lucid laundry.

i have just returned from the laundromat + my clean sheets are now a made bed.

sitting at the laundromat this evening conjured many thoughts + memories. in particular, recollections of the road trip through south west america, in 1999. beginning in albuquerque [nm], we traveled our way south, then across to tucson [az], up into las vegas [nv] via the grand canyon, across to los angeles [ca] and finally up the big sur coast to san fransisco. why the trip was recalled was the memory of laundromat reading. death of a river guide is the book in question. the juxtaposition of flanagan's heavy, aromatic imagery + the bland, glaring laundromat boxes was a delicious polarity; much like the [everything] landscape of tasmania. it was during this trip that i cemented my identity firmly within the notion of tasmanianess. i also maintain that it was the context in which i read the book that helped it forge a place as one of my favourite books.

i like laundromats. they speak a certain universal language: harsh white tube lighting, grey-purple lint, standard plastic chairs, quiet conversations. they are great places for a little people watching. and the soft laundry smells, incessant machine-purring + the warmth emanating from the dryers wraps you in a childhood hug.

most of all, it is a place conducive to writing + reading.