Tiny Cathedral

Turns out it was Kanye West in the other tent.

During the day we wouldn’t see anyone else around as we went bushwalking and swimming in the lake. But at night we would hear this chanting coming out. It was a little disconcerting. We thought whoever it was could be mentally unwell.

On our last night Dana decided to go over. She patted the tent and said, “Knock knock!”, like there was an imaginary door. The chanting stopped. The tent unzipped and Kanye popped his head out.

“Somethin’ up?” he said.

“Oh…we just wanted to say hi, we’re leaving tomorrow.” said Dana.

Kanye looked sort of both pissed off and kindly at the same time. He shrugged. Then he said, “You ever seen a black man camping on his own before? I mean one who ain’t homeless?”

Dana shook her head slightly.

Kanye carried on, the flaps of the tent looking like an orange nylon robe over his shoulders, “That’s because when we out here, we get scared. Scared because we might get drunk on the freedom, and then we’ll be so sick when it’s over.”

We stood silent as rocks.

“Well I am drunk now,” said Kanye, “I am so drunk, I may never get sober. But the music I am making here in this tiny cathedral will make men lay down their arms and cry tears of shame and hope.”

Then he paused. He looked at me in the shadows.

“Yo,” he said, “You think this ain’t real?”.

Analogue social post: Central Station, toilet door.

POSTSCRIPT: This should in no way be read as support of Kanye’s anti-semitism or other abject degradations of the spirit. He might benefit from a little time alone in a tent in the wild.