A DREAM; WELL GLADLY!

There were trucks, many of them, and possibly also station wagons. I was simultaneously in at least one of the vehicles but also watching everything from a kind of obliquely panopticist viewpoint. My angle allowed me to see that the highways were cut deep into the clay earth, on sharp angles. They were tightly wound. The vehicles appeared to be travelling at high speeds, as one must to retain traction on such an incline. Though my line of site suggested that I was not in any of the vehicles, at the very least my fate seemed tied to theirs, and I was deeply anxious that they might be flung from the road, but I assured myself that the steep slant of the corners made this difficult. Earlier that week I had been on the velodrome. The stretch of road was explicitly on the way to Canberra, I knew this, but I have almost never been to Canberra. In any case it seemed atypical, the lashing valleys, and the open-cut mine highways, the surprisingly rich greens against the goya-orange gashes. Earlier that day, I had visited the new Display Cabinet of Contemporary Art, which was flashing post cards of Sydney up on the deck, and I had seen Shaun Gladwell’s costume drama, So Sorry Kangaroo, which is a film about giving in to Eurofetishism of the new world. Watching the movie though, the older (probably 60s) couple behind me, on a big day out in the big smoke, after chuckling at the faux-theatre slow-down-of-the-bike motif, discussed with excitement the exact location of the stretch of road, which was so ‘distinctive’, like that bit down near Cooper Pedy, or on the way to So-and-so’s. His other work, Using Contemporary Art to Keep Wayward Young Boys on the Rails, seems to have had no impact on the dream.

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