The Western Front
The moment between, beyond the present, yet anticipating the aft. Obsessed with the next, the moments beyond, a longing for.. Eschew the digital extensions whose representations are counterfeit to what is seen/heard/smelt/felt as the liminal moments present now, next and indefinite. To capture these momentary flourishes, where time pauses to consider, to ponder, Along The Way.
On a densely packed platform 18 amongst the legions of regular men and women, I stand politely frustrated by the Sydney Trains rail network. It is nothing new to see this cities rail network groan and strain under the pressure of peak hour commuters even on the best of days. as the cost of living in Sydney explodes more and more people are compelled to move west to allay budgetary pressures. The west is in Iran own right a booming future metropolis that threatens to usurp the east in prominence by sheer force. Investment in public transport will connect the cities central and western districts with their northern and southern counterparts in a north/south direction as we come to terms with the fact that roads do or actually lead to Rome [Sydney city is Rome in this analogy] where travellers typically aim east. Whilst the march is slow and steady, one should expect the very fabric of Sydney to near unrecognisable in the not too distant future. However, I defer this train of thought for a later time in light of current events.
Today is just a little bit special, on this cold day in Sydney at 6pm late in May, a man decides milsons point, north of the bridge, will be the scene of his last hurrah, his last gift to the species, his point of inflection and final act [a person may have tried to commit suicide or slipped on to the track - I choose to imagine suicide as it is more dramatic]. The Western Line is now completely paralalysed in gridlock as sardine packed trains arrive to sardine dense platforms in an ever escalating cycle. The crowd as a homogenous whole is surprisingly spirited considering the situation. Of the 7 or so I have canvassed, all (including myself) have stood as calm, social attention for at least an hour, some even two>
>Two trains arrive on either side of the platform. A crazed yet coordinated rush ensues as the masses compress in unison towards the bright yellow, beeping doors in military phalanx formation. As a counter measure from within the trains, a small number of brave souls who are clearly the men amongst boys fire their way into the shield wall with little regard for human life. A small number of those in our front line manage to penetrate the A set train - affectionately dubbed the 'Waratah' set. We who remain patch the wounded, rally the troops and gather our spirit in preparation for the next assault.
Welcome to platform 18.