3:AM Magazine

By Joseph Ridgwell.

The Roaring Twenties

I don’t know why, but there were many times
in my twenties
when I was plagued by the blue blues,
a strange, re-occurring black cloud of depression
that followed me around for months and years
and as a good chunk of my twenties was spent in Australia,
these thoughts often occurred while I pounded
those sun-baked Sydney streets
or along those rat-infested back alleys of The Cross.
Kings Cross.
I lived in a succession of cheap apartments.
I can remember the names of the streets;
Bayswater, Roslyn, Ward, Macleay, Elizabeth,
Darlinghurst, Kellett, Barncleuth, Orwell, Victoria,
William, Hughes, McElhone.
I can also recall the interior of each apartment;
peeling paint, gloomy kitchenettes, poky rooms, and rotting bathrooms
and it was always summer, black summer,
hot, dusty streets, tarmac melting in the burning sun, hissing and popping,
heat waves shimmering.
I was working and drinking, drinking and working.
I never wrote anything
but instead thought about writing, compiling notes, and character sketches
convinced that one day I’d write novels, poems, and short stories.
Hundreds of thousands of words, describing those end of century Kings Cross scenes,
I would plot up in my apartment, drink beer, and stare at the walls.
It was my roaring twenties, but often I felt dead and listless.
Everything seemed to oppress me;
work, women, cheap wine, the day to day living,
everyone trying to outdo each other,
petty little one-upmanship’s, grubby aspirations, flawed ambition.
I felt more empathy towards the street hookers, bums and alki’s.
Somehow they seemed more real, open and honest.
The tediousness of so-called successful lives always shocked me,
the monotony and drabness most people were prepared to put up with
just to stay one step ahead of the game
was depressing
but there didn’t seem to be many options.
People had been dealt a lame hand
by God, or Satan, or Jesus, or science, or flashing unknowns.
I’d walk to the botanical gardens and sit and watch the ducks.
The life of the average duck appeared preferable
to the life of the average human being.
Sometimes I spot a bug walking along a window ledge
and figured I’d rather be a bug
then I’d walk to the harbour and peer into the gloomy depth
wondering if it would be possible to just swim away,
swim away into nothingness and the blue void of the lonely night.
It was my twenties, my roaring twenties
and the world ran away
and the days ran away
and the moon was false and the sun sick
and all that was left was to teeter on the cusp
of the abyss
and smile.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Joseph Ridgwell is the author of two books of poetry, Load the Guns and Where Are The Rebels?. Both published by Blackheath Books and a novel, Last Days of the Cross. His work has appeared in short story anthologies, magazines, newspapers, and numerous online publications. For more information on Ridgwell’s writing click: In Search of the Lost Elation.

First published in 3:AM Magazine: Wednesday, July 1st, 2009.