There’s an audible stillness in the air, or at least there was. Music has just started. But what do I mean by audible stillness?

Other than there being no music playing, the sound of rain falling, the hum of kitchen machinery, the occasional car. I’m in Duoly Rob so I’m only getting a small slice, but it seems as though there’s a stillness today. A stillness in the rain. And until the music started, it was audibly still in here.

It almost seemed gloomy, and then it seemed peaceful. It was time held within a moment, but everything progressed as is. Everything actually seemed to resume. It was a moment. It was a time.

There’s now music playing and I’m sitting here, writing. I’m becoming a café writer, it seems. Didn’t think I’d ever go this way, but if it works it works and if it works it fits… and yeah. You get the idea.

So what now? The ambience has changed. The atmosphere is different. I can sit here, crap on about this, or I can get on with my life. I can find where everything leads. I can find the spaces and the gaps. I can dig into the holes. I can do what must be done and I can get on with life.

Glebe outside looks so miserable right now. It looks old. It looks as in a state of decay. It is falling apart, but it maintains structure. It pretend to hold an air of integrity, but it’s just another location bulldozed and rebuilt and torn apart and rebuilt, forcing people out and away in order to replace them with other people who are eventually forced out and away. It continues on, and the city spreads outward into something else entirely. It becomes all-encompassing and there is no escape, and Glebe is here, falling apart.

Falling apart and being rebuilt, continuing on forever until forever ends.

Perhaps that’s a little too dramatic right now, but this weather is pulling something out of me. The weather and the lack of sleep, and I’m still going, pushing on to tomorrow, but needing to get through today, and all I am saying is vague gesturing at nothing. I am creating nothing and it’s that nothing which I spin and use, and do my best to make my own, here in this café. Here in this space, where I am writing about nothing and everything whilst enjoying a coffee. It’s a brief moment where, in all the banal chaos of the city, I have a bit of peace. I have a lot less pressure on my shoulders and so I can just relax. It’s nice. It’s easy. It’s a good time.

So perhaps I should do more to embrace what I’m doing right now, and I guess I am. I am compelled to embrace it, and perhaps that’s a good thing. So long as I don’t bring harm to others, I’m ding fine. I’m good. I am a café writer.

The time it took to write five-hundred words: 08:18:59

Written this morning, uploaded now. A long day between.

Probably too heavy, or not heavy enough. Don’t know.

Written at Dirty Red.