Tuesday, 14 August 2012
Sunday, 12 August 2012
Friday, 10 August 2012
Wednesday, 8 August 2012
A bag of dates.
Gare du Nord is the chaotic, colourful, beating, shouting, smiling, hawking, begging, singing heart of Paris.
Vegetarian Biryani lunch in the sun, with a frosty Kingfisher.
... A jostling wander through the rich insanity of the La Chapelle markets.
2 euros for a Kilo of dates.
...
A return to home,
and the afternoon waft of piano practice from across the lane,
dancing between the stones, across metal rooves.
...
Night echos of chat and laughter.
Dull, ruddy amber glow out the window through the starless night.
Georges' bright white eyes, friendly, staring back across the rooftops.
Vegetarian Biryani lunch in the sun, with a frosty Kingfisher.
... A jostling wander through the rich insanity of the La Chapelle markets.
2 euros for a Kilo of dates.
...
A return to home,
and the afternoon waft of piano practice from across the lane,
dancing between the stones, across metal rooves.
...
Night echos of chat and laughter.
Dull, ruddy amber glow out the window through the starless night.
Georges' bright white eyes, friendly, staring back across the rooftops.
Tuesday, 7 August 2012
Monday, 6 August 2012
Rise.
Its a truth I've found, in life, that energy and inspiration often comes unlooked for from strange and varied places.
You assume the art galleries, great songs, sunsets, love and other catastrophes.
But the surprise is the rest...
The seemingly mundane moments that leave you with a deeper breath and feeling of purpose.
The riddiculous film that, for no fathomable reason, raises pulse with waves of emotion.
A view.
A smile.
An instant that swells your chest and fills you with the hope and the possible.
Ive had more than my share of both, and often its struck me to wonder why it is that one particular moment can be imbued with such significance and power seemingly so far beyond itself.
Perhaps, the explanation lies beyond the more obvious momentary catalyst, and is more internal ... something we carry ourselves that is unearthed in an instant, inspired by something obvious or less so.
It always seems to be that way in the negative, where for no discernable reason you crash into a swampy funk of doubt and anxiety. Even though you may attribute it to a passing moments catalyst, a set-back of some sort, more often than not it seems the fundamental basis of it is more intrinsic ... if unknown... to yourself.
So why not the same in the positive?
Perhaps, bubbling, churning beneath the surface is the constant process of memory, question and analysis. Its pace and direction is unknown and unconscious and it shows itself only in the moments when its flow is brought to our attention by the coincidence of momentary catalyst.
Thus it may be that the slow, swampy mudslide of doubt and depression can seemingly come from no-where, when uncovered by the catalysing, momentary prick of experience... and unleash a long lasting mood that casts a shadow so much longer than the moment itself ever should.
And in reverse, as today...
Where a manipulative moment in a non-descript hollywood action movie can be the catalyst for a surge of strength, decision and purpose.
Perhaps I just dont want to assume, or admitt that Im so simple a being that I can draw any philosophical strength from Batman, or perhaps it is as I say.
But in either case, I will follow on with something a little more 'traditionally' inspirational ... for myself at least... and quote from the word of Tom
“Self-esteem is for sissies. Accept that you're a pimple and try to keep a lively sense of humor about it. That way lies grace - and maybe even glory.”
...
And, just because it was a fleeting moment that, regardless of context, put a smile on my face.
My Surgeon was Dr. Philip Ngo.
I had an appointment to shuffle and grimace my way out past Trocadero today to check that his handywork was progressing well (it is)
And as I slowly follow him into his office, his mobile rings.
Its the James Bond Theme.
You assume the art galleries, great songs, sunsets, love and other catastrophes.
But the surprise is the rest...
The seemingly mundane moments that leave you with a deeper breath and feeling of purpose.
The riddiculous film that, for no fathomable reason, raises pulse with waves of emotion.
A view.
A smile.
An instant that swells your chest and fills you with the hope and the possible.
Ive had more than my share of both, and often its struck me to wonder why it is that one particular moment can be imbued with such significance and power seemingly so far beyond itself.
Perhaps, the explanation lies beyond the more obvious momentary catalyst, and is more internal ... something we carry ourselves that is unearthed in an instant, inspired by something obvious or less so.
It always seems to be that way in the negative, where for no discernable reason you crash into a swampy funk of doubt and anxiety. Even though you may attribute it to a passing moments catalyst, a set-back of some sort, more often than not it seems the fundamental basis of it is more intrinsic ... if unknown... to yourself.
So why not the same in the positive?
Perhaps, bubbling, churning beneath the surface is the constant process of memory, question and analysis. Its pace and direction is unknown and unconscious and it shows itself only in the moments when its flow is brought to our attention by the coincidence of momentary catalyst.
Thus it may be that the slow, swampy mudslide of doubt and depression can seemingly come from no-where, when uncovered by the catalysing, momentary prick of experience... and unleash a long lasting mood that casts a shadow so much longer than the moment itself ever should.
And in reverse, as today...
Where a manipulative moment in a non-descript hollywood action movie can be the catalyst for a surge of strength, decision and purpose.
Perhaps I just dont want to assume, or admitt that Im so simple a being that I can draw any philosophical strength from Batman, or perhaps it is as I say.
But in either case, I will follow on with something a little more 'traditionally' inspirational ... for myself at least... and quote from the word of Tom
“Self-esteem is for sissies. Accept that you're a pimple and try to keep a lively sense of humor about it. That way lies grace - and maybe even glory.”
...
And, just because it was a fleeting moment that, regardless of context, put a smile on my face.
My Surgeon was Dr. Philip Ngo.
I had an appointment to shuffle and grimace my way out past Trocadero today to check that his handywork was progressing well (it is)
And as I slowly follow him into his office, his mobile rings.
Its the James Bond Theme.
Saturday, 4 August 2012
A little bit of nothing
The strange foibles of international television.
The French show their Olympics on 2 channels.
Which sounds fantastic. Strangely, though, they spend their day of coverage inexplicably switching between tv 2 and tv 3.
The same commentators, same personalities.
Different channel. A few hours on 2 and then 3, and then back to 2.
As someone who has to get up to change the channel this is annoying... but at the very least strangely incomprehensible.
...
There is, actually, a tangible physical limit to how much crap television you can watch in a 5 day stretch.
Ive reached, and to be honest, exceeded that limit.
...
There is also a physical limit to how long you can lay in bed without being uncomfortable.
This point has also been exceeded.
...
Currently entering the ironic phase of convalescence, where the inclination and will to 'do' has returned with a vengance.
Only to be curtailed by the fact that there is only so creative one can be sitting in a bed.
No, I aint no genius. I need inspiration.
I need streets, people, sound, smell... and anything else.
Im attempting stair descent and getting out tomorrow.
The French show their Olympics on 2 channels.
Which sounds fantastic. Strangely, though, they spend their day of coverage inexplicably switching between tv 2 and tv 3.
The same commentators, same personalities.
Different channel. A few hours on 2 and then 3, and then back to 2.
As someone who has to get up to change the channel this is annoying... but at the very least strangely incomprehensible.
...
There is, actually, a tangible physical limit to how much crap television you can watch in a 5 day stretch.
Ive reached, and to be honest, exceeded that limit.
...
There is also a physical limit to how long you can lay in bed without being uncomfortable.
This point has also been exceeded.
...
Currently entering the ironic phase of convalescence, where the inclination and will to 'do' has returned with a vengance.
Only to be curtailed by the fact that there is only so creative one can be sitting in a bed.
No, I aint no genius. I need inspiration.
I need streets, people, sound, smell... and anything else.
Im attempting stair descent and getting out tomorrow.
Friday, 3 August 2012
4am
The full travel experience, and beyond.
You've never really been somewhere until you've had surgery there.
Perhaps that sounds flippant, but there is a kernel of truth behind it.
As a solo traveller, however unconsciously, you have to put asside practical fears and concerns about health, wealfare, safety. It is simply impossible to live day to day, let alone have any kind of usefull experience, without doing this. As i've written before, fear and anxieties do strike nonetheless, but this is momentary and mostly not the kind of fear or anxiety connected to anything tangible or practical.
So, to have an experience that leaves you in fearfull, lonely agony, is quite an eye-opener.
There is something quite singular about being doubled over in the middle of the night, alone in a city with no idea what is happening, where to go or who to call. Those moments of fear do tend to focus the attention on just how vulnerable you are, and how responsible for your own existance... perhaps in a way that is impossible when surrounded by a familiar place, people and other notions of security.
As I lay naked on the operating table, with an anaesthetic-addled brain, trying to understand what the Doctors were saying (in french), I did have a moment amidst the fear and anxiety, to think... well, fuck at least I know that after this I can pretty much do anything here.
Ive already experienced the worst.
...
So, I dont have anything much particularly new to add, considering that my time is now being spent swollen and punctured on my bed watching the olympics.
Although, for the television critics out there... I can say that all Olympic coverage is as one-eyed and pointless as it is in Australia. Every country shows only their own citizens, and wastes endless time with profile and puff instead of showing you perfectly valid and interesting competition involving the rest of the world. America may have invented the idea, Australia adopted it... but not its universal, Britain and France are no different.
...
Yes I am writing at 4am, because after 2 days in bed, I can now not sleep at all... and I have run out of episodes of Scrubs to watch on youtube.
You've never really been somewhere until you've had surgery there.
Perhaps that sounds flippant, but there is a kernel of truth behind it.
As a solo traveller, however unconsciously, you have to put asside practical fears and concerns about health, wealfare, safety. It is simply impossible to live day to day, let alone have any kind of usefull experience, without doing this. As i've written before, fear and anxieties do strike nonetheless, but this is momentary and mostly not the kind of fear or anxiety connected to anything tangible or practical.
So, to have an experience that leaves you in fearfull, lonely agony, is quite an eye-opener.
There is something quite singular about being doubled over in the middle of the night, alone in a city with no idea what is happening, where to go or who to call. Those moments of fear do tend to focus the attention on just how vulnerable you are, and how responsible for your own existance... perhaps in a way that is impossible when surrounded by a familiar place, people and other notions of security.
As I lay naked on the operating table, with an anaesthetic-addled brain, trying to understand what the Doctors were saying (in french), I did have a moment amidst the fear and anxiety, to think... well, fuck at least I know that after this I can pretty much do anything here.
Ive already experienced the worst.
...
So, I dont have anything much particularly new to add, considering that my time is now being spent swollen and punctured on my bed watching the olympics.
Although, for the television critics out there... I can say that all Olympic coverage is as one-eyed and pointless as it is in Australia. Every country shows only their own citizens, and wastes endless time with profile and puff instead of showing you perfectly valid and interesting competition involving the rest of the world. America may have invented the idea, Australia adopted it... but not its universal, Britain and France are no different.
...
Yes I am writing at 4am, because after 2 days in bed, I can now not sleep at all... and I have run out of episodes of Scrubs to watch on youtube.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)