- say goodbye
- walk away
- a dozen or so paces ahead, turn around
- smile
- wave goodbye
everytime: feel heart make a tiny happy somersault in recognition of this little ritual, still true, still safe, still there...
Friday, September 30, 2005
constant rituals
every departure, significant or trivial, follows the same sweet, surprising, unrehearsed pattern:
everytime: feel heart make a tiny happy somersault in recognition of this little ritual, still true, still safe, still there...
everytime: feel heart make a tiny happy somersault in recognition of this little ritual, still true, still safe, still there...
Thursday, September 29, 2005
the first step
bumper harry stands at the top of the escalator. it's a tall escalator, taller for being the first escalator ever.
the photographers are there, the politicians are there, the crowd is expectant, the ribbon has been cut -- with the grand ceremonial scissors.
bumper harry looks down, the dark depth of the tube tunnels staring back. the metal teeth grinding their way down into the earth.
he remembers how he lost his leg, how much it hurt, how much he missed it. he thinks about his remaining leg, how much he wants to keep it.
he knows he's here to make history, to show the world that safe is safe. he thinks again of his legs, the lost one and the remaining one. he doesn't want to lose it. he thinks of history. he looks at the photographers, the politicians, the expectant crowd. he reminds himself of the big fat cheque and of the wife and kids at home. he thinks of history again.
then, bumper harry says to himself: fuck it, and with one wooden step, he goes onto the escalator and as the steps move him down into the void, in one instant he becomes: a legend of safety, a richer man, and the first automated commuter in london. the first of many who are not completly whole.
the photographers are there, the politicians are there, the crowd is expectant, the ribbon has been cut -- with the grand ceremonial scissors.
bumper harry looks down, the dark depth of the tube tunnels staring back. the metal teeth grinding their way down into the earth.
he remembers how he lost his leg, how much it hurt, how much he missed it. he thinks about his remaining leg, how much he wants to keep it.
he knows he's here to make history, to show the world that safe is safe. he thinks again of his legs, the lost one and the remaining one. he doesn't want to lose it. he thinks of history. he looks at the photographers, the politicians, the expectant crowd. he reminds himself of the big fat cheque and of the wife and kids at home. he thinks of history again.
then, bumper harry says to himself: fuck it, and with one wooden step, he goes onto the escalator and as the steps move him down into the void, in one instant he becomes: a legend of safety, a richer man, and the first automated commuter in london. the first of many who are not completly whole.
different strokes for different folk
apparently, the twirling of my hair. which i do incessantly. which i have done -- the legend goes -- since i was a wee little baby. which people have found weirdly curious, infinitely annoying, incredibly irritating and impossible to stop.
apparently, this twirling of my hair is very erotic.
go figure.
apparently, this twirling of my hair is very erotic.
go figure.
romance is not dead
an incurable romantic has taken up residence in Euston station, northern line city branch southbound platform.
he serenades us every day with old-fashioned boleros: besame mucho, quizas-quizas, el dia que me quieras...
some days i'm content to sing along just in my head.
other days, i sing aloud and enjoy the pleasure of being one more harmless, happy, young madwoman on the tube.
he serenades us every day with old-fashioned boleros: besame mucho, quizas-quizas, el dia que me quieras...
some days i'm content to sing along just in my head.
other days, i sing aloud and enjoy the pleasure of being one more harmless, happy, young madwoman on the tube.
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
mysterious presence
rustlings careening under the floorboards.
footsteps overhead.
car doors open and shut.
hundreds of people crossing the sky above.
white van -- hopefully -- wending its way through london towards me.
i'm tempted to discover at least one of these creatures.
i wonder if they're thinking:
smell of coffee coming through the floorboards.
keyboard tip-tapping overhead.
books slumped over my hideaway.
i'm tempted to discover who the giant in this house might be. the spider told me they're ok.
footsteps overhead.
car doors open and shut.
hundreds of people crossing the sky above.
white van -- hopefully -- wending its way through london towards me.
i'm tempted to discover at least one of these creatures.
i wonder if they're thinking:
smell of coffee coming through the floorboards.
keyboard tip-tapping overhead.
books slumped over my hideaway.
i'm tempted to discover who the giant in this house might be. the spider told me they're ok.
how?
in order to find out if you are on the right track, do you change paths or do you keep walking down the same road?
beauty is in the eye of the beholder
See more progress on: take more photographs
Monday, September 26, 2005
the responsibility of tube workers
- they must drive the trains safely and on time.
- they must make announcements clearly and precisely.
- they must be on hand to give directions and travel advice when you're a bit lost or hungover.
- they must think of clever ways of breaking their own rules to give you the cheaper ticket.
- they must open the gates when you have a big bag, and open them again on the way back, making a nice joke about the short amount of time elapsed.
- they must think of ways to make you smile and cheer you up.
"it is nice to be important. it is important to be nice."that's the message from tube workers at old stree station, for all of us, today.
Saturday, September 24, 2005
mission impossible
the spider packed its bags and left its former home between the tiled wall and the blue wall.
it walked assuredly away, until it found a couple of shoes. it looked them over with critical eye, surveyed the terrain, assessed advantages and disadvantages, and after careful consideration hid under the left-foot shoe.
the big giant came in the morning, sleepy, clumsy, all legs and arms. the spider sighed, here we go again. the giant picked up the shoe, for no reason whatsoever (what business does the giant have picking up a shoe, at 7am on a saturday after having a wee and immediately before returning to bed? giants are imminently ununderstandable...) the spider looked up, sprinted away. the giant jumped up, sprinted away.
a while later the spider still wasn't sure what to do: covering head with front legs hadn't worked, staying put under a shoe brought no greater success, the left-hand side of the sink -- final destination after early morning sprint -- would not do either: you could tell by the scattered carcasses that the place had no good karma.
the giant, at all this, had woken up again. it packed its bags and left its former home between the duvet and the mattress in the main -- and only -- bedroom.
it walked uncertainly away, until it found a door. it looked the door over, fumbled for the keys, and tried with its usual brute force to open its way into the house. they key was no use at all. the giant tried the lower, the upper, the middle and all the other key-holes. it phoned the locksmiths, the friend who was holidaying in Malaga and tried performing a magic dance. none of it worked. the giant laughed, here we go again. it picked up its bag and went back the way it came.
by the time the giant came back, the spider had vanished.
let's hope they both find themselves in a good place soon.
it walked assuredly away, until it found a couple of shoes. it looked them over with critical eye, surveyed the terrain, assessed advantages and disadvantages, and after careful consideration hid under the left-foot shoe.
the big giant came in the morning, sleepy, clumsy, all legs and arms. the spider sighed, here we go again. the giant picked up the shoe, for no reason whatsoever (what business does the giant have picking up a shoe, at 7am on a saturday after having a wee and immediately before returning to bed? giants are imminently ununderstandable...) the spider looked up, sprinted away. the giant jumped up, sprinted away.
a while later the spider still wasn't sure what to do: covering head with front legs hadn't worked, staying put under a shoe brought no greater success, the left-hand side of the sink -- final destination after early morning sprint -- would not do either: you could tell by the scattered carcasses that the place had no good karma.
the giant, at all this, had woken up again. it packed its bags and left its former home between the duvet and the mattress in the main -- and only -- bedroom.
it walked uncertainly away, until it found a door. it looked the door over, fumbled for the keys, and tried with its usual brute force to open its way into the house. they key was no use at all. the giant tried the lower, the upper, the middle and all the other key-holes. it phoned the locksmiths, the friend who was holidaying in Malaga and tried performing a magic dance. none of it worked. the giant laughed, here we go again. it picked up its bag and went back the way it came.
by the time the giant came back, the spider had vanished.
let's hope they both find themselves in a good place soon.
Friday, September 23, 2005
how not to hide
in the corner of our bathroom, right by the loo, a spider has taken residence.
yesterday, it was brazenly hanging out on the blue bit of the wall. today, it has moved discreetly to the corner, where it seems to be trying to make itself invisibly by putting its legs over its head.
like a child...if i can't see you, then you can't see me either!
yesterday, it was brazenly hanging out on the blue bit of the wall. today, it has moved discreetly to the corner, where it seems to be trying to make itself invisibly by putting its legs over its head.
like a child...if i can't see you, then you can't see me either!
still raining
a long long time ago, some gods where playing at making people.
after a hard day's work, they came up with a satisfactory prototype and breathed life into it.
the prototype seemed to work well at first, it talked, it walked, it reproduced (more than one prototype was created, obviously)
the gods, however, had the niggly feeling that something was wrong. and then they worked it out: while the prototypes talked they weren't understanding each other, when they walked, they were going nowhere, and when they reproduced they just made exact replicas of the same mistakes.
so the gods sent a furious amount of rain to wash it all away, and it's still raining.
Update:
(actually it has just stopped)
after a hard day's work, they came up with a satisfactory prototype and breathed life into it.
the prototype seemed to work well at first, it talked, it walked, it reproduced (more than one prototype was created, obviously)
the gods, however, had the niggly feeling that something was wrong. and then they worked it out: while the prototypes talked they weren't understanding each other, when they walked, they were going nowhere, and when they reproduced they just made exact replicas of the same mistakes.
so the gods sent a furious amount of rain to wash it all away, and it's still raining.
Update:
(actually it has just stopped)
Thursday, September 22, 2005
road maps
there is a clear tension between planning your life, and being open to what it may bring.
conflicting views are coming my way. apparently, it is time to start thinking about my life strategically, but at the same time i must to live in the present and not worry about the future.
like a juggler who's been distracted by a passing hurricane, i let all the balls drop to the floor.
which reminds me of that silly notion that if you have lost something, you need to try to lose its pair straight away, in the hope that both lost things will find each other -- and you them -- at the same place...
nonsense!
conflicting views are coming my way. apparently, it is time to start thinking about my life strategically, but at the same time i must to live in the present and not worry about the future.
like a juggler who's been distracted by a passing hurricane, i let all the balls drop to the floor.
which reminds me of that silly notion that if you have lost something, you need to try to lose its pair straight away, in the hope that both lost things will find each other -- and you them -- at the same place...
nonsense!
lack of clarity
for some days now, my eyes have been misting up at random moments.
today, london woke up covered in a fine fog. everything's blurred and undefined. you can't see more than the immediate and the obvious.
it's odd to see/not see.
when i first got my specs fitted, the world changed completely. suddenly the green masses i had been used to seeing on top of trees became thousands of perfectly defined individual leaves. bus destinations could be known, not just guessed at. people recognised on the street and greeted. messages on walls deciphered.
i became aware of the uniqueness of my point of view.
it feels quite lonely to know nobody can see quite how you see. but on days of fog, it's ok: we're finally all on the same blind boat.
today, london woke up covered in a fine fog. everything's blurred and undefined. you can't see more than the immediate and the obvious.
it's odd to see/not see.
when i first got my specs fitted, the world changed completely. suddenly the green masses i had been used to seeing on top of trees became thousands of perfectly defined individual leaves. bus destinations could be known, not just guessed at. people recognised on the street and greeted. messages on walls deciphered.
i became aware of the uniqueness of my point of view.
it feels quite lonely to know nobody can see quite how you see. but on days of fog, it's ok: we're finally all on the same blind boat.
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
numbers
one, two, buckle your shoe
three, four, touch the floor
five, six, pick up some sticks
seven, eight, don't be late
nine, ten, start again...
three, four, touch the floor
five, six, pick up some sticks
seven, eight, don't be late
nine, ten, start again...
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
old friends
the first time i read about it, i was a twelve year old with a hyperactive imagination. as i was reading in another language, and is i always loved precision, i used to consult the dictionary very often.
however, sometimes, i would let the words just form in my imagination, and asign fantastical definitions that would suit my mood, and break the routine of the story. i think i still do this, search for maximum precision, but keep a side of myself as unaware as possible, so i can discover the world anew everyday. i also never liked messing with given names. i pronounce them in my head as i like, page to page, so that a james can be a jaime, a jahh-mess a jay-may or anything. but that's a tangent.
the first time i actually saw one, it was on my wedding day. i walked into the marquee, blue and white, and there it was, or rather, there they were. a couple of daddy-long-legs, floating about as they do. bouncing against the stripey canvas. trying to escape half-heartedly. i had never seen one before, but instantly i knew them from my imagination. my picture of them had been wrong, and right, and there they were, welcoming me to my new country in all their englishness.
people came and went, we danced until we couldn't see each other anymore. then we left.
i did sometimes wonder what had happened to them. did they die while we danced? did they escape to the beautiful garden? did they watch us like i watched them?
tonight, there's one sitting by my shoulder. quiet. i kind of would like to see it start to dance around, floppily, as they do, but part of me has always been a little terrified: the daddy-long-legs in my head are man-eating, hairy, poisonous spiders, the size of a hand, and ready to attack at the latest provocation.
keep still. i'm off to bed.
however, sometimes, i would let the words just form in my imagination, and asign fantastical definitions that would suit my mood, and break the routine of the story. i think i still do this, search for maximum precision, but keep a side of myself as unaware as possible, so i can discover the world anew everyday. i also never liked messing with given names. i pronounce them in my head as i like, page to page, so that a james can be a jaime, a jahh-mess a jay-may or anything. but that's a tangent.
the first time i actually saw one, it was on my wedding day. i walked into the marquee, blue and white, and there it was, or rather, there they were. a couple of daddy-long-legs, floating about as they do. bouncing against the stripey canvas. trying to escape half-heartedly. i had never seen one before, but instantly i knew them from my imagination. my picture of them had been wrong, and right, and there they were, welcoming me to my new country in all their englishness.
people came and went, we danced until we couldn't see each other anymore. then we left.
i did sometimes wonder what had happened to them. did they die while we danced? did they escape to the beautiful garden? did they watch us like i watched them?
tonight, there's one sitting by my shoulder. quiet. i kind of would like to see it start to dance around, floppily, as they do, but part of me has always been a little terrified: the daddy-long-legs in my head are man-eating, hairy, poisonous spiders, the size of a hand, and ready to attack at the latest provocation.
keep still. i'm off to bed.
turbulence
a heavenly music wakes me up. it sounds weird and otherworldly, like whales singing in the ocean.
half awake, half asleep, i prick my ears to hear the sound again. it comes from the sky, alright.
it comes from the air, pushed with some force by the passing planes, moving towards me in my sleep, wavelengths and physics and imagination.
later, slightly disappointed, slightly amazed, i go back to sleep.
half awake, half asleep, i prick my ears to hear the sound again. it comes from the sky, alright.
it comes from the air, pushed with some force by the passing planes, moving towards me in my sleep, wavelengths and physics and imagination.
later, slightly disappointed, slightly amazed, i go back to sleep.
Monday, September 19, 2005
perfect urban sky
moon up in the sky, imperfect circle underlined by five waves of flimsy clouds.
some stars show up. not too many, just enough.
wine makes the world roll by. at a faster rate than it should.
walk by, arsenal have beat everton. talk to someone, kiss them good night.
consonants want to get in the game, the flow of keys in the keyboard locking.
the sound of the door closingopening. a bike is rolled in.
he's here.
my sister is here.
answer the call of technology or the call of reality?
i log on therfore i am.
some stars show up. not too many, just enough.
wine makes the world roll by. at a faster rate than it should.
walk by, arsenal have beat everton. talk to someone, kiss them good night.
consonants want to get in the game, the flow of keys in the keyboard locking.
the sound of the door closingopening. a bike is rolled in.
he's here.
my sister is here.
answer the call of technology or the call of reality?
i log on therfore i am.
scuppered again
just found out that the singing lessons i wanted to sign up for are completely and utterly full up.
i guess i’ll have to start looking again. i should probably contact my friend who’s been doing singing lessons for years and ask her for some advice.
what is the value of personal development?
learn to sing, sow, paint, play the piano, walk straight, cook a four course meal, discuss politics, divine the future…
See more progress on: take singing lessons
i guess i’ll have to start looking again. i should probably contact my friend who’s been doing singing lessons for years and ask her for some advice.
what is the value of personal development?
learn to sing, sow, paint, play the piano, walk straight, cook a four course meal, discuss politics, divine the future…
See more progress on: take singing lessons
humdrum
there is something incredibly draining about daily life. the million small decisions that need to be taken sucking away at your creative energy.
what clothes should i wear? should i jump on this train or wait for the next one? keep my jacket on and sweat, or take it off and elbow my fellow passengers? walk to the office or sneak onto the bus? have a coffee or a tea? (lying...it's always a coffee) check my email or let it rot? pretend it's all very important or acknowledge it's all a silly game? sleepwalk? alert? dream? sugar?
what clothes should i wear? should i jump on this train or wait for the next one? keep my jacket on and sweat, or take it off and elbow my fellow passengers? walk to the office or sneak onto the bus? have a coffee or a tea? (lying...it's always a coffee) check my email or let it rot? pretend it's all very important or acknowledge it's all a silly game? sleepwalk? alert? dream? sugar?
Friday, September 16, 2005
Thursday, September 15, 2005
you've got mail
my email system has decided to mark as spam all emails sent by the people closest to me.
if i want to know what they have to say to me, i have to rummage through viagra sales pitches, breast enlargement opportunities, nigerian banking deals, technical gizmoes that will change your life, winning lottery tickets, buy your own first-class degree, lola wants you to see her come, hello world virus, make money fast, change your life with a new face...
if i want to know what they have to say to me, i have to rummage through viagra sales pitches, breast enlargement opportunities, nigerian banking deals, technical gizmoes that will change your life, winning lottery tickets, buy your own first-class degree, lola wants you to see her come, hello world virus, make money fast, change your life with a new face...
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
papercuts
he checked it was all there: the ruler. the pencil. the eraser. the notepad.
he had his best clothes on, wanted to make an impression.
he was a bit nervous. hadn't slept the night before. always got stomach-ache before first days, last days, travelling, exams...
breakfast over, time to go. round the grandchildren. don't want to be late.
85 years he'd been waiting for his first day at school.
he had his best clothes on, wanted to make an impression.
he was a bit nervous. hadn't slept the night before. always got stomach-ache before first days, last days, travelling, exams...
breakfast over, time to go. round the grandchildren. don't want to be late.
85 years he'd been waiting for his first day at school.
Monday, September 12, 2005
strange
there were reports of aliens landing in the island.
they had looked about themselves, rubbed their eyes, pinched themselves. the light wasn't good. not good enough for playing. not good enough to see clearly beyond the obvious.
they found it strange that the welcome wasn't warmer. that there was a strong silence in the land, disrupted only by the distant echoes of cheering and ancient battlecries.
they fought the instinct to get back on the ship. they were here now, for the long haul.
they had looked about themselves, rubbed their eyes, pinched themselves. the light wasn't good. not good enough for playing. not good enough to see clearly beyond the obvious.
they found it strange that the welcome wasn't warmer. that there was a strong silence in the land, disrupted only by the distant echoes of cheering and ancient battlecries.
they fought the instinct to get back on the ship. they were here now, for the long haul.
Sunday, September 11, 2005
waiting for play to resume
sighs. jumps in his seat. curses. laughs. berates the players. heart races. heart stops. stands up. sits down. sighs.
play resumes.
play resumes.
Friday, September 09, 2005
rain
walking back from work to the tube i look at the sky. there is not a cloud. a lonely white plastic bag flutters above a mirrored building. a pigeon glides towards a resting place. a plane flies by in silence. the world has stopped.
today, the sky is clouded over.
only god, plane passengers and balloon riders know what kind of items are busily crossing the heavens above...
today, the sky is clouded over.
only god, plane passengers and balloon riders know what kind of items are busily crossing the heavens above...
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
goodbye
every journey is like a death and a birth. a woman left london, another one leaves mexico.
i leave my words in mexico. and a little bit of me.
i leave my words in mexico. and a little bit of me.
Sunday, September 04, 2005
seasickness
the city´s sinking. lowering into the mud of the ancient lake.
as it goes down, ancient ruins are discovered.
as you walk in its old buildings, your brain has to make a summersault to identify what look like perfectly straight floors as the insurmountable slopes they have actually become.
incense fills your nostrils, thousands of believers surround you, a black christ looks on, impassive.
you feel seasick, and then, you go.
plenty
markets explode with surrealistic colours. each stall overflows with goodness.
strange fruits lure you into their trap. black mushrooms call you up. sweets tempt you to oblivion.
eat me. pleasure. lust. ripe. plenty.
Friday, September 02, 2005
8am-6pm palenque
insects buzz tinnitus sounds. leaves overblown, damp. butterflies flutter. dragon flies swarm, helicopterharbingers of rain. pyramids pop up from the under/overgrowth. monkeys bark. cascades spring. ancient gods stare. watch water jump down and up, in a loop. back to the bus.
4am-6am palenque
mexican music blares out of the idiot box. a couple and their children sleep on a blanket in the corner, surrounded by their possessions. cockroaches investigate the territory. a passanger nods off, awakes, stares. thick coffee brewed. taxi drivers gossip. sweat pours from the roof, from people, from cars. other insects awake. flurry of activity underfoot. light comes on. a dark shadow becomes a mystical tree. right in front of your eyes. it was always there.
Thursday, September 01, 2005
guide bad karma
the driver bundled us into the van without saying a word. he spoke exclusively to the mexican family. he made us squash at the back for their comfort and convenience. we ganged up on him in many languages. we made a point of having fun in spite of him. we created a chain of linguistic complicity, uruguayan pricks here ears and translates the exclusive commentary into english, austrian translates into french, italian mixes up from both...all the way from the front to the back.
we saw maya pyramids, colourful lakes, lush forests, communities of expulsados. and on the way back, we laughed, with the satisfaction of having won the day against bad karma.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)