What's he on about now?

In case the articles, essays and opinions throughtout this site just weren't enough for you, here's my online diary (a.k.a. 'blog'). It's as close as you'll come to the inside of my head, so don't say I didn't warn you
(and remember, you can always e-mail me if you love or loathe anything you're about to read)...


   Saturday, August 17, 2002

DEMONS

After my friend James and I finished working at the pub late last night, we walked to his place nearby to chat for a while over a cup of tea. We do this once a week or so -- co-workers at the pub think "tea" is some kind of euphamism for drugs or something but, no, we are actually having Twinnings tea and watching whatever DVD he's recently picked up. James invested a fair bit of money in a new surround-sound system and, this week, "The Lord of the Rings" is sounding fantastic in his apartment (here's hoping the neighbours' walls are as thick as he thinks).

As I left James' place sometime before five in the morning, I cut through Allen Gardens, as I usually do. It's a large park between Carlton and Gerrard Streets and, like most parks, it's creepy at night but thankfully empty for the most part. Last night, however, I stopped upon discovering a wheelchair standing beside a park bench. There was absolutely no one around. The wheelchair seat held a small clear bag with a candy bar wrapper and an egg inside, as well as a crumpled paper bag that I decided not to open. As I looked at the chair, wondering what had happened to its owner, a spider came creeping along the strands of web that I then noticed all over the armrests. Something about all this weirded me out completely and I backed away.

As I continued along the park path, still wondering if someone out there needed this wheelchair, two guys in their twenties were coming up the other path. They were wearing jeans and grimy T-shirts and one idly scratched at his stomach as I gave them a wide berth. Passing the round fountain in the middle of the park with benches circled around it, I saw a burly man with a goatee sitting on one as he turned to look at me. Silently, he turned away again to face another man on a bench on the other side of the fountain. He too was just sitting there silently. They were like men at a bus station but waiting for what? Sex? Drugs? Rock 'n' Roll? I didn't want to know; I just kept on moving.

Something about the park made me feel a curious sort of fear. Not fear for myself -- I could tell I was in no danger -- but something vaporous, hard to define, and this uneasiness stayed with me all the way down Jarvis Street as I passed various lonely people, a couple of wobbly alcoholics and a man with suitcases trying to hail a cab in front of the hotel. I had turned up the volume on my headphones since the park -- a batch of Fatboy Slim tracks -- and, as I finally reached my block, an elderly Asian man with a straggly grey goatee and wearing a toque walked towards me with his hand raised to catch my attention. As I tensed up, wondering what he wanted, he suddenly started waving his hand hello and he broke into a broad smile as he passed by. It was the last thing I expected. Meanwhile, Macy Gray was singing into my ears:

"All of my demons have withered away
Ecstacy comes and they cannot stay
You'll understand when you come my way
'Cause all of my demons have withered away"

Labels: friends, insanity, working girl