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pink wash

summer has been rainy. Singapore rain, London rain, the rain of Torredembarra, Cape Grim and la nina. we were caught in it all, running home from China Town tonight. not so much in the rain, but in the squall before the rain. the cool change whipped up building sites and scrubbed our faces with dust and grit.

there are a lot of building sites right now all around us. I had a cab driver this morning whose hobby is tracking high-rise apartment developments, he knows the stats. the tallest, the most, the best, the smallest kitchens. did you know, he said to me, that the balconies on that tower are etched with the face of the Wurundjeri elder Barak? did you know, that a Chinese family bought the full floor of the tower that’s going to be there and turned 12 apartments into 2? you will not recognise this skyline in 10 years, he told me, the amount of new towers coming up. the Melbourne skyline slipped away into the dawn. in Canberra I wished I had brought the cabbie with me to defend 6-storeys in the capital.

after work  on the way back to the airport I stopped at the national gallery. I saw this painting and James Turrell’s pink lights and holograms. my whole week has been washed in pink. floating days of apathy (is work real?) and completely cinematic nights in the pink glow of weird music video productions.



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