Wow. The streets of Melbourne - A decade ago. The 'lost' video

Spirits lay beneath the concrete, where ancient feet once roamed.

Where the streets have no acclaim... 

(A play on the U2 song, Where the streets have no name.)

I made this video in 2013. It's never been made public. 

I didn't like my voice-over. I was hoping to get someone to replace it but never got around to it. (I've lost the original edit so its too late).

I was visiting Melbourne and shot a lot of footage and wrote the poem around it. I usually work the opposite way. I was happy with the look. It took me forever to edit and add sound effects. This is actually an earlier version. The later version drowns out even more of the voiceover so had to go with this one. Still not ideal, hence why I've sat on it.

Trivia: My convict ancestor had a small pub/hotel in this street, Bourke Street. He was one of its original inhabitants, when it was called Bearbrass and only a camp of 300. 

(John Batman had negotiated a land treaty with the local Kulin nation in 1835, who may not have been aware of what they were signing over. Irrespectively, the British soon claimed it was invalid as Britain 'owned' all of Australia).

William went there with his friend John Mills after they had finished their sentences. John opened Melbourne's first brewery. They both married the young Hale sisters, becoming brother-in-laws. John died young, 31. William at 48.

A decade later, I've decided to present it to you as is.

Watch HERE

(FULL TEXT Below)

Where the streets have no acclaim

I stroll on molested concrete

Burying sacred ground

Along with countless others

Concerned only with today’s odyssey

Tales of woe

Spattered with moments of joy

Yet hyped with the anticipation

Of a little more

Of that good thing.

The natural follow up

To our folly

Is disappointment

The spirit crushing awareness

Of the prominent mundane.

Yet despite our singular head space

The streets are awash with stories

In never ending flux.

I want to believe

That I am not a mere drop

Of semen made self aware

Salt of the earth

Or lofty

Or impossible to pin down.

I stare at tram tracks

And think of past bicycle tracks

And four legged sojourns through dust and mud

That replaced bush and forest

That eliminated centuries.

   

Once free to roam

Yet grounded in Belonging

They may be omitted now

But we are the fractured ones 

Together

Yet never more alone

With the rise and rise

Of the individual

Destined to fall

And fail

Washed out by neon

And wasted in the night

Fortified slabs

Reflecting our hollow bones

Sturdy yet flawed

Escaping ideologies

Heralding the cry of a thousand misspent dreams

From bleeding hearts

And a million more besides

Hiding in walls

And work

Lost in lust and booze

And flippancy and derision.

Towers trivial

Fabrications without meaning

Fighting inevitable cessation

Fighting death

Through irrelevancy

Through superficiality.

So we dance amongst the pretty lights

Knowing

There’s another day coming

At least, that’s the expectation

That we can make it right tomorrow

Tomorrow.

In the ever churning meantime

The earth

Waits dependably patient

To reclaim those flimsy structures

And fragile souls

We of the never satisfied

From the final fleeting charade.

2013

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