Not a whisper of a thrill
There is a metaphorical bubble in which we all live in. A bubble which comprises of our work, family, friends, local pubs, home, office and familiar yet completely anonymous faces - the same faces which catch the same train every working day, the same faces which buy coffee from the same vendor everyday around the same time. But there are the randoms which shake up the normal everyday, the random events, occurrences, moments however seemingly insignificant which make the mundane bearable maybe even interesting. As for me, I can measure my so called metaphorical bubble and I can count the people I interact with on one hand - it runs the length of Anzac Pde from NIDA to my four bedroom house. And other than my three other housemates and the 15 people I am sitting in a dark theatre with from morning till late night, I have had no contact with the outside world. I talk to The Hulk and Nugs and that is all. My world feels so small and so empty. So uneventful, so inert. There is nothing but a dark theatre, mannequins and an illusion show waiting to be unearthed. My heart is not in this production. My heart is empty waiting to be jumpstarted by something mesmerising, something exciting, just something other than this.