There is a perspective that travel affords;
I don’t know, maybe it’s the way moonlight strikes the clouds you’re travelling under; maybe it’s the distance it gives you, or the juxtaposition of cultures, or just the physical act of being someplace else, that brings clarity, self-awareness,
A cognizance that academia bravely seeks to awaken, yet which is constantly assaulted and defeated by unquestioning acquiescence, nonchalance, and routine.
A fat tourist with a fistful of dirty bank notes. A child beggar with a drugged baby snuggled in her chest. The wheedling, reedy, practiced, intentional inflection of her voice, complete with mimicked American drawl. The struggle of governments, and environments, and religions, each trying to hold their own, each trying to be relevant, each a spectacular melodrama that unfurls in complex dynamics and societies held together by abstract, vicious forces
And in the midst of all this I feel, so suddenly, so acutely, like, I don’t know, a water bottle made out of tape – everything comes gushing out, and I am left deflated, devastated, ravaged
Because just like how you stand in shambling stones held together by concrete reconstruction, someone will stand amidst your bones
Entirely unaware of your existence. Civilizations die, and people are forgotten, legacies are entirely reductive, history is his story, and his story is a lie.
And while you are pondering this realization
You realize again, belatedly, that you are already home
And your phone is ringing and people are getting mad because a movie timing isn’t settled and words are so thoughtlessly thrown around and you think
Is this what matters?
Between the vibration and lit screen of my iphone five and the memory of a little boy child kicking an eight saggy-titted mongrel dog for entertainment and the sounds of a macdonalds and the silence of a thousand year tomb and the glory of a sunrise to the metronome of a hundred digital camera shutters opening and closing
And design, design is like a carefully placed sprig of parsley on a crockpot of shit that bubbles over with our daily inhumanities of ambition and apathy
And you realize that despite the digitization of personality and the degree of immortality that may or may not afford you, you will essentially fade as with all the people around
And for the most part
We think we can see, we think we know. with experiments, anecdotes, and others’ failings.
Building on calculations and observation and logical deductions.
But we are inherently short-sighted. We will never know.
I went to Bloomsbury Park to kill some time with a book. The empty bench I found was surrounded by pigeons initially. Suddenly there was a loud sound like a gunshot, and all the pigeons flew up, startled, went one round, and eventually settled on the tree in front of me.
Guy-Man points out that, after all, they have not got this far by blabbing about their plans. “We don’t actively try to feed people and annoy them with what we’re doing,” he says, leaning back. “We are not craving to be known. If we don’t have this or that we are fine. You have to be self-content. The art is the first and only priority.” He reclines like a cat in the sun. “We don’t have to rush things.”
Sometimes, you will think to yourself, “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck! I have so, so much to do, and neither the will nor the energy to do any of it.” At this moment, there are two options:
• Go get back in bed, thus letting others and yourself down, or;
• Harden the fuck up.
As far as I’m concerned,…