I dream

I dream of stories that involve short, squat women who lean from leg to leg when they walk, as if their knees don’t bend. I think of them with sour faces and slightly blemished skin, arms folded across their chests. I see them plan to catch the bus into town, or turning to shout and gesture at recalcitrant doughy-faced children.

I see their angry meanness that started when they were 16, a sharp acridity that grabbed them when they were smoking Alpines behind the council toilets in the netball park. The anger never left them. It has since been joined with a sense of right and entitlement, a blank stare and a quickly raised temper. They swear hard like troopers, with black eyeliner drawn harshly under their eyes. They once read a magazine story that black eyeliner would make them look ‘smokily dangerous’, but in truth all it does is narrow their piggy raisin eyes and draw attention their sloping mouths.

They smell slightly musty. Their scent is a tinny dampness overlaid with a sweet false note of watermelon from a supermarket brand deodorant.

I see them in Kmart clothing and leggings from Supre. They wear plastic jewellery that is meant to look like silver, but doesn’t.

They are the young-old with false nails that click like dead men’s bones.

I dream

anya

Joined August 2008

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Artist's Description

snippets of thoughts.

Artwork Comments

  • Arcadia Tempest
  • hsien-ku
  • anya
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