Monday, August 28, 2006


it's raining.

Roads are slippery and shiny and treacherous with it.

Even though B is a city, indisputably a city, it feels more like a city when it is raining. The rain obscures and clarifies, gives everything a cinematic quality. The effect is particularly marked at night. In the rain, neon becomes a kind of holy fire, an iconography of possibilities. In some streets, as the rain plays over everything, you may feel as though you have become part of the mise-en-scene for a movie all noirish and significant. And you can pull the collar of your jacket up and walk in the rain like you're going somewhere important; like you are someone important; someone with grand passions and grander pains; someone deserving of the scrutiny of the camera lens.

It's raining.

The roof is mumbling with it.

I've nearly finished a story that concerns itself with a reoccuring dream that a character has, but only when it's raining. It's a story that has been long in the writing, but one that I keep coming back to. The city it's set in is Brisbane, when I first started it, it rained frequently, now that element is almost the most fantastical part of the story.

Tonight it's raining, and I know my character will be dreaming.

It's not a very pleasant dream.

Poor guy.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

When it is dry I feel it raining in my head. When it rains I long it to be dry, but I have wet hair.