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Complete Street

Text: Complete Street

from Dave Tenships, 09.09.08

Text

Browns Road, where industrial meets residential, medieval meets primeval, the rubber meets the road and the cubby meets the code. On the corner is the printing press. Low vibrations, valves shutting in the dark, 400 workers engaged in Guggenheim’s time honoured art. A factory without architecture posting pulp without a future. Massive leviathans inch over sleeping policemen, like diplodocus eons ago tip-toeing broken over the bracken, humming all we need is love, her partner holding her tail in support. More than 2000 cars commute this carriage way daily. Towering over them all is a bellowing immigrant (retired) lolly pop thrusting like Poseidon’s trident over the grey spume. His domain is the life and Kinder of the primary school. Newly renovated spaces sparkle as the prism of children congregate beneath the federally funded flagpole, one flag always under the other, waiting to return home and practice English as a first language. Next to the school is of course a car park for the hospital. The courtesy bus that carries health workers averse to walking a few blocks for exercise is piloted by the angriest immigrant of them all and who can blame him. Travelling the same two blocks, back and forth, over and over every day, that limbic passion aching to split the inviting twin lanes of a freeway in a pulsing testerossa (sic).
The university lying fallow at the end of the freeway. These are the battlements that confront us. We dare them to encroach onto our car strewn lawns and picket defences. The baying hounds of the captains of industry quelled by the lamp posts and ivy borders hiding scents of all sorts. Yes, our municipal fore-parents thought of everything. We are all immigrants to this double helix. The drive to hospital, birth, home, school, graduation, factory, road accident, hospital, home in an urn. Perfect. It’s all right there on Brown’s Road.

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