"...waves of alternatives wash at my sleepiness..."

Saff took me to see a showing of Alfred Hitchcocock's movie Psycho in the Regent Theatre, one of the historic theatres that Melbourne boasts. The dialog from the movie came out of speakers that brought to mind watching movies in a gravel parking lot.
This was because the Melbourne orchestra was performing the score of the movie live. The movie is having its fiftieth anniversary. I found myself having to remember the orchestra was there, and in a way that is example of how good the score for the movie and the orchestra both were.
I always appreciate silence in a movie, and often I find contemporary music a bad choice unless the music is meant to set a time period.
Saff treated me to this event, and the prices seemed quite high to me, but then there are a lot of people in an orchestra, I assumed the print of the movie would not be digital and require more equipment than a laptop to run, and other logistical problems. However, both the location and price led me to expect a well behaved cinema crowd, which I am beginning to believe only live in the wonderland of my imagination.
A high priced ticket, historic setting, and men and women wearing fancy dress do not ensure that the audience will not eat loud, nasty smelling foods, stay off their mobile phones, make out loudly, or laugh in anticipatory way before important scenes. I mean, honestly, what if people didn't know yet about MOTHER?

Saff and I also went to see an exhibit on, about, for, from, Tim Burton.
The exhibit was really crowded, we were there on a weekend day.
Still we managed to watch most of the short videos which were funny. I couldn't get to all the information signs, but some were obviously shorts he had made himself, one seemed to be a sort of Disney/Paul Reubens era re-imagining of 'Hansel and Gretel', and a funny one called 'Vincent' with Vincent Price. I especially liked a short called 'Luau' which has Tim Burton as 'Mortie or the supreme being'. There was a sort of time line of artifacts showing his work progress, from his bedroom through to his successful career. There were props and costumes, and artistic interpretations of his style.
I hated the audio tour, which I downloaded for free via my Iphone, the commentary was this boring, dry, droning quasi-academic drivel.

I find Melbourne confusing as a city, there is usually something to go see, especially if you aren't afraid to empty your wallet. But for roaming, I group this city on the level of Los Angeles as opposed to San Francisco or Stockholm where many a free and interesting day can be had just exploring.
Like Los Angeles, Melbourne sprawls, and one always feels that they are one block away from something cool and interesting but that there is a secret involved. Without an 'in' you are forever the tourist. Even though I lived there, and am often with people who lived there, eating is always a problem. There are tons and tons of places to eat but many offer close to the same food choices. Places close down, or move, or have hours only an oracle could understand. I believe one has to live right in the heart of the city and constantly work to learn its language.

"...open sea and city lights...busy streets and dizzy heights..."

Geelong is filled with winter weather, morning fog, rain that drizzles, then clears, then comes again in the form of a more committed rain. There are bright afternoon moments where the sky and horizon become clear and the low moon appears bright on the background of daytime blue.
I have spent many hours in the University library, where suddenly any book not pertaining to my planned study becomes irresistible to me.
I have somehow lost both my favorite hat and a really great book that was not a book I own. '1 dead in attic' by Chris Rose, Saff loaned the book to me because we both are still talking about how much we liked the HBO series 'Treme'. Poor Saff was apparently mistaking me for a grown up who doesn't somehow randomly lose a book.
A bit late in my week I realized I should have been postering for our bout this Sunday because I have been wandering all over the central area of Geelong. I tried to make up for this on both Wednesday and Thursday, although I can only take credit for about fifteen flyers in about ten locations.
I feel positive about Roller Derby while being here, and I'll try to use of the positivity back in Tasmania to see if I can make any sort of impact.
I also feel sort of 'grown up' about Roller Derby. I feel by analogy the sort of benchmark of change one feels between being a Freshman and a Junior in High School. Last August was my first competitive bout, so I am coming up on my year mark, and if I had to remark on the biggest difference, that difference would be my passivity.
Where for months I was willing to listen to all opinions about Roller Derby, I know have opinions of my own and although I believe my opinions can be changed, but I feel tenacious about quite a few of them. I know many, many people know more about Roller Derby than I do, but I am also confident that I know quite a bit.
Tomorrow is a day off, a day in the city with Saff with plans to see the Tim Burton exhibit, and going to see a showing of the original 'Psycho' in an old theater with a fifty piece orchestra providing the score.

"...and the bright and aimless vision has him longing to depart..."

I truly thought I wouldn't leave my house. As isolated as I have been feeling, the spaces I have created, and the routine I can maintain has a sense of safety I felt like clinging too.
I have been a bit low, and sometimes forward motion, or any motion, can give me a period of action or grace that will see me through whatever emotional turmoil I think I am having. Traveling is a good way to eat up ones time.
I had to leave my home as the sun was rising yet I arrived in Geelong after one in the afternoon. Afflixtion came to pick me up, and after what seemed like a very short visit, it was time for practice. Although the Sunday session can be longer than three hours, the time passes really quickly. Then I had dinner, dominated the conversation too much as I do after weeks of relative silence, then suddenly the time became midnight.
Monday Saff worked from home so that day was a blink, and now, on Tuesday, even though I got up at 6 a.m., here I am in the library of a (wrong actually) Deakin campus using the wireless, and partially working on classwork.
I do have to make my way to the other campus which is where my text book is apparently located. This has potential for my favorite activity: driving lost, so I am putting that task off at least until my parking time is expired.
Although I can feel all the many days that are like today piling up on me- days where I am borrowing someones car, wandering through only vaguely familiar areas, wasting time library by library, shop by shop, bench by bench-there is also a familiarity, an aspect of self-identity in these motions.
At the heart though is time passing-a week closer to August-the last month before Zok comes back to the island. A month is a workable amount of time to my mind. I can fill the days in such a way to be completely free of tasks when we are together again.
I went back to July of last year, to read what I was doing, and remarkably I was doing exactly the same things I am doing now. Next July will be different, this is a vow I am making, here in print in case I need the reminder.

"...I want to wake up now, I want to wake with your weight on me, arms around..."

I woke to another bright and inappropriately warm day. Another in an ongoing series of days that have tempted me to think about swimming but fortunately for me, and my health I have been kept busy by my yard.
I took the yard waste to the 'tip' yesterday. The tip like every other spot in Tasmania is having work done-there are paved (!) roads that lead up to what resembles a faint memory of a large city dump. I have a memory of going to a dump that was so large we were in our truck, lined up in traffic with other trucks for ages, and finally we pulled up to a dumping area. Each car got its own sort of slot to pull into so that each vehicle could add to the amassing pile of refuse. I recall the pit being massive.
My memory is hazy, as I am a great suppressor of the unpleasant, yet sharp in a few small details. The memory of this place is a tangle of impressions all connected to my uneasy feelings of people, consumption and conflicted desire that such a place should be right in the middle of our daily lives to remind us of what we truly are.
Now, our oddly small and pleasant 'tip' with its shop of discarded potential treasures, its cardboard recycling bins, and green waste area which later one can buy back after that same green waste has been mulched, sifted and bagged nicely to take back to ones yard-is fast learning to be just like a grown-up city dump.
Perhaps I don't have the whole story. Perhaps the tip is actually on the cutting edge of scientifically proven methods of low impact recycling.
However, as the man took my seven dollars, and increase of two dollars by the way as someone must pay to build the new empire, there were apparently no pamphlets, no kiosk with a digital short film explaining the new changes, no liaison with a hot cup of herbal tea to talk me through the new 'improvements'.

Surely, again I am dealing with perspective, my own perspective which is skewed because I have been living after dark in an entirely fake world.
The world of quirky, well read, music listening, witty conversationalists.
A world of clear and complete seasons, autumn leaves of a Hitchcock film, sparkling snow, and wisteria in bloom. I know that the even the filming location is a lie, the whole show was shot on a set.
That fact doesn't stop me or even slow me down.

"...on the dry and dusty road...the nights we spent apart alone...I can't sleep and I lay and I think..."

Why is there no clear means of controlling one's perspective? I wonder this because often I have a favorite place, and then one day that place seems dulled, or somehow ruined. Is it possible that these places become so altered?
I have to blame myself, I am the common variable as the places keep changing.
For years I will love a city until the day I decide I have to get out.
Okay-sometimes a situation takes me to a place- like going to University in Bellingham, where I had to make myself love where I was- because I had to be there. So I hunted and I walked and I learned to love even the train that came through at five a.m. I worked the noise of the whistle into the narrative of my movie. I imprinted the view of the mountains and of the bay and of the wonder of being so far North, that the sky would get tinged with bits of the Aurora.
By the time I was leaving though, I had song to commemorate my departure.
I am always trying new hobbies, new places, new, new, new-and yet I dislike change.
I stopped by the reserve in my neighborhood, in the short time Zok and I have lived here, the spaces around the reserve have gotten smaller and smaller, a new warehouse to the North, and expansion of a school to the South. Now with the new 'Kingston bypass' being built I am sure there will be office workers who will be able to see the Platypus from their desk.
As I drove up to the parking area I noticed that the groups of trees were partially burnt-so that the landscape had patches of rusty orange leaves amongst the normal greens of the eucalyptus. I assume this to be 'burning off' for the health of the plants but I can never tell. The trails are fire breaks so the fire could have been stopped there on purpose or by purposeful design.
The reserve looked beaten. I no longer come across small marsupials, and there are less birds each time. The signs of teenage boredom and society have always been around but the warehouses can now be seen from most angles within the area.
I felt let down instead of inspired.
If I am lucky-I may have company in about a little less than sixty days...
I wonder if I could stay in bed until then?

A Grave Update

I do my best to work against my disabilities, such as not knowing my left from right, and having no sense of direction. Australia defeats me regularly though, as people here do not use the numbers of the highways, they don't even know them. Most highways become 'High St', many streets have the same names without any differentiation except area or postal code. Street signs are either non existent or they are small and hard to see, especially in the early darkness that falls each winter day. I spent many hours lost.
At the end of a day, where many times I righted myself, and indeed my errands were accomplished, but I was tired-so tired that the very last time I got lost I had to call a friend. She took a cab to my location and drove us the hour plus back to Geelong.

I bought supplies to clean and headstone and grave before we all gathered with the priests for forty-days. I put in small battery operated lights but in the day light they were anti-climatic. The photo of Zok's Mom is from before I knew her and I don't recognize her. The work to change the headstone should happen now. That might be finished by the time I go back next month.

This grave goes against tradition, the stone is engraved with a Bob Marley cover, the stone is black. I have thought a lot about this grave which is on the end of the row to which the Malceski's are buried. This grave is my personal row marker. Perhaps because the occupant died so young the family decided there were no traditions to break-the traditions were shattered when they outlived their child. Of course I am speculating, but I find my thoughts need to be anchored when caught in this row, time and time again.
The cemetery is never empty, at least not in our section where mourning is a full time occupation.