"When she walked she carried herself like a ballet-dancer, not slumped down on her hips but held up in the small of her back...Fifty yards away the Mediterranean yielded up its pigments, moment by moment, to the brutal sunshine."
- Fitzgerald, F.S. (1934) Tender is the Night. London: Vintage
I spent the entire day yesterday walking around, trying to find familiar places, people and phases. Met a socialist who enthusiastically explained to me how the means of production is not being equally distributed in this day and age, got an invitation to the refugee crisis talk that Australia's been facing and tried the digeridoo and made a fool out of myself. Things i do when i am unleashed from the presence of others.
I spent the other half of the day walking as poised as i can be in my newly bought boots and to my dismay, on the way back home, i got off at the wrong bus stop and had to walk eons back. So it did my feets no justice.
Warhol and Picasso's pieces are being exhibited at the national art gallery, so that took a quarter of the day which of course i did not want it to end because i paid a hefty sum for it. AUD19 for a mere hour exhibition, tsk. But the experience took me to another dimension and my understanding on pop art would never be the same again.
Its a Sunday today and most shops are closed. Idiot box seems to be only showing anything AFL and it seems like they take their footie seriously while i'm in such agonizing boredom.
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