I magine the city. written 1999

I would like to live in a city. a city with bright lights. trees. green hills. people: simple, complex, cyberpunks, thrift shop kids, snot nosed fashion junkies, uniforms, suits, colours, ugly, pretty, Fake... and in this city is me. in a small 2 roomed kitchen + bathroom unit apartment high up staring at thousands of other apartments and city buildings winking at me. Ive made contact with some of the other people in those apartments. we wave. hold up big pictures. ive even been able to email one of them. Behind me is one of the rooms, my room. 3x4m. a shoji screen door, aluminum slide windows (nice to sit in when i want to remind myself what suicidal feels like) a small bed under it, along one wall a stack of DIY shelves ive cramped with books and collected trinkets. my bed bed sits on another stack of shelves full of books and drawers of clothes. 2 PC monitors , minispeakers sit on my desk connected to 2 networked PC's underneath. Desk is littered with papers. water and energy bottles, special K boxes ( i really have to clean this shit out some day.) books, pens, trinkets, CD's, a keyboard, 2 mouse. shit cluttered room. strung a sting along the ceiling to hang my clothes and shoes from. I can just sit in my room cluttered with shit. My flatmate, shes a graphic designer. usually out at Uni or locked in her room. like me, has 2 computers. at least once a week we make it a habit to clean out the apartment, go shop together, and frequent at the local cafe/internet cafe/2nd hand book store. sometimes I go visit friends I haven't visited in months. Lucky bastards. they just do a bit of work every day or just bumm around. I lock myself in my room, do animation or Im at college doing more animations and planning storyboards. updating my site or do comics or, I just zone out.
leave the apartment, and walk. stare at the world. Im going to go to a yoga class someday. I leave my 7th floor apartment through the internal staring of my apartment building. it is late. the outsides of some have staircases leading down the sides. Dirty white washed walls. cold and some glowing windows, pipes veining the sides and small boxes and lights jutting out of the walls. the spaces between the buildings secret a walkway for all. the roads on the other side of the way. the whole way is webbed with a jumble of black telephone and power lines linking from apartment to apartment. at least the air is clean down here.

(Edited Nov 10 2008. I wrote this before I even lived on Hobson street. guess my imagination was pretty accurate...)