So Sick

This is an original image taken inside of the National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne.

I've spent a lot of time in the city,

Seeing and hearing it's experiences of sound and design.

At heart, everyone is sick.

I get lost in the smog of tobacco smoke up and down Swanston,

Lost in a sea of Black as the Flinder's Goths swarm at night,

And battered with conformist suit-wear within the CBD.

I remembered when the Yarra was not brown in the clarity of last year's Summer,

I remembered a city of welcome, but not replaced with eyes of judgement.

I remembered a city of charity for the beggar, now dieing in the trash cans drenched in glutton, spelt with capital "M's".

Now it's been reduced to cut-throats, skin tight vanity, and Religious Extremists; of Bible, skin and air pumped foot-balls.

I found where what I remember retreats to though;

Across the river, dodging the trolls underneath the bridge,

Flourishing in white fountain...

And there, I made a wish to the sounds of oriental strings.

Give me trees, give me grass, give me emotion!

The Art's Centre of Melbourne, I want more than the sounds of cars screeching, or the Clown screaming "4 more quarter pounders!"

Take me away from the synthetic lights shouting to buy.

Give me something to feel, other than city heart sickness or a drunken slurr.

I thirst inspiration amongst the grass and flower-made clock,

Show me who knoweth first on rock made statue heads.

You provide the city, life;

Life to caputre, life to paint, life to sing, and life to act.

Near the palms and willows I write,

My favorite place in the city.

- A contemplation of thoughts by Symon Taylor.