Mr.Blobz

Some days, Mr. Blobz walks around staring into the gutter. This is where most life ends up, on the journey from the pavement to the drain.

Sometimes, we leave traces here, clothing, condoms, beer bottles and shoes, before we’re broken down into constituent particles and washed out to sea. This fella left some of his footwear.

Perhaps he was absconded, getting into a car, and in the scuffle, lost a shoe. And now he’s wearing cement shoes at the bottom of Duncan Dock.

Or perhaps, drunk, after exiting a nearby establishment, he careened against himself, and hopped away from his shadows on one leg, like a big human bunny.

Or, perhaps again, he met true love that night, and in the rush of ecstatic union, forgot that his Fairy Godfather would be turning his trusty sword back into a leaky catheter at midnight. And in the flurry, he lost a shoe.

And an old bag lady, with just a memory of him pressed against her heart,  is searching for it still, so that she can find her prince.

Many have wandered here… not all have returned. Some are swallowed, mysteriously, while they inadvertently amble, leaving only school bags or shoes… Beware the Forests of Zeenat!

These young whippersnappers got away to safety. But staring into the vortex… Taunting the force? Not a safe thing to do…

Shortly after I took this picture, this man disappeared.

Pope St – amongst Dryden, Burns, Dickens, Campbell and others – is strictly Salt River, and therefore out of Mr Blobz’ ambit. However, this is part of his ‘hood. Where the old corner cafes survive, and the community is vas. Chock-full of street art and on the big dusty main streets, crap galleries, flailing in the wind.

Sam and I sometimes ride here, and he tells me about different types of graffiti (mess vs art), and gets irritated if we’re on a downhill and I have to stop to take a pic. But for the most part he’s just happy to be on his bike.

There are the usual scrawls. Look into the eyeball…

Loverzzzz. Luvaz. Lovers. Frenz.

Tiekie for Bogy. And here, a list of them…

Rollcall of a posse, who’s who and who’s here, top of the list, in favour. And as times change and people fall out and move away, get hairy and marry or stray, love still tops the list.