My little brother hopped off the plane looking fresh as a dairy. I had expected to meet a stinky grumpy sort of bastard but he was quite cheerful and didn't even complain about the heat, heat being the natural enemy of Slammas.
The fierce hot wind left me a little jet lagged but I managed to drop one person off in Springwood before returning to Penno and my brother's house, formerly known as my squalid sanctuary. We stopped at Penrith Plaza food court for a spot of lunch, fancy, where I thought I saw David from the movie show on telly, Margaret was nowhere to be seen.
My brother immediately started emptying his suitcases all over the floor and what came out of those cases was astonishing. He'd been shopping that boy, shopping in markets all over China between gigs. I am currently wearing Anna Sui perfume (fake), a mint green Gucci watch (fake), Chanel sunglasses (fake), jade earrings and matching pendant (real!). I also have a packet of communist cigarettes, a Shanghai keyring, a tiny silk bag, a jade snake tablet thingy from a temple and I suspect from the haste with which he sneakily pushed some items out sight one or two things to look forward to for Christmas.
I spent hours surrounded by exotic trinkets, swathes of silks, no less than seven fake watches, perfumes, enamel boxes, jade jewellery, shiny weird cigarette packets and other nameless gorgeous things.
He was full of tales and photographs, he said the duality of China was astonishing and explained pit toilets with scrolling l.e.d walls. He talked about architecture and the feel of shining booming futures. He told me about the old city where our family lived and the POW camp were some of them died. He said Chinese McDonalds is excellent. He said when he stood on top of the pointy tower in Shanghai to photograph the city that he could not comprehend what he saw, the city stretches all the way to the horizon. When he said that I could see the memory of the dropping feeling in his stomach. A city that stretches all the way to the horizon is certainly beyond my comprehension. You can walk out of Sydney in an hour if you're quick. You can start at the Opera House or the Harbour Bridge and walk yourself right out of the place without even raising a sweat. I don't know what I'd do in an endless city.
There were photos of festivals and concert halls, theme parks, bars, universities and town squares. They played at every kind of venue imaginable. I wonder what people thought of them. I wonder if people unfamiliar with that kind of music can slip as easily into their liquid sound. I'm wondering if flugelhorns require translators.
The fierce hot wind left me a little jet lagged but I managed to drop one person off in Springwood before returning to Penno and my brother's house, formerly known as my squalid sanctuary. We stopped at Penrith Plaza food court for a spot of lunch, fancy, where I thought I saw David from the movie show on telly, Margaret was nowhere to be seen.
My brother immediately started emptying his suitcases all over the floor and what came out of those cases was astonishing. He'd been shopping that boy, shopping in markets all over China between gigs. I am currently wearing Anna Sui perfume (fake), a mint green Gucci watch (fake), Chanel sunglasses (fake), jade earrings and matching pendant (real!). I also have a packet of communist cigarettes, a Shanghai keyring, a tiny silk bag, a jade snake tablet thingy from a temple and I suspect from the haste with which he sneakily pushed some items out sight one or two things to look forward to for Christmas.
I spent hours surrounded by exotic trinkets, swathes of silks, no less than seven fake watches, perfumes, enamel boxes, jade jewellery, shiny weird cigarette packets and other nameless gorgeous things.
He was full of tales and photographs, he said the duality of China was astonishing and explained pit toilets with scrolling l.e.d walls. He talked about architecture and the feel of shining booming futures. He told me about the old city where our family lived and the POW camp were some of them died. He said Chinese McDonalds is excellent. He said when he stood on top of the pointy tower in Shanghai to photograph the city that he could not comprehend what he saw, the city stretches all the way to the horizon. When he said that I could see the memory of the dropping feeling in his stomach. A city that stretches all the way to the horizon is certainly beyond my comprehension. You can walk out of Sydney in an hour if you're quick. You can start at the Opera House or the Harbour Bridge and walk yourself right out of the place without even raising a sweat. I don't know what I'd do in an endless city.
There were photos of festivals and concert halls, theme parks, bars, universities and town squares. They played at every kind of venue imaginable. I wonder what people thought of them. I wonder if people unfamiliar with that kind of music can slip as easily into their liquid sound. I'm wondering if flugelhorns require translators.
Comments
As you may know, the Bassoon (a reed instrument) is called, in Italian, the Faggoto. Germans just call it the Faggot. Presumably they joke about it ('whose blowing the faggot today?')
Cath, yep woo hoo!
timt ooh the bassoon. I had a brief thing with the bassoon but I am not ace with double reeds and my thumbs are actually quite small and that was a disadvantage. I went better on the bass clarinet, that was very easy after the bassoon.
Perhaps the existence of SAT is merely further proof for the theorem stated earlier that maps are invariably the wrong way round.
Is SAT short for Satmania, though? Or Ainamsat?