in the emerald city, trawling bookshops, i stumble upon the galaxy hidden away, each book an inquiry, the pages imagined by a million me's labouring in seclusion within their own space, it's a random place, crossed by coincidence and the sisters of secrets and mysteries, you can wander this place for days but sooner or later chance intercepts, ejects you back into the mainframe. 
across the busy streets, the hungry shoppers, weighed down with bargain buys, emotional gravity, financial blues biting as they move underneath the monorail, underneath the skies of blue and business man towers. i notice the beggars and they notice me, we are connected by unspoken things, some kind of pain and love i guess. 
some thing pulls me along connecting invisible realms of dots, nondescript zones, i can't know exactly what it is, just have to trust it's there, like a sign or symbol hiding away between spaces and places, in the darkest of matter. i can feel it as i walk through the people, my eyes follow the path, scanning, peering, i stare at the spaces i can't see, i don't look anywhere specific, redundant eyes, empty mind, zen place and there it is in the strangest of places, the coordinates flow into one direction, behind big double glass thick doors, in a city without clocks, i find one clock under the banner that discretely proclaims, 'time conquers all.'


there are people who have fallen on their knees weeping like children, broken hearted defeated and splashing helplessly like fish out from water, rich men, poor men, a few women too, all have stood here at this spot, crushed by fortune, chopped up by fate, toasted by temporal paradox, delivered by providence. you can taste the burden's of grief, the joys of relief, the heavy weight grinding you down, and the lightness of being found. all those lives lived, suffering through history you can see the loss ravage its way like a beautiful nothing in a void eating reality that one day will seek you. like a black hole of emotional pain, the high born and low all fall equally, the lost the lonely, the successful and the fortunate eventually find knowledge in the truth of times great power. all stories converge here and all our paths end. 
one by one they come through the doors, healthy and sick, healed and broken, asleep and awake, they cracked the code, in true democracy everyone is equal, they place a hand on my shoulder, they kneel with me, they are all ages, all manner of dress, the beggars of sydney, this is their place, their knowledge, their church. one by one the beggars come filling the hallway, the brotherhood of inevitability, the truth will set you free. 
we all sit there in silence and i understand this place the beggars congregate, the secret place, in sydney's depths, hidden way in plain sight. the beggars code.