It wasn't because of the swirling cold trailing across first one part of me and then another. That's not something I need to say, its a leitmotif, the unsanctioned spontaneous incidental music to thought. I committed the small crime of assuming that Superman would be late so I crawled out of the shower at ten past six draped in towels but there he was ensconced in an armchair in the rear of The Peach.
How now can I turn and focus on what must be done? This waking day shrinks and expands and Superman has the distinct advantage of transporting himself across Sydney to a different space, one without film echoes and half finished crossword puzzles. You know, you really shouldn't smoke in bed but in this house it is a a sanctuary from cold and the others shrugging off art like an unwanted coat.
After pancakes and the communal raft of existence over coffee Superman decided a film was necessary so we moved speakers and newspapers and rolled a joint. I wrapped myself in something warm, fending off the trailing cold and welcoming the artificial haze. I lazed and smoked and huddled on this bed and Superman pressed play. Some films walk across moments using your footprints as its own.
Grizelda had dropped us near the restaurant in Paddington and we crossed a road and walked a block and the cold trailed across first one part of me then another. The restaurant, housed in a boutique hotel, had a small but grand entrance. The tables were low and the chairs had arms. I dropped the cushion from my chair then moved to a neighbouring table. We calculated, carefully, the cost of things and just how much we could consume, for free. This is the dinner competition dinner. This is Superman kindly acting out a small part in my long list of life as experiment. The two cheapest mains were to our liking and left, enough, just enough for a bottle of wine. The small list of wine we could afford fell into two categories, wine we could pronounce and wine we could not pronounce. It is not difficult to discern which wine we ordered.
Conversation, as it is with Superman, was often easy, sometimes light but always alive. We argued, vigorously, from our different corners about the possibility of a government sanctioned sound effect to be played immediately after being hit in the face with a pie and idea of an object possessing a subtle height. The food was an elevated level of existence standing in clear contrast to the weeks where I forage in the pantry for a dry biscuit seeking only the absence of hunger.
The wait staff could have frightened me, but they didn't. Superman had to test the wine and I think his artful draping of a scarf helped him in this matter but I'm not sure. When the almost frightening staff were looking away we swapped plates and the pastry from the lamb shank pie scattered clear to the horizon. The other plate, the one without pastry was a kind of chicken heaven, the kind a chicken would never dream about.
The wine continued and the hired piano player drifted away, replaced by a woman with light fingers. Her two small children stood by the piano and sang in their floral dresses, it could have been anytime but a glow appeared where none had been. The wine continued and the edges of my mouth went pleasantly numb. The wine continued then we walked the length of the wallpapered hall. Superman disappearing briefly behind a door marked "the dungeon". The potential for waking inside Fawlty Towers was never far away.
We walked down Oxford St in a bid for coffee while the cold trailed across first one part of me then another. We were too far from cafes and the late night bookshops so we climbed into a cab and ordered Newtown where I have already drawn my shapes and I can pull towards me coffee at will.
Walking home to The Peach I thrust my hands in my pockets, my red leather gloves an ineffective shield, my red leather shoes becoming invisible as the cold trailed across first one part of me then another. I poured rum for no wine could be found. Superman transformed into a troubadour, relating things only in song. Cat food isn't ordinarily laced with Valium.
This morning's pancakes have vanished and I wish only for the absence of hunger. I must turn now to the things that must be done, pushing away the echoes of film and ignoring the loss of my footprints. The cold trails across first one part of me, then another. This is where I turn the heater on.
How now can I turn and focus on what must be done? This waking day shrinks and expands and Superman has the distinct advantage of transporting himself across Sydney to a different space, one without film echoes and half finished crossword puzzles. You know, you really shouldn't smoke in bed but in this house it is a a sanctuary from cold and the others shrugging off art like an unwanted coat.
After pancakes and the communal raft of existence over coffee Superman decided a film was necessary so we moved speakers and newspapers and rolled a joint. I wrapped myself in something warm, fending off the trailing cold and welcoming the artificial haze. I lazed and smoked and huddled on this bed and Superman pressed play. Some films walk across moments using your footprints as its own.
Grizelda had dropped us near the restaurant in Paddington and we crossed a road and walked a block and the cold trailed across first one part of me then another. The restaurant, housed in a boutique hotel, had a small but grand entrance. The tables were low and the chairs had arms. I dropped the cushion from my chair then moved to a neighbouring table. We calculated, carefully, the cost of things and just how much we could consume, for free. This is the dinner competition dinner. This is Superman kindly acting out a small part in my long list of life as experiment. The two cheapest mains were to our liking and left, enough, just enough for a bottle of wine. The small list of wine we could afford fell into two categories, wine we could pronounce and wine we could not pronounce. It is not difficult to discern which wine we ordered.
Conversation, as it is with Superman, was often easy, sometimes light but always alive. We argued, vigorously, from our different corners about the possibility of a government sanctioned sound effect to be played immediately after being hit in the face with a pie and idea of an object possessing a subtle height. The food was an elevated level of existence standing in clear contrast to the weeks where I forage in the pantry for a dry biscuit seeking only the absence of hunger.
The wait staff could have frightened me, but they didn't. Superman had to test the wine and I think his artful draping of a scarf helped him in this matter but I'm not sure. When the almost frightening staff were looking away we swapped plates and the pastry from the lamb shank pie scattered clear to the horizon. The other plate, the one without pastry was a kind of chicken heaven, the kind a chicken would never dream about.
The wine continued and the hired piano player drifted away, replaced by a woman with light fingers. Her two small children stood by the piano and sang in their floral dresses, it could have been anytime but a glow appeared where none had been. The wine continued and the edges of my mouth went pleasantly numb. The wine continued then we walked the length of the wallpapered hall. Superman disappearing briefly behind a door marked "the dungeon". The potential for waking inside Fawlty Towers was never far away.
We walked down Oxford St in a bid for coffee while the cold trailed across first one part of me then another. We were too far from cafes and the late night bookshops so we climbed into a cab and ordered Newtown where I have already drawn my shapes and I can pull towards me coffee at will.
Walking home to The Peach I thrust my hands in my pockets, my red leather gloves an ineffective shield, my red leather shoes becoming invisible as the cold trailed across first one part of me then another. I poured rum for no wine could be found. Superman transformed into a troubadour, relating things only in song. Cat food isn't ordinarily laced with Valium.
This morning's pancakes have vanished and I wish only for the absence of hunger. I must turn now to the things that must be done, pushing away the echoes of film and ignoring the loss of my footprints. The cold trails across first one part of me, then another. This is where I turn the heater on.
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