#sydney gothic

[summersaints]

Sydney gothic

You hear some tourists excitedly talking about Bondi Beach. You went there once, a long time ago. You never went back again. You don’t want to crush their dreams, so you speak nothing of the horrors you witnessed that day.

You go to Circular Quay. So do approximately 50 million other people. They are all taking photos of the Sydney Opera House and Sydney Harbour Bridge.

You don’t remember what it was like to drive somewhere for free. The toll roads are ever present, watching, waiting.

You order a smashed avocado. You can no longer afford to buy a house. 

In fact, no one you know owns a house. There are always places available for rent but somehow, they always cost so much money.

No one you know lives alone. It is too expensive. Everyone rents with at least 5 other people.

You travel to the western suburbs - Mount Druitt, Penrith. You thought you knew poverty, until you came here.

You get off the train at Central Station. You need a map to navigate. It takes 45 minutes for you to walk to your next platform.

It’s magpie season. Everyone hides indoors, fearful to go outside in case of a fatal swooping. The magpies watch malevolently from the trees.

It’s election time. You vote for the Greens, and so do most of your friends. You get yourself a democracy sausage as payment for a vote well done. 

Liberal retains power. You don’t know who did this to you all, but you will make them pay for it.

The bus is never late. Nor is it early. It arrives precisely when it means to. You, however, are frequently late because of this.

Someone says it’s snowing in the Blue Mountains. You wouldn’t know. You’ve never seen snow in your life.

One of your friends get their P plates. It is now time for the Maccas Run. This is not optional, it is a rite of passage.

The latest person to get their P plates is usually the Designated. The first person on their full licence will become the new Designated. No one questions the system. Everyone knows instinctively who the current Designated is.

You don’t know if it’s the right fortnight to put your recycle bin out. You wait for your neighbours to make the first move.

All of your international friends would like a photo of a quokka. You have never seen a quokka. You hear they are on some tiny island off the West Australian coast.

Your wifi isn’t working. You can’t remember the last time it did work. it has abandoned you permanently. You are practically dependent on your data now.

One of your favourite bands is doing an “Australian tour”. This consists of Sydney, Melbourne and Brisbane. The fans from Perth won’t stop bitching about it.

Snakes and spiders don’t bother you. You’re more worried about the infestation of cockroaches that seems to set in every summer. There’s always at least one that flies.

You drive for 12 hours. You are still in New South Wales.

@have-fun-storming-the-kastle told you I’d do the thing, also @fraysquake because you’ll appreciate some of this Aussie goodness.

[aussiepost]

Sydney Gothic

- The people are everywhere but they are always on the move. They are always going somewhere else. They never arrive.

- The road lanes are too small for you to fit. You scream as an old Asian lady hurtles past you. She does not see or care.

- Oh you wanted food? That sandwich costs the entire GDP of Guatemala. That caramel slice? Costs you 370$, the soles of your shoes and Jenna Marbles' favourite dog. You pay anyway. It all tastes okay, you guess.

- The woman in front of you has her card declined. "You don't accept AMEX?" It does not matter, for she has an infinite array of cards.

[a-mad-bad-sadblr]

What happened at the scholar's conference

"Wanna come see my room?"

She angles her head to the floor, and a little towards you.

"Sure."

You're both on a couch, shoulder to hip, crowded by raucous boys slamming cards down onto a plastic coffee table before you. You've been shoulder to hip for a while now, her hand has been on your knee ever since she had to reach over you to slap her winning hand on the table. Turns out she was still holding the four of hearts that she had pried from you at the beginning of the game, when you were still confused.

She presses your knee a little into the grimy couch as she moves to stand. Cards forgotten, your breath catches in your throat and you almost miss her proffered hand. You both slip away from the chaos.

"It'll be a bit messy. Sorry."

She apologises belatedly and giggles, glancing back at you as you both amble down the unlit path towards the dorms.

"Nah it's all good, I like messy." you shrug, mind wandering to slicker, steamier pastures.

"Oh thank god, I was kinda kicking myself for not cleaning before I invited you." she replies, unhooking her thumb from your joined hands to jostle them good-naturedly between you.

"Yeah, same. I can relate."

"Really? I always had you down as someone who keeps their room in pretty good nick.''

Far out.

You stop walking as the steamy softcore montage in your head screeches to a halt. No wonder your curiosity about just how high her hand would climb up your thigh was never fulfilled. As you vow to never trust your clearly faulty gaydar EVER again, you're tugged forwards.

"C'mon, I'm pretty sure they can see us from up there." She hisses, raising your joined hands to point behind you. You follow her strides easily up the steps to her building. In here, the lights are turned off. It's quiet, and the atmosphere shields you both with the anonymity of the dark.

Soon, you both pause as she awkwardly jams her forearm against the doorknob, freeing the fob from her wristband to unlock her room. You follow her in. She sweeps some of the clothes on her bed to the floor. You stare at the lacy undergarments hung over her chair. She invites you to sit. You do and the stupidly old mattress gives until your knees are touching. It's awkward, kinda. You don't want to leave, but this isn't what you were expecting either.

"So. This is it."

You glance around at the unlit room again, this time taking note of how the blue tint around her curtains bounces off her hair, her nails, her teeth in the dark.

"Yup."

"Is this what you'll be wearing tomorrow?" you ask, leaning over her to spot a slightly neater pile of clothes on her desk.

"Mhm."

"It's cute."

"Thanks." She murmurs back shyly.

Your hands are still linked. You tighten your grip and bring them towards you, turning her hand over in your lap absentmindedly. Or, at least hoping to seem absentminded. Truth was, your entire focus had narrowed down to her hand in yours.

"D'you play anything? Like, instruments?"

"Ha, no not really. I can sing and play little bit of,"

"guitar." you finish with her. She looks up, a little confused.

"The callouses? I recognised it. Sorry." you murmur back, hoping that it wasn't edging on creepy, asmr-level intimacy.

"Oh cool." her laughter was too loud and jarring as it bounced off the narrow walls.

"Yeah, sorry. I think that's pretty cool. I play piano."

"Interesting."

"Yep….I'm not good yet though."

"I don't believe you, you'd have to play for me sometime."

She uncrosses her legs and shifts so that she can rest them comfortably across your lap. You free hand comes up to rest on her ankle.

"Sure, I can play for you…"

You look up at her face, remembering that it was conventional to make eye contact while conversing. You are so not prepared for what you see. She's reclining on her elbows on pillows that have migrated to the wrong end of the bed. Her shirt has ridden up from her movement, excess fabric trapped beneath her. Your eyes trail down her body, her shirt buttons are askew, the few gaps leaving much to you own imagination. You mentally slap yourself to send a signal to your stupid lizard brain to turn down the thirst.

You lock eyes. Okay never mind. She's staring right back, lips upturned coyly and eyebrow curved into a wicked, wicked arch.

"Care to play with me now?" She murmurs back with a wink.

Suddenly, there's a knock on the door.

"Girls!"

"Yo!" She yells back, without breaking eye contact with you.

You raise your eyebrows as well, tipping her legs onto the bed as rise onto your knees. Nudging them open, you kneel between them, resting a hand high on her thigh.

"Girls, you need to come out, I can hear you're getting to know each other which is great but we're having a social night so you need to be out here participating."

She covers your hand with hers and brings it higher. Her eyes are big and bright with mischief as she giggles.

"Yup, sure, we'll be right...out."

You crawl forwards, eyes still locked with her questioning ones. Planting both of your hands beside where she's still propped up on her elbows, you lean in. A nasty thought floats through the muck of your adoration to the forefront of your mind. You giggle. She peers at you suspiciously. Tossing your head to move your hair out of the way, you shake your head with a smile and continue leaning forwards past her head, stopping as you cheek grazes her ear.

And let loose the most obscenely loud, breathy and high-pitched moan you can muster.

She turns to look at you, startled. You noses brush and her eyes are gorgeous and they are all you can think of as you tip your head forwards into her shoulder, flustered, and muffling your giggles into the sticky-softness of her bare skin.

"Girls!" the tired sigh of the supervising university student outside the door goes unnoticed.

Her elbows give in to the endless tremors of silent laughter that wreak havoc on both of you. You're lying on top of her now, fully, and without pretence - legs tangled, torsos in full contact. One of her hands has found a place in your hair and is a comforting weight on the back of your head. Weakened, you barely notice being shifted until there's a leg pressing up between yours. Your eyes close and you inhale sharply in a near silent shuddery gasp at the sudden pressure-pleasure.

But you refuse to give in. Rising to your elbows, you hover over her, levelling her a purposeful glare.

"No. Stop it, you." you mumble at her, unused to receiving such attentions.

Then, you shimmy down her body until you are rested between her parted legs once more. Her eyes crinkle in good humour as she spreads her legs a little to accommodate you. You peer back up at her shyly, resting your head on her hipbone (after all kids, consent is key!). She nods back equally as shy, hand unwinding from where it rested in your hair to give you an encouraging pat.

Now this, this is what you are familiar with.

(The next moan that emerges from the room is horrifyingly genuine. Horrifying for the supervisor outside the room, and genuine for the people in it.)

[small-nervous-rodent]

The bus is arriving in 10 minutes, the bus is arriving in 15 minutes, the bus is arriving in 6 minutes, the bus is arriving in 10 minutes, the bus doesn't stop, the bus was never in service.

[jdniemand]

Sydney Gothic

The light rail is still under construction. The light rail has been under construction for as long as you can remember. And yet here is a tram, gliding to a soundless halt in front of you, its doors opening onto inky darkness. It is ten minutes late.

The M5 to the airport is backed up. Your flight leaves in half an hour. You check again, ten minutes later. Your flight leaves in half an hour. The sun hangs, unmoving, in the sky.

You don’t own your house. None of your friends own houses. Now that you think of it, everyone you have ever known rents. You have never met a landlord.

The conductor’s voice crackles from the train speakers, harsh and metallic. You can’t make out the words, but it’s presumably the name of the next stop. You can tell – you’ve seen what happens when it isn’t.

They’ve built a motorway to the new airport. The new airport is still empty fields, with a peeling sign. The road is constantly packed with traffic. The toll is $7.50, one way.

Jonesy and Amanda are talking about MKR on the radio. You switch to KIIS, where Kyle and Jackie O are talking about MKR. You switch to Nova, where Fitzy and Wippa are talking about MKR. Their sentences merge together seamlessly. All three throw to the same Jimmy Barnes song. You heard it five minutes ago.

You follow the signs towards the tunnel. You end up on the bridge. When you follow the signs to the bridge, you end up in the tunnel. The signs have not changed.

As you exit your house, you stare at the block of apartments across the street, the one that wasn’t there yesterday. The park on the corner is now apartments. You turn and look at the apartments that have replaced your house. You realise you can’t afford to live there.

The platform at Town Hall station is full. Your train is three minutes away. It has been three minutes away for two hours. The gnarled old woman beside you stares, stone-faced, at the departure screen. She was young when she arrived.

You order smashed avo on toast at the new café in Surry Hills. It arrives, deconstructed, on a wooden board. You order a black coffee. It arrives, deconstructed, on a wooden board. You decide not to ask for your waiter to come back.

[telopeaspeciosissima]

Parramatta Gothic

* The sun is sinking below the horizon. People scurry homeward, occasionally glancing skyward with growing apprehension. In the trees, the cockatoos are assembled. They wait. Then, without warning, it begins. The nightly Screaming. * You can't remember when you entered the Westfield, or why. You keep moving, hoping to find some portal to the outside world, but levels merge into one another, lifts never arrive and escalators seem to lead nowhere. You just wanted to find the food court. Now you will never leave. * In the dead of night, unearthly growls and screeches break through the quiet. Some claim they are the sounds of suped-up cars on the M4. Others know all too well that something worse is out there. Hunting. Feasting. * Transit officers roam restlessly around the entrance to the station. An unwary passenger tries to sneak through a turnstyle without tapping their opal card. The transit officers encircle the gibbering passenger. When they disperse, it is as if no such passenger ever existed. * A new food truck has appeared in centenary square. The burgers are strange and delicious. The eagerly queuing public chatter excitedly to drown their unease as Transit officers load heavy sacks into the back of the truck. * The traffic on the Great Western Highway is not moving. No one is sure if the traffic on the highway has ever moved. A skeletal hand dangles from a car window. Somewhere a car horn is hooting plaintively, desperately. Then it falls silent. * There is a bat colony in Parramatta Park. In daylight hours, picknicking families snap photographs, pointing the dangling, sleeping forms out to their children. They do not mention the other objects dangling in the trees. A single sneaker. An Eels jersey. A suspiciously human looking bone. * An ibis is rooting through your garbage. The next day, another has joined it. They watch you as you hurry to your front door. The following day there is a third, and you are kept from sleep at night by a tapping on your window. Your house is now crowded with roosting ibises, on the roof, on the fence, watching. You awake in the wee hours to a scythe-like black beak, poised above your defenseless eyeball.

[fakestbagel]

City of Sydney Gothic

The sun hangs at the peak of the sky, all day. You  turn on the weather report: it promises rain tomorrow. You know this is a lie, because yesterday, they promised rain for today. They are just trying to be kind.  

The temperature swells to over 41 degrees. The schools are supposed to send the children home to safety, but they can't. All they can do is shelter in the classrooms and pray the thermometer stops ticking upwards.

Night finally falls, but you cannot sleep. Light shines in through your window, otherworldly colours projected onto the vast, hooked sails of the Opera House. You close the blinds, but it does not help. You shouldn't be able to see that thing in the harbor, not from your home. In the morning, it is gone.

Sweating, you buy fruit from the Korean grocer shop under your apartment block. He is sweating. His fruit is sweating. The walls are sweating. At home, you leave the your shopping on the counter. When you turn back, it has all dried out. You have raisins and sundried tomatoes for lunch, desperately missing the sweet, wet taste of fresh fruit.

Alcohol is the only liquid, other than spilled blood, that seems to stay cold for long. Cans of beer double as ice-packs, half-full bags of goon as pillows. You are desparate, drunk, and ashamed of yourself, but you are cooled. For now.

There are almost no smells left. Everything is baked dry. Children gather in the streets, crushing and pulping jacaranda flowers underfoot, releasing a fleeting, sweet scent. Nobody wonders too hard how those trees keep on growing, spreading. Nobody asks where the missing children are.

The weather report gives in, and predicts a day of sweltering heat. You awake the next day to torrential, sideways rain. Colour and heat leeches from everything, until you are begging for the sun once more. As the clouds obligingly clear, you swear you can hear laughter from the harbour.

The first inch of Bondi Bay water is almost boiling, but the water below is deathly cold. At first, it is a relief. Soon, your muscles begin to seize, and you realise you must turn back to shore. A ring of weaving, swaying bluebottles slowly emerges from below, encircling you. They do not want you to leave.

People say drop-bears are only a legend. They repeat the obviously false stories to tourists. Desperately, you try to warn them, but they laugh.  

One day you decide to leave. You pack a bag of cider and ice, and head out. Every bus loops back to the city. No taxi driver knows what 'out of the city' means. Walking, your flip-flops begin to melt. The further you get from your home, the hotter it gets. You collapse, only to wake in your bed. There is definitely laughter coming from the harbour.

[skylarkblue]

australian gothic - sydney

“it’s a place where nightmares walk the streets.”