Lately I’ve been riding my bike nowhere inparrtikellers, but always venturing in a different direction that I do when I riding in transit.  Yesterday I headed east on the Yarra (Melbourne’s river) bend near my house and came out at a river crossing I hadn’t found before. On one side of the river, I passed a small rose farm, another strange example of old-school horticulture in my neighbourhood (I live around the corner from a bonafide farm attached to an old red brick convent, complete with city views).  I crossed the timber bridge to the Richmond side and found this big empty lot covered in graffiti. It’s the site of a future apartment complex called Green Square whose development seems to have stalled, at least in that it has been advertised as “coming soon” since I moved into the area two years ago.  I found a hole in the fence and climbed through. My entry was marked with all the stereotypical “beware all yea that pass this point” signs: a large spider guarded the hole in the fence; as soon as I stepped through what sounded like a large rat rustled away from me under a pile of broken rocks; even the goddamn wind changed and clouds rolled over. Up close, I found sprawling gallery of old and fresh art. “IKEA” is a repeated motif, not surprising given that across the road is our local version of the Swedish behemoth. The development site is huge, and the only thing left standing, smack bang in the centre is a Centrelink office on street level. Somewhat morbid image to say the least.  Some of the art is really new, some of it has been there for a while. The most impressive is a water treatment pool, covered by wire mesh. Over the faded blue tiles and just above the murky, stagnant water is a series of pieces made by artists clearly committed to leaving their mark.  I didn’t shoot the piles of chroming cans, broken bottles, burnt work-mans clothes and few soiled mattresses. I felt like enough of a tourist as it was. As I made my exit, I heard the same rustling made by my welcoming friend. Street rats and I have a long history, growing up in near a kampung in KL and then repeatedly having them run over my feet in NY. I looked for it, venturing closer to the pile of rocks. Which is when I saw the enormous head of a very large snake staring back at me.  I’m a big believer in omens, so I got the fuck out of there. 

Lately I’ve been riding my bike nowhere inparrtikellers, but always venturing in a different direction that I do when I riding in transit. 

Yesterday I headed east on the Yarra (Melbourne’s river) bend near my house and came out at a river crossing I hadn’t found before. On one side of the river, I passed a small rose farm, another strange example of old-school horticulture in my neighbourhood (I live around the corner from a bonafide farm attached to an old red brick convent, complete with city views). 

I crossed the timber bridge to the Richmond side and found this big empty lot covered in graffiti. It’s the site of a future apartment complex called Green Square whose development seems to have stalled, at least in that it has been advertised as “coming soon” since I moved into the area two years ago. 

I found a hole in the fence and climbed through. My entry was marked with all the stereotypical “beware all yea that pass this point” signs: a large spider guarded the hole in the fence; as soon as I stepped through what sounded like a large rat rustled away from me under a pile of broken rocks; even the goddamn wind changed and clouds rolled over.

Up close, I found sprawling gallery of old and fresh art. “IKEA” is a repeated motif, not surprising given that across the road is our local version of the Swedish behemoth. The development site is huge, and the only thing left standing, smack bang in the centre is a Centrelink office on street level. Somewhat morbid image to say the least. 

Some of the art is really new, some of it has been there for a while. The most impressive is a water treatment pool, covered by wire mesh. Over the faded blue tiles and just above the murky, stagnant water is a series of pieces made by artists clearly committed to leaving their mark. 

I didn’t shoot the piles of chroming cans, broken bottles, burnt work-mans clothes and few soiled mattresses. I felt like enough of a tourist as it was.

As I made my exit, I heard the same rustling made by my welcoming friend. Street rats and I have a long history, growing up in near a kampung in KL and then repeatedly having them run over my feet in NY. I looked for it, venturing closer to the pile of rocks. Which is when I saw the enormous head of a very large snake staring back at me. 

I’m a big believer in omens, so I got the fuck out of there.