Monday, November 03, 2003

Day of the Dead

It’s about 3am yesterday; the Day of the Dead. I wandering alone through empty factory after empty factory. It’s cold, but at least the rain has stopped for now. They’re all neat and clean buildings, 60s era. Between buildings, the stars are out. All would be completely quiet in the industrial estate, about 10km from Melbourne CBD, but for the dance music coming from the only occupied factory. Some enterprising squatters (oxymoron?) have brought in a generator and sound system, and spread the word about a party.

But the word did not spread particularly widely, it seems. There’s a few dozen people there at its partying-est peak. Most comers prefer to congregate where the party set-up is – one end of one disused factory that could hold 10,000 trolley-heads. I’m there with friends, but can’t stop wandering periodically off, to explore the ghost-world hinterland. There is too much space, too much emptiness, and it’s all too monumentally neat.

The space has got me beat. I retreat to the dance-floor area, but can’t stop my mind from running along with the music – dissipating, leaking and creeping through acres of empty floorspace nearby.

Following the silent hedges
Needing some other kind of madness

Pure sensation
The beautiful down grade
Going to hell again

* “Silent hedges” – Bauhaus, The Sky’s Gone Out (1982)

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