Aural Journey

[(weedguru)scarf]

My scribbled papyrus thoughts are interrupted by the incessant ticking behind me. A varying speed, and then at times, seemingly non existent. My mind shits back to the past. A concoction of poetic languages, heard but not understood. Something similar to an easement of the collective conscience in realisation that not every inch of the world is yet gutted. Small snippets of floating conversation pass around me, only opening up enough to provoke an imaginary back-story. A “don’t get married” here, and a “cheers darling” over there. I gaze over the sounds, attempting to identify anything recognisable to me. The ambient rush behind me lay background to ant sized sounds further in front. A cackle every now and again seemed to punch the air, bringing with it a mildly amused crevice to my face.

Suddenly an intriguing gypsy sound engulfs me from behind, threatening to swallow me whole and setting fire to the preconceptions I had earlier of this foreign world*. All else was forgotten as I listened to his syllables construct stories, engaging not only myself but almost all who passed.

The chirping, the playful junior, the scorning witch- all were quietened by our Elvis.
When he finally took a break he sat across from me, sipping on a brew similar to mine. “They wont let my wife come with me because she is not aboriginal”, he said.

*Authors note: While understanding that it should not be a foreign, nor intimidating place, I cannot truly state that I was completely comfortable here until this moment.