I must say that this new frontier of telegraph pole art is oddly appealing to me! My local telegraph wires just seem to have deceased bats on them.
I cannot confess to having seen telegraph poles with EITHER bats or horses on them - in my locality [or rather near the school] there are, however many shoelettes of the variety that are tied together and swung around until they drop off from age and weathering.I can't speak for the safety of the high chair for toddlers anymore...I used to have more trust in them - o to gnaw at their plastic legs...Finally, I CAN confess to seeing one such giant inner city hair. I fear it has holidayed on the Gold Coast [from Melbornio of course] and is currently employing the guise of my Love, Sex & Truth lecturer....who keeps shaving his head but I alone see through it...Don't judge me for my late night ramblings [ok, its only 9.31] but my toes are cold and I fear the Gold Coast has [in addition to recieving Melbs giant renegade leg hair] contracted Melbournes [rumoured] WEATHER...its depressing :(-over and out
"Love, Sex and Truth"! Now there's a course name to reel in the punters! Never mind "Early Modern Tragedy", I'm enrolling for "Love, Sex and Truth". What's with the shoes swung over the cables? There's a nationwide sub-culture, dedicated to suspending shoes five metres above ground level. Is it conceptual art? Is it a cobblers' conspiracy, to get people to buy more shoes? This one's been bemusing me for years.
The urban myth, as I'm sure you know, is that it means there's a drug dealer living in the area.
That urban myth might explain why there are shoes on the lines outside the nicest house in my street.
I had no idea. Gosh. Fantastic. And the implicit slogan is "Get high, just like these shoes"?
Sure beats a sign with, 'Dave lives here,' on the door.
The shoes went for a walk but got lost.
Up there with the bird in your first photo, Alexis. I guess you learn something new about Thornbury every day...I am surprised though. I thought that urban myth was almost as common as the now dreadfully passe water bottles on lawns. Please do not imagine that I know these things for any special reason!Perhaps the real drug dealers have moved on. Perhaps "I will always love you" played over and over again for two hours is the new siren call...
Oh, these photographs aren't anything to do with Thornbury. Thornbury's strictly a chamomile tea and marmalade on toast kinda joint. No, these photos are from big, bad downtown Melbourne.
Even sleepy little Thornbury has its dark side, you may rely upon it. Why, there are probably people speaking backwards in some sort of hidden attic with red walls mere metres above Chez Harlot as we speak!
Gosh! In my 1960s apartment block! I hope so.
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