Post One Hundred and Thirty Nine: I Go There.

I'm leaving you, Brisbane. It's not you. It's me. I lack balls, you see.   

I have no testicles, that is a truth; but I also lack an aplomb, a surety about my viewpoint that a new megalopolis might lay bare. And one thing is for sure, people die everywhere. The inquiry into chutzpah begins; new city and new fatalities, yet the same perpetual questions remain about sentience and experience and pretty much all the shit that happens when people 'do life'. 

I'm now thus a wanderer with a knack for effortlessly natural mouth closures, reassuring back pats and meticulous bandaging skills. My resume is replete with the macabre, but the last three years have taught me above all else that I need to get out of my comfort zone. A life of convenience seems inherently vapid and spiritless, for me, for now.

 So to Melbourne I voyage, to Melbourne I seek! I wonder if the South is equipped?

Only time will tell.

Peace and mild hysteria,
S.