I see a man with cut hands, maybe they're burnt? There is no way to tell. Homeless people, all of them men. Drug addicts, students and empty suits. The Fortitude Valley train station. I wonder why the Valley can't be cleaned up? What's it waiting for? It's better how it is anyway. It still has it's secrets. We leave the station. Bowen Hills. Train yard. Pretty girl undoing her hair. She yawns and I get a clear look at her. She is painfully lovely. It's raining, I'm on a train to Redcliffe. The fluro light overhead flickers. I'm on my way to do a favour for a friend who now lives overseas. There is something a bit heavy and silent about today and it feels as though I'm waiting for an eruption. Of what I'm not sure. Clarity? Meaning? Love? Love. Perhaps, but if I'm lucky I'll dodge that particular bullet for a while longer. No to love. Yes to work. I want work. Clear, defined, predictable. I want it to keep me focused and safe. This said, I do know that the work will not save me. I also know that making visually interesting, inanimate objects is no substitute for sweat, flesh and emotion.
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