In the absence of cars, the voice of a place returns to a volume clearly apparent to casual consciousness.
I really noticed that walking around two weeks into NZ's extensive lockdown period. We hate cars and their pernicious influence on almost everything, from the black smut on our windows to the cheap superficiality of interaction they facilitate.
Never having owned one has steered us into benefits and exemptions that are difficult to explain to the vehicular-bound, except perhaps in times like this, when everyone is forced to evaluate exactly what the fuck they've been doing with their adult lives.
We've been walking, as we always do, except it's been so much nicer. Safer, quieter, cleaner, more intimate. Here are some pictures.
But you know, I bought a Joy Division shirt from England last month and it's hanging on my washing line as I write this. So I am the Beast of Revelations too.
We fucking love orange. I had no idea just how intensely until I took a personal inventory; our house is orange, my hair is orange, orange features heavily in my wardrobe and living space. I concur with the Theravada- orange is a hugely potent expression, not of positivity, but of the general size and power of the unseen forces that suffuse everything. It is light and darkness.
You see orange when you close your eyes, just as much as darkness.
It's so weird, not to be young any more, per se. Without children, or any serious physical afflictions, your age is just something other people see when they look at you. It is much less relevant internally. There is a calmness that rises out of perspective, but that's about it.