outside the golden quadrant.

Inside the city like a ghost. Eating chips and wandering the busy streets. Rain and cars mixing the air into a storm of mist and smells. Some kind of great sky taco ready for a gastronomic god to sample and smite.

Partaking in the bogan arts. The giggles and disinterested chatter from tables of men all big and strong in their relaxed sweat pants and hoodie attire. The world is turning quicker than we can fathom. Foolish and dull eyed we scramble for the outer suburban chicken shack churches.

There is this dream that fashion magazines and music television creates of a world full of beauty, love, passion and togetherness. A well fitting design that wants to buy watches and sunglasses for the purpose of getting to the slopes on time, with the idea of fighting the glare of the sun and perfect while enjoying a perfect body and company.

We all know its a lie. I feel it eating away my pants as I sit on a crowded train leaving the heart of a wild all over the place city. So many stations with strange names and treelined streets. So many people caught in their smart phones shuffling on and off the steal serpent to watch TV and eat and talk about the latest movies.

We are touching the sky no doubt. People are exploring places we have only dreamed. Glorious moments of focus and truth crystalising into love that is then bottled and used to cure apes with cancer. However these things are rarer than we believe. They are on the fringe of what we do but the focus of our dreams. We reach to touch the stars with food caught in our teeth. With stains on our pants. Pockets pulling out pants down due to excessive change.

I suppose what I am saying is.... the suburbs are a bit of a drag at times.