Retrospective in Spiralling
Flight into the centre of the phoenix
Beat tracks the steps all the way across the grotesque of the public buses, they there on the level five up from the ground and behind counter after counter after counter. Veritable procession line of neck stretchers, up at the stools on the other side of the red tops. One face among the many and other constellations which make up the designations. All the faces are a blur and the names only matter for the point of taking things in roundabout directions.
Lexington, they say, is foreign and a school of the new. Questions rise and bounce on the location and pinpoint accuracy to that very part of the world which holds a doorway down a runway to the soul.
Flutter of the briefcase, only a wallet with a rubber band with support, as Dame Nellie Melba lies across the faces of Sir John Monash. Dozens of hundreds made thousand fold and a swimming lunch into watermelons of excess in the few scant moments of the dying day.
Process is a gaze at the wondrous overshoot, of looking at the back and wondering how far off the mark the ten fold under folds. Where from the five to carry dangerously in the daylight dark leaves only one and change after signatures, stickers and pages on pages of confirmation and registration.
Another step closer to the dream and the reality.
Soon Van - Friday, April 13, 2007 - 23:31
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