Tuesday, September 21, 2010


She hates the old suburb.  "It's dirty and rundown".  Was she really talking about those streets of interesting shops and colourful people that I love so much?

Where she sees death, I see vibrant life.  Where she scurries, I wander happily.

The buildings aren't flash and modern, not like a shopping mall where you can buy a hundred varieties of plastic thingies.  The small shops are mainly one-off, not part of some super chain.  Mick's Nuts is cramped and they only accept cash, but people come from all over this city to shop there; even royalty had sent a minion to buy some nuts.  Reverse Garbage is my second home and I've turned lots of their industrial offcuts into art and useful items.

The smell of Asian greens wafts out of the Vietnamese deli and the footpaths are full of people eating at the many cafes.  From an upstairs room, the sound of "hare krishna" floats out of the window of the vegetarian restaurant.

The old suburb has heart.

"No-one could find Barbara Streisand's nose beautiful!"  She was so sure in her black and white world.  I shrank back into myself like a mimosa leaf that had been touched.

Your harsh dismissal
of the beauty
I see in
the old and unusual
our hearts never meeting

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