Never again will I visit Australia. I have begun typing this post 4 or 5 times in the past week, erasing the many tangents of anger that arise for you, the reader's sake. I would like to focus on one idea that made me think twice about being curious, that made me fear looking into the eyes of the dead passers-by; a collective idea that asks participation of its new victim, an attack that wears down the psyche to the point of adopting the idea, or fleeing the country. Call it what you want, but I prefer cannibalism. Walking alone is dangerous unless, well, I assume it may be easier if one blends into the mundane dress, loud Australian accents can be heard gossiping about you even through the noise made from headphones. Here is one of my favorites, let me set the scene:
A damsel in distress with her significant other, this is me, sporting newly purchased trainers while running a few errands after a visit to the doctor in downtown Melbourne. We were approaching a couple of sporty looking fellows who looked as though they liked to mix up visits to the gym with weights and juice that works more effectively than a protein-enhanced beverage, and the exact words that came out of one of their mouths, while he was looking down, after we intersected was: "Fuck this guy". After a short while I found he wasn't going to do the fucking, nor was his mate Ray Roidsy. Perhaps he was suggesting to the damsel a fun exercise she could perform with me, which I would prefer to believe but the tone suggested nothing of the sort. What I am suggesting is after viewing my attire to try and come up with an answer as to why I was with such a magnificent creature, a conclusion was reached that my bright red shoes had lured her. I felt a deep-seated battle in this gent; I was disproving his theory that "big strong man walk, eat, make baby, go shopping, watch movie with beautiful woman". "Could there be more to a person than his physical strength?" popped up into his thoughts, but he managed to strangle the thought before it could create a lasting synapse.
I'm having blank thoughts after 30 minutes of deciding what a follow-up to this could be, so I will leave it at that.
I'm back in India.
A damsel in distress with her significant other, this is me, sporting newly purchased trainers while running a few errands after a visit to the doctor in downtown Melbourne. We were approaching a couple of sporty looking fellows who looked as though they liked to mix up visits to the gym with weights and juice that works more effectively than a protein-enhanced beverage, and the exact words that came out of one of their mouths, while he was looking down, after we intersected was: "Fuck this guy". After a short while I found he wasn't going to do the fucking, nor was his mate Ray Roidsy. Perhaps he was suggesting to the damsel a fun exercise she could perform with me, which I would prefer to believe but the tone suggested nothing of the sort. What I am suggesting is after viewing my attire to try and come up with an answer as to why I was with such a magnificent creature, a conclusion was reached that my bright red shoes had lured her. I felt a deep-seated battle in this gent; I was disproving his theory that "big strong man walk, eat, make baby, go shopping, watch movie with beautiful woman". "Could there be more to a person than his physical strength?" popped up into his thoughts, but he managed to strangle the thought before it could create a lasting synapse.
I'm having blank thoughts after 30 minutes of deciding what a follow-up to this could be, so I will leave it at that.
I'm back in India.
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