The roadworks will be finished soon. Then you can go home.
i’m at a restaurant and this santa just come up to my table asking my brother if he wanted a photo and santa was like ‘i learnt a new move last night!’ and he went on to do the move he learnt and he dabbed and like three tables over 10 people pissed themselves laughing at santa dabbing guys it was great