Every image has a story
Small images trigger pain, thoughts drive feelings knowledge insane, calling one thing some thing sets thing for nu thing, breathing automatically feeling flow head losing brain acting dyspraxic, so another mission finding self leading mind into vision so lost so lost needing permission… step back sit tight Simple nature take flight.
Deep, deep down in amongst the undergrowth, thickness, darkness and lif…light.
The old die young but never lost, they stand and wait until new will pass… Waiting till rotting breeds new life and turns what was old into a… (pause)
Sanctuary and shelter new and old will give new stories to all both young and old.
I have thoughts of things that I would like to do, the thoughts make my body feel a certain way a physical reaction to the imaginary scene.
Then sometimes I live out those experiences and try and capture the moment, either with a photograph or with a print upon my mind.
How many times does the body feel the same in the moment of the experience in comparison to the dream? I am not sure it is ever the same.
But after when I look back, the experience and body’s reaction seem to fit back into the dream. The story you tell about the experience is explained with words you learnt to think before you actually lived out the thing.
But how did the body really feel? how was it in the now? how did you feel with the fire upon your face, to look at the stars and let the mind race. To be lost among your thoughts, to drift and die and conclude naught. Just sit and feel and lie awake to let nature consume, devour, sedate.
Sometimes the picture does all the talking for you. It’s simply beautiful. Roots intertwined with rocks hovering over the water, reflections formed through the sun and shade, stillness and movement all rolled into one. Just look at it and enjoy it will arouse your eye.
In front of me I have three glasses, one full of beer, the middle one empty and the third full of water.
Let’s take the beer to start with. I like to think of beer as a representation of the essence of the experience. It represents the bodies physiological response to the moment you enjoy and that moment can be anything, sex, laughter, sport, fear, enlightenment. Whatever, whatever moment that makes your body shake, form goose bumps, chicken skin, arousal, sweat. Anything that makes the heart beat faster.
The empty glass, that’s you and for the moment that’s empty.
And the third glass, well that’s water, that’s comfort that’s the easy path those are things that make your life easier, that’s things that help you pass difficult problems. That’s the internet, that’s a hover, those are things that ease the arousal, slow the heart beat.
We pour a little beer in the empty glass, it feels good, if you haven’t had it in a while it’s even better, we pour a little more in, but then we are shaky the body overloads, so we add water, we balance the beer.
But then we start to learn, there are tricks to get more beer with out the fear, there are ways to get more beer inside without the overload, so we fill up we add the water, the clip stick the panic draw, the ai, the insurance, the Burberry wallet. We now have all the ways to cope with more beer, but then we take a sip and we realise we are just drinking water, our beer has been diluted.
Goose bumps come from feeling, whatever thought inspires those bumps has to have an element of jeopardy it has to be beer and the more we learn to use water to fill up on beer the more we forget the taste.
Around and around we went, the circle spinning, the feet, the steps all in time, methodical.
The music repetitive as the world vibrated with each pluck of the strings. All in a trance.
Earlier that day the steps had been practiced in the village at the top of the hill, quiet and shaded from the midday sun, there had been laughter as the novices had stumbled over their feet desperately trying to understand the steps.
But in this moment in the late morning hours of the night, the rhythm and the steps were natural. The body had learnt. The mind was not really there, there was no counting of the steps, no thoughts of what happened next, just the feeling of hovering in one’s own body. A shimmer, a vibration, a relaxation.
Sound, body, heat all meshed into one.
It’s strange, sometimes you just know, you pick your head up and see it. The picture is clear it says something to you straight away. You look them in the eyes and instantly there is a connexion. But then, all the shit gets muddled, the perception of them, the self perception of you and the ‘what’s the right’ just gets in the way, so you stop. You reach the end of the road and that’s that. The eyes don’t look the same, the feeling in the heart is different and there is just a little sadness in the mind. What might have been, what could have been done differently, it all moves away.
I wish I would really seize the moment, capture it, act on it, stretch out that first flash when you saw the picture, when you felt the bite, like the tickle on your teeth when you bite down on a perfectly ripe nectarine. Or maybe if I did it would be awkward and bitter and the reality would be much worse than the thought in the imagination. Maybe the teeth would just find the stone.
James stood there looking out at the horizon. He smiled to himself as the blues and pinks blurred together where the sky met the sea. He raised his hand, held an imaginary brush and started to paint, softening the lines where the colours met, blending them together in his mind.
After five minutes of work, the colours started to change, he stopped, sat on the tree stump and cocked his head.
‘needs more orange’ he said to himself out loud…
…and continued, dipping his brush into the pallet and detailing the new colour infusion. How quickly things change, how hard was it to capture a moment. His thoughts drifted away from the make believe painting to how the horizon might have looked before the huge electricity poles, before all the houses and industry soaked up the water of the valley like a sponge. ‘I bet even then the sunset then would have been different. Green perhaps?’ he laughed to himself.
His thoughts continued a pace, ‘maybe 30 years ago the electricity poles would have looked so ugly on the horizon, but now they are strangely attractive, I wonder what human ugliness will bring next, and how we will start to love it.’
‘You want to eat something? I’ll invite you.’
‘Nah not really…’
‘Okay, let’s put it another way, you want to come and eat with me?’
‘Where?’
‘Mitropolis.’
Simon paused thinking about the menu at Mitropolis. He sighed, his head rocked back in the arm chair and his mind ran through all the scenarios of eating out. He had food in the fridge and didn’t want to spend more money, he would see people that he had to make small talk with. He didn’t actually want another Greek Salad. It was busy and that meant the service would be shit. Should he take the dog… how… ‘Oh shut up’ He said out loud accidentally.
‘I didn’t say anything…’
‘Sorry, not you I was talking to myself. Maybe I give it a miss.’
‘But then I will have to go and eat by myself.’
‘Go to the supermarket and cook at home.’
‘Then I have to wash up…’
There was silence as they both thought through all the things that each of them didn’t want to do.
‘Oh fuck it, I’ll come to the restaurant.’ Simon announced.
‘Yeeeesss! Good man, I promise we won’t talk bullshit to strangers. Only interesting conversation.’
Simon laughed, ‘Interesting conversation… with you?’
They laughed together
‘Come on Malaka.’
We all sat there listening, but the day had been long and the workshops tiring. It felt like the heat from the sun had been bottled and poured into the room, the doors sealed, windows locked, suffocating our minds. But we tried. The content of the lecture was interesting but concentration hard. As I looked around the room I saw many yawns growing and eyes shutting, but I scolded myself and listened.
It is interesting when you start to think, words and sentences connect to your experiences and thoughts and then you start to make sense of a conversation you are having in your head, but then, something in the explanation doesn’t add up or there are words you don’t want to hear, so you change the narrative to make it fit. I suppose you will always see what you want to see, but the difficult part is to know what you are looking for.
I kept listening trying to come to a conclusion, but in the end it seemed like the lecturer was offering a silver bullet, the answer, he made his thoughts clear and told us the truth. I felt anxious, it wasn’t the truth I wanted to hear, but in made a lot of sense. Was I willing to listen to it? I suppose only time will tell. Are we all so similar that we can analyse behaviour and find the answer, or is life a little more individual than that. I hope we are more individual.
The lecture stopped and they opened the doors, a rush of cool evening air poured in and my mind immediately felt refreshed, time and thoughts, time and thoughts I said to myself. But not too many thoughts.
Life From the Dirt 