Scribble

 At the Viet cafe by Footscray Market.

And more legibly on the desk back home.

(The journal left at home.)

Eye of Beholder

 

As usual Lewis Mueller up on Barkly corner waiting to cross at the lights. Not a pretty picture carrying that almost perfect O mouth agape, as if gripped by a sight up on the hill. Could a keen-eyed prize-winning portraitist entirely miss that signature visual of himself? We can never see ourselves, a wise old duck once said, one who in her own time had been a great beauty. Discovering that fact about the lady only when she was in her late 70s came as a great surprise. Former beauties you assumed acted and deported themselves quite differently and could be easily discerned. Like any portraitist, Lew M had studied his own reflection, without any hint in those works of that habitual, affrighted Munch pose.

 

Car Sick (Update)

Suggesting old daytime TV Roman toga movies this pharaonic pose high in the seat; elbow protruding; highest disdain. Something too like a celebrity under the gaze of paparazzi another gent in his mid-range, well-maintained and polished model, radio’s steadying whisper audible within. 

 

Rear-view on the freeway giving the uneasy sense of crazed chase, five-six lanes all the more so. Years of TV pursuit— afoot, horseback, cars racing along LA highways. 

  

Lingering cop or ambo sirens audible miles afterward, like smoke from burning ruins. Miles and miles and many streets behind. 

  

The 6s or 8s when they're lowered ride not much more than arm's length from the bitumen, beefy lads hanging out, sometimes with fag ends that make you look for the moment of flicking. Other times they merely rattle the cage, thumping against the side. 

Often too without musical accompaniment, the arm hanging limply, trailing for air. 

Freedom. Something. Unfulfilled. Often only haring it once they are on the straight. 

  

Compulsive scanning of the abbreviations in the number plates, as if seeking hints lost in a maze. All the signage, logos, stickers. Interpretations lacking.

 

Side-view bent at the wrong angle, the white line unreeling from its spool slipping under the wheels, confirming the passage the bigger picture fails to convey. 

 

The fixation will never be relinquished by democratic means, just like in the States the right to bear arms. 

 

 

 

2. 

  

Cool wintry mornings the reflected heat gives a brief charge—like coming indoors from the cold and reaching for the logs in the grate. Pleasurable hit; mainlining serotonin. Sometimes when it’s a B double you get the first blast and then bask in the expectation of the following. Painted steel was ineffective, the same as tarpaulin or plastic-coating. Impossible to anticipate, on each occasion the blessing comes anew. The first few times it happens on especially cold days the confusion momentarily overwhelms. 

  

  

 

  

3. 

  

Case of brake failure on the freeways the dividers were the first resort, scraping along on the passenger side, tearing steel slowing and perhaps puncturing a tyre. A medium/light vehicle in front for the final halt, if time permitted. 

  

In the wet roll the window down a fraction for proper notice of the speed. 

  

The truck canyons on the freeways and around the port exited ASAP; blind spots in the mirrors avoided like the devil. 

  

Annoyance with other drivers was noticeably curbed of late, use of the horn especially. Possibly due to the virus.

 

The childish instinct to display exemplary motoring was still difficult to curb; that and the attempt to win pretty girls behind the wheel with elegant gestures and gallantry. 

  

Early November in a mild Spring immediately after Cup Day, the hands, elbows & trailing arms appeared outside driver's window. (Sometimes passengers joining on their side.) Relishing the end of lockdown.

  

Always a matter of frustration for an accomplished, courteous driver who mostly kept within the rules not being recognised or rewarded. Radio shows once upon a time conducted competitions where listeners would nominate examples. 

 

 

 

NB. Segments of this piece date from 2009-10; they have been augmented recently during the recent return to motoring down in Melbourne. Living without a motor car had been another benefit on the Equator.

 

Strongly Suggestive

 

That peacefulness along Beacon Cove was strongly suggestive. There was no mistake. Since the development thirty-five years ago it had been the same. Almost never pedestrian traffic. Occasional dog walkers, most prominent the late middle-aged men waiting on the ends of leashes on dawdling house pets. Across all the tower balconies over the years and low rise on the other side, there may have been appearances a handful of times—briefest glimpse of moving figures; never sitting. On the beachfront it may have been different, but those prospects soon wore away everywhere. Neat kerbside plantings, clipped lawns, stretched, taut silence. Strongly suggestive of those other wide yards peopled only sporadically, Mothers’ Days & Easter. Designated grave-cleaning days did not appear on western calendars. There may have been 30%, or possibly more, price differential between water and even this strip one block back.

 

Tolerable Bubbles

 

 

Worthy of a Sing innovative start-up this one to accompany environment-saving roof gardens and creepers trailing down the sides of reinforced concrete, glass & steel towers. Specialising in colourful mobiles & stickers around workstations, indoor succulents & evergreens.

Page 13 full spread carried by this morning’s Age newspaper here in Melbourne.

Ailing in the Old Town

Shouldn’t have told young Riley the doc this morning it was a boring town. What meaning could it have had for the chap? No call for it. Likely the man would have known of Yogyakarta without the nowhere near Bali. Nice guy easy to tell, tough gig on the revolving door, Mondays especially. Sometimes it gushes out, impossible to curb. Man knows he’s got a slippery customer, flickering eyes monitoring from the chair behind the mask. The sport, alcohol, car-dependent suburbia was the summary in the car afterward for telepathic explanation—for starters at least.