the western lands, last few days, the desert city with it's pristine surfing beaches, beautiful women, friendly city folk, hostile suburbs, the art museum and streets of wide open spaces, the strange big homes built like fortresses and protected by huge walls, who are they keeping out or in, the bright glare of sunlight that cuts your skin, the whisk of clouds, the aboriginal slow death, the miners, those that ride on the back of a boom, you can taste the cash, the people snort it like cocaine, it's make or break time, everyones here for the money. girls tell me how they are gonna cash up, men tell me how they cashed up while they drink away their fortunes, children are born into the chase.
the western lands where murder is part of the landscape, it's a harsh place, no quarter taken, mercy is the currency i would choose. the beaches are immense, the indian ocean warm and exotic, i love the indian ocean best of all, despite the sharks, i like the feel of it, let it wash upon me, over and through. i catch a few waves. drop a few cds of into freo fm, wander around one last time, coffee and croissant in a very nice french type place, i try on a suit, i'm to fat, that hurts, then i wander into a book shop and fritter away an hour gazing at the walls and walls of art books. they play an early peter gabriel track, from 2, i recognise it, great drum tracks, i listen and travel along a strange time line of memory. peter gabrial and tom robinson in concert, peter sung 2468 motorway and tom sung solsbury hill, the memory washes over me like one of those indian ocean waves and i fall back to the present. got a plane to catch, i puff on a spliff and catch the train. the transport system in perth is perfect, clean and runs on time, frequent, free through the night, it's an example of good thinking and planning.
i stick my head in kraken, i'm a third of the way through, it's brilliant.
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