Train Spotting
Travelling by train through the inner west is like walking through the bowels of an old building on the fringes of the city.
Cracked edifices, leaking pipes stained rusty, bifurcating canals and tunnelling.
Fences, wire and cable declare areas of complete emptiness as no-go zones.
Old bricks. Red-brick. Damp and dust. Home to a microcosm of crawling insects; all in symbiosis with the city.
A feeling of desperate loneliness used to fill me once, with such sites. Now, I am not saddened so much as just lost in its randomness and yet not; a purposeful randomness that reflects my own life and perhaps that too of others.
Cracked edifices, leaking pipes stained rusty, bifurcating canals and tunnelling.
Fences, wire and cable declare areas of complete emptiness as no-go zones.
Old bricks. Red-brick. Damp and dust. Home to a microcosm of crawling insects; all in symbiosis with the city.
A feeling of desperate loneliness used to fill me once, with such sites. Now, I am not saddened so much as just lost in its randomness and yet not; a purposeful randomness that reflects my own life and perhaps that too of others.
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