picture this -
a karoo desert scene, 42 degree sweltering hot afternoon bar. the sound of the fan, the buzzing of flies, the shrill scream of a cicada. the oppressive heat hits your chest like the roar of 12 lions.
as you walk through the saloon doors , not just the slight variation of temperature hits you. also the sounds and the visual impact of a series of 5 flies hanging onto the slow turning fan. as they try incredibly hard not to spin off and carrier out of control. their little bodies bent triple against the inertia and trying hard to resist the impact of the centrifugal forces, invisibly impacting on them. you wonder why they perch in such a precarious place. when they could just as easily sit on a half drunk beer mug.
you look beyond the flies on the fan you notice a few well pickled desert worn customers. sitting on bar chairs straining under the weight of human mountains. their exploited bodies bent triple against the forces impacting on them. the strain of the brandewyn and the impact of life invisibly shouldering hard up collectively against them. their glazed eyes show dazed wildebeest type stares and a hint of men scrumming up against an enraged charging cape buffalo.
they all turn, along with the fan brigade that are also hanging on for dear life. suddenly you have ten thousand eyes on you. the pressure is now infinite.
what is your next move, gunslinger kid?
had that scene -sat down at the edge of the rim, had a brandy and coke - designed the flybaby chair - thats what i did.
