halt sign

So, I stopped on the end of lane…in the little corner of zebra

Pink, purple cheesy in the early dark sky
Moon was there with pearl-white

I was there with autumnal bittersweet…
Memories
And
I was there with fresh elastic private motion capsule

Confusion…or expectation…
In and out…I was there
Time… moment…
Passing me by

And I was there for a little moment to entertain a motion

I am with my black leather jacket
Temperature is just comfortable

Autumn…

I like that she said that word
And I can remember only this word that she said
And I don’t remember much more what she said

Because I stopped walking…
So I am travelling in different time scale

And
Keep walking and walk
And stop again
See the difference or not
Maybe one day…
Earth will be up turn in front of me

Seeking my space 20/10/07

Exploring a new place concentrating on senses and thoughts

My exploration began on Saturday at 6: 05 P.M. when I came out of London Bridge underground station. I was feeling unusually excited and with a great sense of adventure. I came right into Tooley street without a clue of where to go next.

I saw the Dungeon and thought perhaps I should explore it and went back to see if it was open. At the door was a young woman stirring a huge cauldron with some realistic pieces of meat hanging on the sides. I remembered that the carnivorous Nielsen’s saucepan was kept there, that and the sign of £19:99 entrance made me change my mind.

I crossed the street again and decided to follow the sound of bells ringing and arrived at Southwark Cathedral, beautiful building but it was closed. I continued my walk with the fresh breeze gently caressing my face and thought about seniority and the sense of freedom that has come with it. Then there was The Clink prison Museum. I could see prisoners through the windows on the basement and curiosity made me go in.

I read the horrors written on the boards and stood there… an acrid smell penetrated my throat; this was the smell of pain and dried up tears. I tried to read the darkened planks with many patterns telling me how much pain they had to witness with such fear.

There were many apparatus and tools for torture. There were also bridles for the women who complained chastity belts for the wives of jealous husbands or to protect themselves from rape.

I left the prison longing for deep breath and walked across the bridge to the side of the Thames admiring the clear sky the lights reflecting with the moonlight and on gaining my strength I thought St. Goodness in not 1510.!!!!

My Walk in Hampstead Heath to Kenwood House 06/10/07

I began my walk entering the Heath by the entrance at the bottom of South Hill Park it was two o’ clock in the afternoon.

My idea was to concentrate on my audio-visual senses first, but there were too many things to hear and to see that it was making the whole thing rather impossible. There were dogs and owners, parents with children, elderly and frail people with their friends, lovers in love and so on. I felt bothered by all these people and wished it wasn’t Saturday. Nevertheless I arrived at the first pond and found two mothers, one sitting on the bench feeding a baby and the other feeding the ducks with the help of a three year old girl.

I reflected on myself and felt nostalgic as memories of my own children came back. It seemed like yesterday but indeed time has somehow flown almost unnoticed.
I accelerated my steps in the hope to escape deeper into the woods, The roars of the cars on my left sounded as though they were coming through loudspeakers purposely to hurt my ears.

I felt desperately in need of quietness and decided to walk away from the visible paths. I went under the trees walking gently so as not to step on plants. My mind was calm and soothed until a loud voice not far from where I was began to speak on a mobile phone.

How inconsiderate I kept thinking and felt irritated, the conversation was now enhanced by a manic laughter. Once again I had to divert myself from my path, I reflected on the feeling… The feeling of invasion was intensified by a strong longing to hear the singing of the birds and sound of the woods.

At last there were no voices and I continued in the quest with heightened senses. There was a smell of wet wood, I stood for a while filling my lungs with the lovely fresh air, a childhood memory came. It was the visits to my godmother’s house through the shortcut by the brook and under the dripping trees. I then began to visualise the monsters I use to imagined coming out from under the cave wearing heavy coats of dark green moss. Or the phantom branches with arachnid fingers that would seize me up into the hollow tree and would keep me there, waiting for amoreme.

Suddenly a black crow landed heavily about two metres from where I was standing and begun to peck on the floor, as it lifted its beak up I realised it was eating a worm. How horrid I thought, and then I heard my mother’s warning,” do not fall asleep in the woods, crows belong to the devil.” I stayed with that thought for a moment feeling silly and uneasy. I’m NOT superstitious I thought, but nevertheless I walked away from the crow feeling eerie.

I arrived at a clearing and stood listening and observing. On the tree behind me I could hear crackling noises, looking up I counted five squirrels hanging upside down eating the sycamore seeds. I watched their agility with fascination, slowly I became aware of the tweeting of the birds, the croak of the frogs, zzzchzz of the crickets and the loud sqwaaack if the crows, I was safe!

Back into the woods again I could see many shapes and silhouettes, some of animals others of phoney people. I found a tree with a thick branch hanging very low and my instinct was to sit on it. It felt comfortable and looking around I saw a slope with brown grass on the top resembling the shape of a lazy lion with sad face. I thought about my reasons for finding the lion sad. Close to it was a fallen tree and had some branches chopped off, the remaining trunk resembled a large woman carrying a sack of potatoes.

At last I arrived at the green grass of Kenwood House and I went to find a Henry Moore sculpture that I had seen before, to my surprise it wasn’t there, I felt disappointed, at least there was a Barbara Hepworth, Good but not the same!

On my way back I just walked fast but wherever I looked I could see all sorts of figures and patterns.

By this time, the pond was less crowded and I sat down to look at how the weak afternoon sun was hitting the magnificent yellow, green and brown trees at the other side of the pond. The shade rested on the water transforming the colours into a yellow and aquamarine fashion cavalcade. Emerging through the middle came marching in a couple of black ducks with bright white beaks resembling two men wearing tuxedoes.
On my side of the pond I watched without blinking the ripples and waves of the water, slowly they became large translucent space crafts with me inside cruising the galaxies. Somewhere in outer space my stomach rumbled, I realised I hadn’t eaten, I landed my craft and went home

TRILOGY OF MY DARK SPACES

BLACK HOLE

There is a place in space,
which is also a space
of contents unknown,
to me at least.
And in this space, in space,
is a space, of no space.
The only things,
which could prove that
this space,
is in space, is
its colour,
which is non colour,
and its shape,
which is non shape.


DARK ROOM

This dark, small place is a room,
which releases in me, my deepest fears.
I have memorised its shape,
but every time I go there,
I loose my sense of direction.
I'm standing ther, surrounded by darkness
and a few minutes there,
can feel to me like eternity.


DARK PLACE IN MY MIND

There is a place in my head,
in which I keep dark thoughts.
Those thoughts, are about a bad man,
who stole my sisters smile and soul.
I wish in my dark thoughts,
about him disappearring for ever.
Forgotten by everybody,
sucked in to the black space.
I wish him to be band, from
existance for eternity.
I visit this place in my mind a lot,
and it makes me sad.

WALK IN A GARDEN

I turned the handle to the garden doors, and I pulled them open.
Crisp air hit my face, fresh breeze messed up my hair and it stick to my lipgloss.
I took deep breaths and I stepped out in to the garden.
Most of it was in the shade, but a small part was splashed with the yellow autumn sun.
I quickly moved towards that lovely, sunny corner.
I felt the warm sun on my cheeks and neck, which was nice.
The ground was wet after the morning rain and it had that earthy, heavy smell...

BREAD
MILK
OLIVE OIL
KOSTKA OXO
BROKULY
TOILET PAPER
WASHING-UP LIQUID
ZIEMNIAKI

....I think that's it.

I started to walk slowly around the garden, the sun was gone.
I felt goosebumps on my arms.
The noise from the street was coming to me more clearly from this part of the garden.

Almost forgot about that...

THREE PEPPERS (must be red)
TWO CAN TOMATOES
SOUR CREAM (duzy)
CHILIES

...that's for my soup recipe, it is going to be yummy.

I heard the "pianoman" playing, I thought it was time to go to the shop, to do my groceries.
I turned the handle to the garden doors, and I locked them.

My walk in Hampstead Heath to Kenwood House

My walk in Hampstead
Heath to Kenwood House
Saturday 6th of October 2007

I began my walk entering the Heath by the entrance at the bottom of South Hill Park it was two o’ clock in the afternoon.

My idea was to concentrate on my audio-visual senses first, but there were too many things to hear and to see that it was making the whole thing rather impossible. There were dogs and owners, parents with children, elderly and frail people with their friends, lovers in love and so on. I felt bothered by all these people and wished it wasn’t Saturday. Nevertheless I arrived at the first pond and found two mothers, one sitting on the bench feeding a baby and the other feeding the ducks with the help of a three year old girl.

I reflected on myself and felt nostalgic as memories of my own children came back. It seemed like yesterday but indeed time has somehow flown almost unnoticed.
I accelerated my steps in the hope to escape deeper into the woods, The roars of the cars on my left sounded as though they were coming through loudspeakers purposely to hurt my ears.

I felt desperately in need of quietness and decided to walk away from the visible paths. I went under the trees walking gently so as not to step on plants. My mind was calm and soothed until a loud voice not far from where I was began to speak on a mobile phone.

How inconsiderate I kept thinking and felt irritated, the conversation was now enhanced by a manic laughter. Once again I had to divert myself from my path, I reflected on the feeling… The feeling of invasion was intensified by a strong longing to hear the singing of the birds and sound of the woods.

At last there were no voices and I continued in the quest with heightened senses. There was a smell of wet wood, I stood for a while filling my lungs with the lovely fresh air, a childhood memory came. It was the visits to my godmother’s house through the shortcut by the brook and under the dripping trees. I then began to visualise the monsters I use to imagined coming out from under the cave wearing heavy coats of dark green moss. Or the phantom branches with arachnid fingers that would seize me up into the hollow tree and would keep me there, waiting for amoreme.

Suddenly a black crow landed heavily about two metres from where I was standing and begun to peck on the floor, as it lifted its beak up I realised it was eating a worm. How horrid I thought, and then I heard my mother’s warning,” do not fall asleep in the woods, crows belong to the devil.” I stayed with that thought for a moment feeling silly and uneasy. I’m NOT superstitious I thought, but nevertheless I walked away from the crow feeling eerie.

I arrived at a clearing and stood listening and observing. On the tree behind me I could hear crackling noises, looking up I counted five squirrels hanging upside down eating the sycamore seeds. I watched their agility with fascination, slowly I became aware of the tweeting of the birds, the croak of the frogs, zzzchzz of the crickets and the loud sqwaaack if the crows, I was safe!

Back into the woods again I could see many shapes and silhouettes, some of animals others of phoney people. I found a tree with a thick branch hanging very low and my instinct was to sit on it. It felt comfortable and looking around I saw a slope with brown grass on the top resembling the shape of a lazy lion with sad face. I thought about my reasons for finding the lion sad. Close to it was a fallen tree and had some branches chopped off, the remaining trunk resembled a large woman carrying a sack of potatoes.

At last I arrived at the green grass of Kenwood House and I went to find a Henry Moore sculpture that I had seen before, to my surprise it wasn’t there, I felt disappointed, at least there was a Barbara Hepworth, Good but not the same!

On my way back I just walked fast but wherever I looked I could see all sorts of figures and patterns.

By this time, the pond was less crowded and I sat down to look at how the weak afternoon sun was hitting the magnificent yellow, green and brown trees at the other side of the pond. The shade rested on the water transforming the colours into a yellow and aquamarine fashion cavalcade. Emerging through the middle came marching in a couple of black ducks with bright white beaks resembling two men wearing tuxedoes.

On my side of the pond I watched without blinking the ripples and waves of the water, slowly they became large translucent space crafts with me inside cruising the galaxies. Somewhere in outer space my stomach rumbled, I realised I hadn’t eaten, I landed my craft and went home.

NO UNAUTHORISED ACCESS BICYCLES CHAINED TO THESE RAILINGS WILL BE REMOVED SLOW Resident permit holders only Mon – Sat 8.30 pm – 10.00 pm KEEP DOGS ON LEAD Please help keep the gardens clean and attractive by observing the following NO PIGEON FEEDING DOGS ON A LEAD ONLY NO CYCLING Public Open Spaces byelaws DO NOT FEED THE PIGEONS Pay and Display 4 hours maximum Return prohibited within 1 hour PAY HERE No change given GIVE WAY LOOK LEFT PLEASE NOTE: This is a standing area ONLY Thank you for your cooperation Please help us show respect for our neighbours by leaving QUIETLY Thank you NO SMOKING STOP Keep clear Exit from emergency escape route TO ALL DRIVERS PLEASE SWITCH OFF ALL MOTORS ON ARRIVAL TO KEEP NOISE DISTURBANCE TO A MINIMUM

It is highly unusual to discover an empty cupboard in a family home but I have done so. A cube with thirty centimetre length sides, forming part of a black wooden unit standing against the wall behind the television set, it is not inaccessible rather overlooked. Drifts of dust inside reveal how long it has existed in this semi-secret state. Its dark emptiness, when nearby storage furniture is filled to capacity, is inviting in a way but also manages to project an unwillingness to surrender the identifying characteristic of its clandestine existence. How long has it avoided detection in a busy household? I have no idea. How long will it survive now that I am aware of it? I have no idea of that either.

Window Seat Screen

Window seat screen
Landscape slicking by
Hazy green blur and miserable sky
Streaks of distant towns
Split second stations
Drops of rain dragging across the pane
Green lino
Squinty lights and green seats
Window open, air whistling in
Still makes me jump when another train snaps by
Crammed in like sardines
Stuffy and humid
Personal space invaded
Finally juddering, slowing
Screeching into darkness
Criss-crossing silvery lines
And spheres of white light
Stepping into the sharp air

Walking in the Rain

The trouble with glasses is they are so bad in the rain.

Tonight’s rain was that fine rain that speckles and spritzes against your face. Fine - so it’s a form of moisturiser for the skin except moisturiser is better.

Here’s the problem though - you may need specs to see - but in the rain they cloud over and (far from helping) they dim your vision.

I’m a fundraiser for Amnesty and that means I’m a streetwalker – not a hooker you understand - but I still walk the streets. I knock on doors and raise funds.

So I set out tonight knowing I’d get wet. It rains - you get wet.

It helps to do my job with a light heart and a smile on my face. I’m friendly – but when it rains like this, supporters don’t want to come to the door. I guess they don’t want to get wet either.
Tonight the streets and the pavements had that sheen – they were slick with moisture.
The night had gathered early and spread a cloak of darkness before its proper time. A gloomy Hitchcock film noir kind of darkness.

There’s rain and then there’s rain. As I grew up I was told that the Eskimos, now called the Inuit, have a zillion words for snow but we just call rain “rain.” Actually we also call rain by storm and drizzle and mist and showers. But I don’t have the language to describe this fine misty drizzle that permeates and wets everything. A constant, unremitting sadness that falls softly from the sky and makes London such a dark and shiny place.

This rain isn’t isolated or local or patchy or scattered or sporadic. It isn’t a shower (anyway what is a shower – when it rains it rains. If you are in a shower it’s raining.) No this is consistent.
As I walked I could feel and smell the rain and see the haloes of light around the streetlights. A fizzing of the light around the bulbs – some yellow some white. I could also hear the difference the rain made deadening the traffic noises like a blanket of calm.

The rain has its own beauty but unsurprisingly tonight’s walk and tonight’s fundraising were not a great success.

We know the stillness will not last, but it lingers, stretching and tightening with anticipation. Suddenly the air is filled with sound. The sound is relentless, dense, almost touchable, it expands into every crevice, washing around the dark motionless walls and heads and shoulders.

Two thousand pairs of eyes gaze at the stage, lifted from the cavernous, wedge- shaped space by a pool of light. There, seven musicians sit in horseshoe formation, intently looking at their scores, but one of them, with his shoulders turned away from the mass of people, barely needs to look, because this score, this music, now resonating through everything and everyone, originated in his mind thirty years ago. With his whole body he nods to his musicians and they respond by gently leaning this way and that, and we, the audience, mirror that movement, like a forest softly swaying in the wind, and for four hours all of us are woven together within a cathedral of sound.

Afterwards, when all have left, the concert hall once more becomes a void, stark and bright, bereft of purpose.

Space A

Quick, Easy, Stick...
Integral 512 MB

Extra slim swan tips...
Sony Ericsson, Canon

Jvc Essentials
Word-tank C35
REF A4T

CD...Stop...
Panasonic

Month, Date, Casio...

Provisional Mark, Broad

White Bottom Half...40grams

Visit, Seminar, Presentation.....

Wish, Winter Break Event
...
Private and Confidential Time Line

Ernie Gehr film season

All Programmes will take place in the Starr Auditorium, Tate Modern.

Tate Modern
Bankside
London SE1 9TG

Book online, or call +44 (0)20 7887 8888

http://www.tate.org.uk


Since he first began making films in the regular 8mm format during the 1960s, Ernie Gehr has developed into one of the most singular artists in the cinematic avant-garde. Considered a filmmaker's filmmaker by peers and critics such as J. Hoberman and P. Adams Sitney, Gehr produces lucid, rigorous, radiant films and digital media works that address the fundamental qualities of film as film, and the anxieties of cinematic representation. Gehr is recognized as one of the great cinema poets of the city, and has consistently sought dynamic new relationships between space and perception through his examination of the urban field. This series of five programmes includes work ranging from his 1970 shock corridor masterpiece, Serene Velocity, to dynamic city films such as Side/Walk/Shuttle (1991), and his most recent work in digital video. Don’t miss this long overdue London survey of Gehr’s transformative films.

Friday 2 November 2007, 19.00
Programme One
Wait, USA 1968, 16mm, 7’
Table, USA 1976, 16mm, 16’
Field, USA 1970, 16mm, 9’
Mirage, USA 1981, 16mm, 10’
Serene Velocity, USA 1970, 35 mm, 23’

Saturday 3 November 2007, 15.00
Programme Two
Rear Window, 1991, 16mm, 10’
This Side of Paradise, USA 1991, 16mm, 15’
Passage, USA 2003, 16mm, 14’
Side/Walk/Shuttle, USA 1991, 16mm, 40’

Saturday 3 November, 19.00
Program Three
Glider, USA 2001, Digital Video, 37’
The Astronomer’s Dream, USA 2004, digital video, 15’
Before the Olympics, USA 2006, digital video 15’
Cinematic Fertilizer -- 1, USA 2007, digital video, 5’
Cinematic Fertilizer -- 2, USA 2007, digital video, 8’

Sunday 4 November, 15.00
Program Four
Reverberation, USA 1969, 16mm, 23’
Still, USA 1971, 16mm, 55’
Greene Street, USA 2004, digital video, 5’

Sunday 4 November, 17.30
Program Five
The Morse Code Operator (or The Monkey Wrench), USA 2006, digital video 25’
Cotton Candy, USA 2001, digital video, 54’

Leicester square...

A small space

An enclosed space…

It feels claustrophobic, even oppressive, maybe association?

It’s slightly oppressive despite it being a cubicle of functional, human space…

Should I say human function space?

Walls…

The two longest are one and a half metres

Back wall maybe one…

Opposite is the stall door

Some kind of cheap but durable laminate on its front

My nose awakes…

The smell of uric acid pervades and invades

Faeces splattered porcelain

Dripping taps and flushing cisterns

Never got that whole ‘meditation space’ thing…

Stall doors slam and punters leave

It’s still oppressive and dank

And reeks of its function

I have more hang-ups than I can shake a stick at.

 

 

 

 

 

signor louse

 As the gardenia woodlouse

 Trundled away towards the horizon,

 I suddenly realised

 That all my days of toil

 Had finally produced  a valid artistic fruit…

boris the spider

 

My paintbrush was attacked

By a very large and aggressive spider

He must have felt the vibrations of me painting

And went into automatic predator mode

Little did he know I was not a tiny fly sticking to the dinner plate of his lair

Instead, I was an enormous hairy thing of a paintbrush

Poking into the holes high on the scaffold at the front of the house

default...

I find myself a space by default.

A tunnel between Aldgate and tower hill.

We’ve been for the past 20 minutes.

As a space, I can honestly say that it is becoming claustrophobic.

Bizarrely enough, there is a signal for phones, which is quite annoying for me

but saying that I am probably annoying other people with the noise of my headphones blaring out the southpark I am watching. There are now three different people describing to abstract voices how they have been stuck on a train for 20 minutes and that they can see the station possibly 100 yards away. There are 18 people in the carriage, of which eleven are men. People are beginning to get aggravated and to puff and blow but my word doc and I, oh and my south park, are very content thank you very much. A woman is picking her nose (I really didn’t know they did that.) There is illegible graffiti scratched along the glass. You would think that if they were going to risk being arrested they would at least care about the aesthetic of the marks they make. Coughing and spluttering has become regular; as has the tapping of some annoying bastard on his laptop -I wonder if we could walk to the station? We’ve now been here for 40 minutes and I have to admit I am getting concerned. My emotional space is fraught with impatience and the nonsense of personal life and my physical space is claustrophobic but the two are somehow connected. People are starting to lose patience.. 5 people are on their phones now and agitation is beginning to overcome everyone, including myself. People cannot stand to be confined or have their routine interfered with…. They want to know what is happening but just knowing will change nothing, the fact remains we are stuck here. It is quite strange that trains are going one way but not the other. I am begin to wonder if someone hasn’t been platform, surfing. My stomach is killing me, as is my leg, but unfortunately I can’t put that down to my predicament. A couple of guys have begin to doze off and I must say the noise of the fluorescent lights ad the humming of the trains batteries is quite soporific. We have now been here for 50 minutes….mmmm monotony abounds…. there is a rogue hair atop the ‘s’ key of my laptop-really hope its mine and that it doesn’t belong to some skank. I’ve never really been a fan of people that put their feet up on the seats of public transport but maybe that’s an age thing. . As a physical space its nicer than my public toilet but only by default, in that, there are no bad smells or people trying to sell me drugs… finally, we have begun to move!

So after 50 minutes I was witness to something I quite like but don’t see that often which was the old ‘blitz spirit’. I have to say there is something quite appealing about Londoners when they decide to let down their barriers. People actually spoke to one another which is something I see so rarely these days… it must be nearer an hour and I am going back to watching southpark…

 

 

Cold boot and off

Type…

Password, enter

Type…

Bookmark, google, enter

Type…

Tate Britain and modern

Type…

A step past Duchamp and three points of Moore

Type…

And I saluted Breton at 6 paces Lefebvre des noettes

And on to three dancers

Type…

E la Quattro stagioni di Twombly

Type…

Up to the number fourteen

Type, type, type…

And ultimately on to the three judges.

 

Between the eye and the eye lid.

The space, which I found is very tight. It’s even hard to call it a space. It almost doesn’t physically exist. It divides things in two. To be more specific it is a boundary between two other different spaces. Possible that even more than two. Depends how we approach the subject. It defines the line between what’s physical and what doesn’t materially exist. It is the space, which divides what is already substantially structured, from something what might become a form. The space, which I found is really tight. It’s difficult to say if it’s a space really, in fact it’s only this almost non existing distance between the eye and the eyelid.

rigid fruiting bodies

mildew
honeydew
powdery mildew

Hegel
Kierkegaard
Notes from the Underground

cold
humid
damp

I Even Met Happy Gypsies (six copies)
Michel Gondry
Mirror

musty brown tufts.
slimy webwork of yellow threads,
yellow crust

Ivan’s Childhood
Fotografija
The Conflict of Interpretations

yellow blotches

in the mood for love
the seventh seal

mould in my nostrils.
warm humid damp in my clothes

the sacrifice

22 species of slime mould
and their Rigid Fruiting Bodies

Found Text

A little dark door, hidden quiet inconspicuously between two very high walls which hold great buildings.

This door is just big enough to let two people through.

Old, wooden and hinged with raught iron. As it swings open, there is a very long alleyway which feels quite encroached

There, at the very bottom, is exactly what I hadn’t been looking for. This building, in comparison to its surroundings looks very small, but it is not. It has stood here for years.

Though in great need of repair it has stood the test of time and in actual fact should be held as one of our greatest surviving monuments.

No-one seems to know that it is here, in this location, except for the church goers and the priest that preaches here.

Do you know where I am?

Grrrrrrr

Grrrrrrr

Pounding the pavement
To lighten the mood.
Five hours of frustration
Last night on the phone.
Broadband was promised,
All singing, all dancing
New Mac in place,
Hopes riding high.
Old cables untangled,
New connections connected,
Plugs in right sockets,
All gleaming and new.
Excitement is rising,
Geek Squad consulted,
Passwods and settings,
All systems on GO!

The router is faulty,
Connection has failed,
Replacement equipment,
In two weeks time.

Attempting a bypass.
Thow energy at it,
Off to phone warehouse,
To find a real person
Can't put me on 'hold'......

Pounding the pavement,
To lighten the mood.

gRRRRRRR

dead man walking

being the worst poet in the world My inspiration came from the ramblings of Bob Dylan and Jean Paul Sartre.

And I quote from the book of Nausea page 31, here he sees a women walking down the street late at night from his flat window and realises he can foresee the future, as he predicts her movements.

" I see the future. It is there, poised over the street, hardly more dim than the present. What advantage will accrue from this realisation?" he goes on to say " I don’t know where I am anymore; do I see her motions, or do I foresee them? This is time, time laid bare, coming slowly into existence, keeping us waiting."

Dead man walking

The sleep that stays in your eyes
The welcome mat which you says goodbye
The wind in your face
While listening to black lace
Keeping up the pace

The rules are made to be broken
But not when its so ken
I need to go straight.
Carpet right
Then eight till late
They say that two wrongs don’t make a right…
But three lefts do….
So I put that to the test its true

The bus stop queue
God I need the loo
I eat to much tiefoo
And always forget to chew.

24/7 booze
A women with big,
boots just round the corner
The red man, a goof and a toff
I do up my Mac for the section attack
The green man beeps a fact
God she has a nice,
racks of fruit and stacks of loot.

You snooze you loose.
I'm still full of booze and in bed
Without the women with the nice,
chest of draws i put on my smalls.
the ones with superman calls.

The Walk

We descend onto the path.. a GIVE WAY sign painted in huge white letters on the ground.. the cyclists career past and don’t look much like giving way – or is that directed at us?

Under the bridge.. a bricked-up doorway covered in graffiti, well... tags. Then we see into a window.. is it a gallery? There’s some sort of sculpture... a quick bunk up and I peer into what looks like someone’s bedroom – one of those run-down but probably hugely expensive warehouse flats...shabby, studenty and probably damp. Opposite are the really expensive new developments – ‘islington canalside apartments’ ....

Autumn leaves floating on the smelly, dirty, toxic water – you wouldn’t wanna fall in!

Banksy-esque art work on the rusty bridge.

Stop start stop start snap snap

A bin for dog shit – seems like people round here have actually used it – oh no there was that stuff we just managed to avoid earlier on...

A lost cat poster – “much loved, wearing a gold collar” and a photocopied picture but no description...

The canal boats – some odd-shaped ones I’ve never seen before.. wouldn’t fancy living on one though.. too narrow and damp (again).

A lone fisherman with a can of Holsten...

SLOW.. in big white letters on the ground... as the cyclists whizz past and we have to be careful we don’t fall in.. or trip up on one of those things you moor the boats to – what are they called anyway?

The canal reflected in a frosted window.. snap snap..

More graffiti.. and now the really posh houses whose gardens back onto the canal path. Incongruous hedges, gates and papyrus grasses – bet they have a few break-ins....

A ‘multi-grain’ hula hoops packet lying amongst the red autumn leaves..

The top of a bus just visible on the bridge..

Stop start stop start snap snap snap...

Kids playing in a council estate..

A street lamp reflected in the water..

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12(!) empty cans of Special Brew behind the bench underneath a huge brightly coloured piece of graffiti proclaiming – “HOPE”...

3 coots or are they moorhens diving in the water... a wagtail on a rooftop and 2 geese flying overhead....

A lost scrap of paper on the ground

“London Paddington 10 something

Newport Gwent 12.31

Hereford 13.54”

And finally up to the noisy road again to catch our bus home....

From my kitchen to my bedroom

Red: Nooo! you are wrong; I told you I would have painted that wall red and also orange. At the end of the day it gives to the room a strange mood, that’s true… well with some beer and a couple of friends it could be a nice pub. It is perhaps the colour of passion and, actually, it fits very well with the furniture and the curtain isn’t it.
That pendant, that pendant made of a panettone box it’s been a good idea, and even more good is the red bulb I put inside of it. The red light is coming out of the stars I carved in to the cardboard making the entrance a kind of a whorehouse entrance.

Green: They love it, I swear, they probably thing to be in a kind of an indoor garden, that’s why they don’t go out really often. This two lazy cats love to make their nails on it and they loooose hundreds of hairs that after I have to clean up.
Marta hate it, she always says – Let’s change that bug collector! Well, we can not do it we don’t have enough money, and to be honest it remain when I was child… At home we had the same carpet.

Red: I can’t sit there any more, it has become their bed…

Grey: He left the house, and I don’t even know where he is now. He was such a good guy, he probably left that helmet here as a kind of present but I can’t use it, my bicycle got stolen and I’m not going to buy another.

Black: I promise, tomorrow I am going to buy a basket and I will fit all of them in to it.

Blu: AGAIN… HE DID IT AGAIN… HOW MANY TIMES I TELL HIM NOT TO LEAVE HIS SLIPPERS HERE…

Yellow: Those eyes over the door window always make me scared. What do you want now? You want to come in don’t you… lazy hairball.

Blu: That tin is always full of nuts, how is that possible?
Squirrels are happy but I can’t feed the entire animal I have in my garden. I have never spent a pound for those nuts… I have to ask Marta about those nuts…

Pink: I always had some doubt about it. Well, it is just a phone but that colour… I never thought to have a phone like that even because when someone calls a big red heart on top of it starts to flash... What a horrible think!

Green: They look really horrible, are they dieing? How is that possible?
Well probably six month or more without a drop of water is a long time even for a cactus…

Cream: I hate that wall colour, even the cats hate it, and they make their nails in that corner and they scratch all the paper. I am sure, the landlord is going to tell me off for that, I didn’t do it, I have to do something, I will think about that tomorrow.

Brown, white, yellow, blue, red: I haven’t any other place to leave it… well a bin could be a right pace, but I can’t do it… that guitar is anyway a nice memory. Well the paint my friend Piero made on the top of it is horrible; I am not a hippie, I don’t want to be a hippie, let’s put it in the cupboard.

Black, green, white, blue, brown, yellow: Is getting bigger, that pile of boxes look like a kind of modern sculpture, a totem pole, I could make a nice piece out of that…

Good night Marta…

IKEA

The entrance is marked with the self-same word – an instruction rather than a flourish of architectural persuasion. The full-length wall of windows shows an unhappy diagonal of two flights of escalators taking customers towards the heights of a corrugated ceiling and intertwined barricades of steel girders.
I do as I am told
and enter and join the flow upwards.
Blue and yellow signs are suspended from above:
NEW! DISPLAY. SHOP ONLINE. GOOD IDEA!
A celebratory mix of instruction and description
that already jars when read deliberately.
Grey pathways
trail through
laminate living rooms.
Price tags sway
as people brush by.
Arrows printed
on pathways
point pedestrians
around the store:
from this post
to the next to the next,
ad infinitum until end.

Vistas of suggested living arrangements make recommendations:
Divide our lives into manageable compartments.
Decorate our lives with polished pebbles and dyed dead twigs.
Have a lie in every Sunday with coffee and croissants in bed.
‘THESE PICTURES ARE ALL AVAILABLE DOWNSTAIRS.'

Bored customers simulate bored living as they pause to rest on the showroom furniture to discuss intimate details of their furnishing prerequisites. Their conversations are lost to the noise of tannoy instructions, screaming children, intermittent slapping and the slamming of laminate cupboards being tested for durability.

Directed
downstairs
the landscape
changes.

The floor a barren, cracked and scarred concrete, interspersed with wire cages filled with vast numbers of tea towels, bottle openers and ice cube trays.
The aisles between cargoes are strewn with abandoned trolleys. Their bare structures suggest a desertscape of carcasses stripped by vultures and bleached by glaring fluorescent lights.

I feel like a flaneur lost in a vast Kerouac landscape.

Gradually the warehouse opens up into a canyon view with towering piles of flat packs. Large signs announce SELF SERVE
and people help themselves to the cardboard building blocks.
Their faces looking like they never really comprehended
the promises made upstairs of civilized, happy and harmonious living. Ubiquitous grim determination perhaps suggests that they never really needed them.

As we queue
at the tills
a final insult.
SHOP ONLINE
signs that swing
above our heads
demonstrate
that at least
one person
working here
has managed
to retain their
sense of humour.

untitled

I leave the house
Eventually!
Destination unknown
Intentions unclear
I walk on

My feet carry me to a place of duration
I stand with the others
Awaiting commencement
My vessel arrives
I am contained for now
Regular images
Faces a bluurrrrr
My earphones are buzzing

It arrives at my stop

I don’t leave I continue
We all continue on
Where am I? Am I lost?
Continue my journey
My mind starts to pace
That council estate calls
I get off

With a frog in my heart
And fuel at my feet
Floating
The frog in my heart makes a pain in my head
Familiarity,
Security,
Regenerated habitats
Apparently!

Why go to work?
Not today I’m not due?!
Its something I know
Who I am
What I do
Walk into the office
The space is not filled
Faces on me way too much
I’m unsure
Can’t bare to leave
Wander round
Sit outside
As my cigarette burns
So do my eyes
On this sunny day
There is rain on my cheek
Ok I must leave
Such a random pursuit

Awaiting my arrival
She rings!
Where am I?
Wish I knew
My feet are aground
My head is aloft
Walking through delusion
Litter here
Passers by
My heart beats
as I die

Wait for my friend she’s a bus
And she bends
She comes but she leaves
Alone yet again

I hear in my head 76 takes u Angel
I take this and I go

Naively I search for the Angel
A friend
I sit and I wait till my journey reaches an end

Bank
Waterloo
No Angel for me!
I walk around

HAWARD
ONWARD
AWKWARD
TIRED
TICKET
CONTENT
DESENT
STAIRS

As I lower my view point
A piano doth play
Performance art
Is coming my way
I stand and observe
I leave none the less
BETTER
NOT CURED!!

walking text- interactions

Through the electric impulses, which were sent from one neuron to another, the body was forced to perform the movement. Through the friction of the foot and the surface and complicated yet unconscious ability to balance, the body selected the direction. Rhythmic bending of knees and a smooth movement of feet moved the body across the surface; rather forward than backward and to the sides. Hardly ever backward. Incomparable proportion.

A mixture of sound, movement and physical force along with distant, individual and completely alienated actions of the consciousness. The sound remains harmonious even though the intensity and timbre constantly change.

Khshhhh,
Khshhhh,
Khshhhh,
Khshhhh

Three hundred and twelve

The sound changes its timbre into a smoother form, almost impossible to hear.

Fifty seven

The surface is replaced for the second time and every single step mixes with this metallic echo, so inartificial. The amplitude grows.

Bam,
Bam,
Bam,
Bam
(with the short “a”)

Twenty four

There is another aspect. The actual process of walking with its relation to the surrounding and the experience which takes place only in that very moment. The only evidence of this interaction is the sound, which disappears as quickly as it comes into being.


agnieszka

The Walk

North Greenwich Tube, my walk hasn't officially started yet. It won't start until I walk through the "O". But I have already got that physical nervousness in my stomach, this is pain. Oh! the "O" isn't even open, I have to go through side doors, and that "O" was such an important part of the whole O2 experience, they said...
I walk through the doors and my walk begins. The security guard notice my insecurity; Hello, how are you? Yea good. Can I, er, help you with something? You notice straight away he is doing something he has been told to, I know, I was at the O2 introduction too. I have to put my bag through that X-ray thing.
It buzzes as I walk through, a guy with a detector-stick, the phone in my pocket, no worries... I am now on hostile land, that’s how it feels, this is not public space in the way that the streets are, I have no particular right to be here and do as I please, this is cooperate land. own by AEG. I am here in an act of art, they just do not know...
Walking towards what they call "the entertainment avenue" the place is massive, it is made to impress, the decor is art deco, it looks shit, like an airport, or like any entertainment venue anywhere in the world, I could be in LA, or Japan. They said this was unique, my arse.
I really don't want to meet anyone that I used to work with, least of all him, the biggest cunt I met in my life. But as soon as I turn in to the "avenue" I see him coming towards me, together with some guy I never met. I'm looking around, mostly upwards, (that's what you're suppose to here) as I'm waiting for us to get closer, close enough, we are acknowledging each other for half a second before I say:
-Hello Richard. A proper hello, not hi or anything, and the name, I am proud of this.
-Hi, how are you? He even smiles, he is a rock.
-I'm fine thanks, you?
-Good
Whoosh, we have past each others. So weird, that two people can act so cool, when the last time they saw each other, it was so hostile. The conversation lasted as we met and were in talk able distance. It didn't cost anyone of us anything, but still... He must wonder what I'm doing here, because I have a hung-up on what happened, he must understand that, embarrassing, yes. But it actually make no difference what he thinks, I realise to my delight I even believe it. Because he is the biggest cunt I met in my life. That statement is effective, it is my shield... my walk continuous.
Passing bars restaurants, some of the bars I don't remember, but they must have been here then, three months ago, when we were carrying stools and tables, passing that sculptural thingie I'm just passing right now, thought I would hit the furniture in that thing. I got so agitated when the guys wouldn't let me carry anything heavy, there are weak guys to, I go to the gym.
The last bit is passing the big open space, where they are going to do the Ice later. In the summer it's going to become an indoor beach, yeah, I thought I was going to puke when he said that. Some workers lie on their knee's on the floor, probably preparing for the ice. There is really nothing left to see here now, but I have decided to walk to the very end, rounding a big palm like it was a mark in a race. It got to look strange. I'm now heading the same way back, the worst scenario that could happen did happen on the way here, so I'm not worried anymore, but my knees are still weak.
Those people that work here, how do they put up, perhaps they are just as stupid as all those people, god knows who they are, but they obviously exist. Those security guards who look at me suspiciously, or those people talking behind the bar, perhaps some of them look at the art-deco decor with the same disgust as me, just that they can keep their faces straight. Because even I could have put up with this shit, but I couldn't keep my face straight.
Walking past that bar, I feel an urge to walk in, meet some of the people I worked with, some of which I actually liked. But that is not what this walk is about. Have to continue, just out and leave, by tube. As I walk out of the dome, I see the 'cunt' in the corner of my eye, smoking. I'm finished here now.

Psicomagia and walking...

Cilean Artist Alejandro Jorodowskyi, believes in the power of "Poetic Gestures", apparently impulsive and dramatic actions taken in order to communicate symbolically with the subconscious mind, free the unecessary suppressed emotions and break old patterns..
These "Poetic Gestures" which later developped into a real "science" called Psicomagia, could include anything from a symbolic amputation of a sexual organ ( for someone with a problem related to his sexuality for example) to the sacrifice of small edible animals such as chickens, ect..( which were then cooked over dinner with friends and family) as a way for example to clear inner anger...
For how crazy it might seems people following these acts of Psicomagic ( or teatro panico) found relief and at times healed completely the broken part of their personality...
the subconsciouss mind responds very well to symbols.
However...


One of the Poetic Gestures Alejandro tried to make when he was younger with his then girlfriend, a poetess herself, was to try and WALK IN A STRAIGHT LINE.

The two poets (so they called themselves at the time), started walking in a straight line without avoiding any obstacle or object found along their way but facing it...for example if they came across a wall or a car or tree they climbed over it climbing instead of changing direction...if the two arrived to a door of a house they would ring the bell and explain to the person living in the house that they were poets doing the poetic gesture of walking in a straigh line...and that they had to walk through the house and its garden in order to keep the poetry in their action alive.

Our homework in critical practice for the last week was to walk somewhere and to write a three minute long piece about it...so when I found out about Jorodowsky's walk I though of putting it in this blog.
It is a great example of how to use imagination in order to break the pattern of the normal repetitive reality we are accustomed to (such as walking) and altering it in order to create magic-or aliveness.....which makes us remember we are the creators of our own reality..



SIMONA

The Undesired Destination or the Movement of the Heart

The heart consists of two intermittent muscular pumps, the right and the left ventricle

Each Pump is filled from a reservoir, the right and the left atrium.


1 The right ventricle pumps the blood through the lungs to the left side of the heart

And the left ventricle simultaneously pumps the blood through the rest of the body and back to the right side


2 The beating ventricle pumps the blood through the lungs to the left side of the heart

And the beating ventricle simultaneously pumps the blood through the rest of the body and back to the right side

3 racing pumps the blood through the lungs to the left side of the heart

And the racing simultaneously pumps the blood through the rest of the body and back to the right side

4 fluttering the blood through the lungs to the left side of the heart

fluttering pumps the blood through the rest of the body and back to the right side

5 pounding through the lungs to the left side of the heart

pounding the blood through the rest of the body and back to the right side


6 palpitating the lungs to the left side of the heart

palpitating through the rest of the body and back to the right side

7 quivering to the left side of the heart
quivering the rest of the body and back to the right side


8 trembling the left side of the heart

trembling of the body and back to the right side


9 bursting of the heart

bursting and back to the right side


10 The right ventricle pumps the blood through the lungs to the left side of the heart

And the left ventricle simultaneously pumps the blood through the rest of the body and back to the right side

And I made it to my undesired destination.

Brick Lane= My Road, Music= My Life

I press “Shuffle “ on my Ipod.
I walk out my front door.
SLAM!
The music fills my ears.

“He walked into my life, And now he’s taken over”

As I turn right the sickly familiar curry smells of Brick Lane fill my nostrils.
Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock.
And the onslaught of my journey begins.
All I need right now is alcohol.

“And it’s beautiful, Yes it’s beautiful”

The noise of my red heels on the cobbles draw attention.
I cringe.
Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock.
“Hey hey sexy lady” they holler.
EURGH
“Fuck off” I say under my breath.

“I’ve gone with better looking guys, He’s gone with better looking girls”

I cross the busy hectic street.
“You want curry … we do very very nice curry here”
I pay no attention and make a point of fiddling with my earphones chord to emphasize my obvious ignorance.
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
I can’t believe he hasn’t rung me yet. What an arsehole!
Ignorant dick.
What’s he’s problem?!

“But now we’re beautiful, I think we’re beautiful”

I dodge a pile of vomit .. mmmm tasty.
I pick up my pace check the time and continue.
Tick, tock, tick tock.
If he does ring me now I’m gonna ignore him.
Obviously he thinks my text message was ignorance worthy.
What a wanker!

“I don’t need love affairs anymore, I don’t love affairs anymore”

I pass through a group of hoxtonite wannabes.
Hmm…that girl has nice shoes.
Then into a group of brick lane ghetto boys.
“BRAP EEEAAAAAAAZZZZZYYYYY NOW CHEK IT BITCH”

“can’t you see it’s the chemistry”

The smell of putrid rotten food passes over me, it smells like bad breath .. sexy.
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
I run my hands over the cold black railings as I approach café 1001.
That fucking twat I hate him.
If I ever see him again I’ll punch him.
ARGH MEN ARE CUNTS

“You really must agree together we are beautiful, we are so beautiful”

I turn the corner
I’m greeted by the familiar faces of my friends and the ringing of my phone.
I answer.
It’s him.

“I am the rain, he is the sun. And now we’ve made a rainbow. I think it’s beautiful, It’s really beautiful.”


Tick, tock, tick.

untitled

my socks are wet just as i would have passed through a field
of wild growing grass.i feel water slowly dripping from my chin.
it's fifty three minutes past one.i'm walking faster.
the letter i wrote to you i probably wet in my bag.
i received one from you which soacking wet as i took it
out of my mailbox,remember?i told you.
it's tuesday.it's pouring rain.

09/10/2007

The beet of the world under my feet, pulsates through my head. It gets stronger when you take into account the fact that i head phones in my ears. It's designed to drown out that incessant back drone of the road, the rush of every annoyed egotistical bastard on the road. Saying that they aren't a lot different when they are walking on the road around me.

"Free London Lite!"

I swear the next person to shove a 'free' paper into my face will get one shoved right up their ass. It's like they want you to hate them.

Waiting at the lights as they change is like a face off. Everyone lines up with each other, picking out which is the weakest on the other side then turning and looking for the traffic to stop so that they can go.

Then, the lights go, bang everyone goes had first at each other and the weakest have to zigzag through the hoards of people coming at them. Its like that scene from the Lion King, where the wilder beasts come herding over the hill at Simba all at once like there is no escaping it.

There are so many of these lights as well it's confusing, almost like a stress test. See how far we can push them before they completely crack. The only way to get through this is to run for the door of your building, not that in any way or form do you actually want to get there. But the way you run is important in this city. You have to look like you know where you are going but what you are actually thinking is that you want to yell is "i am trying to get rid of you lot!"

Decide Yourself

I enter a poorly lit road which seems to be a dead end and by this time I am completely lost, so I investigate and come across a dark ominous alleyway at the end of the road. As I make my way down this dark passage I suddenly here footsteps behind me and see a dark figure out the corner of my eye, I quicken my pace and approach the end of the alleyway only to find a group of black teens, all with there hoods up, they confront me and start hassling me looking for a reaction but I ignore them and try to get passed, then one of them pulls a Knife from his pocket and holds it to my neck. Another one demands “give me your wallet and your phone” and before I have a chance to reply they pin me up against a rough garden wall, they search my pockets and find what they where looking for, the feeling of relief comes across me as they start to walk away, then the teen with the knife turns and throws me back up against the wall, he fumbles in his pocket for the knife panic sets in and I manage to struggle free but only to find his friend who plunges his own knife into my stomach, pain shoots across my body, my legs become weak and I start to fall, as my head hits the damp cold pavement I hear “this is Brixton station”, the tube jolts I awake and in a daze stumble off the train and up the escalators with an anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach the only thought running through my head is that I will be coming across a dirty town with trouble round every corner. But as I exit I come across a bright vibrant city center with bustling shops, and lively markets, I see a beautifully lit old church towering above the shops, I then make my way to a local pub, and I find a modern looking bistro serving great food and full of friendly people, after a few pleasant drinks I move on, to find a modern Spanish style bar with a great atmosphere. I then proceeded to have a pleasant evening without any confrontations, that’s not say that nothing bad happens in Brixton, and sure I saw my fair share of dodgy looking people but no more than I see around the rest of London. And so I thought, maybe I should be careful about stereotyping places before I visit them.

By Martin

An Ode to Perambulation

Perambulation - walking, to you and me
What a fine and convenient matter;
It’s terribly beneficial in the feat of getting around
A lack of it results in being increasingly round
I’m certain without it, I would be considerably fatter

Why do we invariably opt for the Tube?
The bus, or the automobile?
Share in this sentiment the wonder I implore you to feel
When one can enjoy the charms of reaching one’s destination
Simply by involving oneself in perambulation

And so I account for my most recent Sunday afternoon ramble
Despite preposterous weather conditions beyond my control
I remained unwavering in my wish for a leisurely stroll
Up hill, down dale, distracted by mud and crunching through leaves
I completed an agreeable hike as I could hope to achieve

As I crusaded through the melee of slicing wind and biting rain
My poor reluctant and bedraggled hound in tow
It occurred to me to compose this rather dubious Ode
For you all to heed no doubt in sincere appreciation
And I can attribute it all to the knack of perambulation

Convinced in the knowledge that it is quite a talent
As I’m sure it has to be said,
That we can indeed even stand on two legs
Without further ado why not discard the stationary state we occupy to talk
And treat ourselves to a nice little walk?

Walks

Please post your walks...


Francis Alÿs

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