i dreamt of you today, that i'd called you... you answered muffled, and i, i was falling asleep. i couldn't stop this sleep taking over my body, my voice trailing away from me... i held the phone to my ear as i closed my eyes, and you couldn't find your words, your breath was sad but it grew comfortable, peaceful... i wanted to speak but the phone dropped from my hand, drowsier and drowsier... i don't know how long we stayed in silence... perhaps we slept together, only our phones alert and listening, waiting...

Romany Free . . . {for a friend, soothing the voices. a flower . . .}

'Rest your head
on the grass,'
sang the birds
from my hair.
'Shut your eyes,
shut your eyes.
Feel the tide
at your feet.
Feel the surf
at your hands.
Feel the foam
around your brow -
and your breath
rolling smoother...................And with each
than the waves.....................breath to the
upon the................................breeze,
sand.......................................hear "free",
...............................................whisper "free",
...............................................until like
...............................................the stork
...............................................and
...............................................his tower
...............................................you're
...............................................drifting
...............................................unpossessed,'

..............Fragrant pollens
...............filtered through
...............my head
.

.

.
............................................Harmony blossomed
............................................in
............................................echoes
............................................of
............................................unknown beauty
......................................................unknown beauty
......................................................................................unknown beauty



- from a tale by Robert Vavra

On the Metaphysics of Experimental Physics, by Karl Rogers

read a chapter here . . .

I got my copy of Karl's book a couple of days ago, with this gorgeous aroma of crisp paper and ink (is that odd? some books and magazines smell amazing... does anyone else do that? books are the fruits of the soul some imagine, perhaps then you can tell if they are ripe just by sniffing them . . .) I have started a little, entering the cave of the shadow puppeteers but i daren't journey too far yet ... soon, when my mind is less preoccupied with other things . . .

listening to: Aphex Twin On

there's another one in here to add to your lists 'to read'

Hi Tara, Good to hear from you -- as always.

Apart from 'War of the Worlds' and 'The Lion the Witch and The Wardrobe' I haven't read any of the books that you mentioned. I'm tempted to read 'Sputnik Sweetheart' by Murakami, largely because of your enthusiasm and the extracts in your blog. Incidently, the first book I remember reading (also when 4 years old) was The Hobbit.

I used to have thousands of books and gave most of them away -- but I still have hundreds in the attics and bookshelves of friends that are looking after them for me. These days I tend to only read Plato or Nietzsche for pleasure, but I'm currently working through the classics of Marx and Engels as part of the preparation for my next book. Not light reading, that's for sure, but, at points, especially his early work, Marx is very poetical and passionate in his writing. And I was delighted when the first copy of my book arrived in the post last week. It felt great to hold it my hands. Finally.

Anyway, I have a funny relationship with books these days and rarely read just for pleasure (except Plato or Nietzsche). I can't actually remember the last novel that I read. I think that it was K-Pax by Gene Brewer or was it The Handmaiden's Tale by Margret Attwood? Those were the last two I remember reading, but that was about five years ago. Maybe I've read a novel since then, on a plane or train, but I just don't remember it. Usually, I just read philosophy books.

However, I am currently reading a play in Spanish about the last few hours of Che Guevara's life, and I'm enjoying that, but it is hard work for me and I have to use a dictionary quite a lot. But, all in all, for pleasure, I largely just like to travel, quietly think, or enjoy the company of others, over a good meal and some wine. I enjoy good conversation much more than reading. I used to like watching movies quite a lot, but I've become tired of leaving cinemas feeling disappointed and a little frustrated. So I don't tend to go to the cinema much. I think that the last movie that I enjoyed was 'Hero', which was also enhanced by the fact that it was in chinese with spanish subtitles and I had to translate for my friend who couldn't read spanish -- fortunately, being a classical chinese story it was extremely easy to follow visually, but I was able to follow the gist of the dialogue without too much effort and I just made up the rest.

As for plays, musicals, and opera? I guess that I'm just a TV generation kid. But I've enjoyed going to a theatre, when I've gone. But I generally have to be quite stoned to enjoy opera. Having said that, the last time I went to a theatre was last year to see an operatic version of Don Quixote -- it was very good, actually, but because of my very poor grasp of spanish, especially then, I didn't realise that it was for children when I bought the tickets. Very funny. But it is odd. Everytime that I have gone to the theatre to see a play, opera,or show, then I have enjoyed it. I should go more often. I remember seeing you perform in that play in Bath (what was its name?) and I enjoyed that. Largely because you were in it. I'd like to see you in a play again, some day... ...

anyway, I'm going to have some lunch. So bye for now, love, Karl.

listening to: Andres Segovia chopin - prelude in A

5 moments of bliss

the moment before dawn on a cool crisp morning. pure ma, a moment between two breaths . . . the smells, the creasing silence, the dark freedom of the sky

watching billie holiday play; waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs to pounce at my feet, and when she curls up sleepy and content, or when she jumps up to sit on my sholders and nuzzles into my ear

that moment when there's nothing left undone and nothing yet to do

sleepy morning coffee, freshly brewed, with people i love

thrusting my hands into the sand, hot soft sun, cool breeze, feeling the grains run against my skin

.................................................................what ones would you choose?

listening to: Stephan Micus desert poems

the head of samuel l jackson and the body of an angel

:: how jedi are you? ::

a nod to sleep dirt for unleashing the force!

listening to: Mozart sonata for violin & piano no.26 in b flat major

nothing like chilling in the garden in front of the fire. a little music, potatoes baking, talking about nothing inparticular, . . . the city disappears and we bliss out in our own private idaho.

You scored as Cultural Creative. Cultural Creatives are probably the newest group to enter this realm. You are a modern thinker who tends to shy away from organized religion but still feels as if there is something greater than ourselves. You are very spiritual, even if you are not religious. Life has a meaning outside of the rational. Cultural Creative 100% Existentialist 94% Idealist 94% Postmodernist 81% Materialist 69% Modernist 50% Romanticist 44% Fundamentalist 38% What is Your World View? (corrected...again) created with QuizFarm.com think i've figured out how to post properly. world views shared by a conjurer of words. be prepared to think when you do this quiz. interesting questions. and now i see how i am divided into easily digestible sections, that all add up to 570%. Took the test again so that i could post it properly. i think the only thing that has stayed the same are my cultural creative and fundamental figures. must be the influences of existential flux and postmodernism, the flickering shadows of contextual truth . . . (shit. the image still isn't posting. i love it, really beautiful, but you'll just have to take my word for it, unless you discover your cultural creativity too . . .) listening to: The Doors stoned immaculate

and tomorrow? which wings will i fly with then?

You are one of the few out there whose wings are
truly ANGELIC. Selfless, powerful, and
divine, you are one blessed with a certain
cosmic grace. You are unequalled in
peacefulness, love, and beauty. As a Being of
Light your wings are massive and a soft white
or silver. Countless feathers grace them and
radiate the light within you for all the world
to see. You are a defender, protector, and
caretaker. Comforter of the weak and forgiver
of the wrong, chances are you are taken
advantage of once in awhile, maybe quite often.
But your innocence and wisdom sees the good in
everyone and so this mistreatment does not make
you colder. Merciful to the extreme, you will
try to help misguided souls find themselves and
peace. However not all Angelics allow
themselves to be gotten the better of - the
Seraphim for example will be driven to fighting
for the sake of Justice and protection of those
less powerful. Congratulations - and don't ever
change - the world needs more people like you.



*~*~*Claim Your Wings - Pics and Long Answers*~*~*

once upon a dawn of a distant sunrise

Isn't it funny how people come into your life? Perhaps you meet them in passing, or a name falls gently to the ground and buds there like a primrose in spring which you walk by with a nod and a breath, the colour marks you, but soon you walk on by into the trees. Then, by chance, as you sip your morning coffee, those pale yellow petals all but forgotten, thinking now of stranger fruits, you stumble upon a glade of them, or perhaps just one, radiant in monochrome grass, and you reach the heart of a question asked moons before . . .

MA in the 21st Century

binary theatre

and

the millenium monkey

Blaugustine

the tao that can not be spoken

Fear

all threaded weaving through..... the smiles
at the darkside

meeting at the hearth
fires leaping just
keep on dancing

whatever gets you through the night

listening to : Japan "the unconventional"

You are a PHOENIX in your soul and your
wings make a statement. Huge and born of flame,
they burn with light and power and rebirth.
Ashes fall from your wingtips. You are an
amazingly strong person. You survive, even
flourish in adversity and hardship. A firm
believer in the phrase, 'Whatever doesn't kill
you only makes you stronger,' you rarely fear
failure. You know that any mistake you make
will teach you more about yourself and allow
you to 'rise from the ashes' as a still greater
being. Because of this, you rarely make the
same mistake twice, and are not among the most
forgiving people. You're extremely powerful and
wise, and are capable of fierce pride, passion,
and anger. Perhaps you're this way because you
were forced to survive a rough childhood. Or
maybe you just have a strong grasp on reality
and know that life is tough and the world is
cruel, and it takes strength and independence
to survive it. And independence is your
strongest point - you may care for others, and
even depend on them...but when it comes right
down to it, the only one you need is yourself.
Thus you trust your own intuition, and rely on
a mind almost as brilliant as the fire of your
wings to guide you.You are eternal and because
you have a strong sense of who and what you
are, no one can control your heart or mind, or
even really influence your thinking. A symbol
of rebirth and renewal, you tend to be a very
spiritual person with a serious mind - never
acting immature and harboring a superior
disgust of those who do. Likewise, humanity's
stupidity and tendency to want others to solve
their problems for them frustrates you
endlessly. Though you can be stubborn,
outspoken, and haughty, I admire you greatly.

Image Source: stp.ling.uu.se/ ~klasp/Boris.html

*~*~*Claim Your Wings - Pics and Long Answers*~*~*

bitter-sweet day

I feel so sad today, la caffard comme ma mere elle dit . . . though there is really no reason for me to feel this way.

Creatively things are promising, the meeting went well yesterday, the director is really excited about my piece, and I am now officially part of 'The Graduates' festival at the BAC, showing "exciting new work" from around the country. We meet again next week to discuss practicalities, such as programming, number of performance slots per day, potential spaces I might use . . .

I wondered around the area a little before I came back, said hello to a woman who was staring at me as she walked past with her dog and who promptly told me to fuck off. Slipped into a couple of charity shops and bought a few presents for myself, for other people. Found a little wooden treasure chest, a heavy pewter picture frame (for Claire I decided) and a beautiful round box made of stripped tree bark which i think will make a nice gift for milie for her birthday.

I returned to college to be reminded that it was the 'leaving' party for our department; it was pretty much over by the time I got there and E and I got into a conversation that was just messy bringing back the hell of those two years past of H's death, of all the misunderstandings that loomed up in its aftermath, the complete and utter isolation of that time . Now that emptiness falls into me and I can't think about then here now without a wail of nausea crashing over me scrunching up my heart.
I feel so angry, all I want to do is to cry, to not have it hurt so much. I know I need to should do want to breathe through the past and be in this moment here . . .

but this is this moment, untidy incoherent trying to iron out the edges

...............................i remind myself,
........................................so much to do now
........................................and so much to look forward to. . .


listening to: Zap Mama "Sabsylma"

Traces - performing in london BAC?

I had some good news yesterday, the director of the BAC (Battersea Arts Centre) emailed me with an invitation to participate in their showcase festival at the end of June with my live art piece. Apparently the lady from the BAC who came to 'see' my work really enjoyed it and suggested that I might be an artist that they would want to include. Nothing definite yet, I have to send in more details, and 'scratches' for future developments etc. and they have lots of applicants to select from with only a few slots available, but still the fact that they contacted me without me even applying is very positive and quite exciting. And I have lots of ideas on how to develop it further, in different spaces, different contexts, so it would be great to have the opportunity to explore these, and I may meet people who will be interested in collaborating on future projects . . .

O.K. Speak of - have just this moment had a phone call from R. D, the aforementioned director, and he wants to meet me on friday to discuss it. Cool. Can't let myself get over-excited at this stage, as I have a lot to concentrate on at present with my other pieces of work (which I think is trundling on ok at the moment, have quite a few ideas that are inspiring me which is nice - was it Beethoven who said that art and creativity was 10% inspiration and 90% perspiration?)!

So, we can watch this space together and see how things pan out!

this little old book shop

Thanks to Dan who has passed this tagthing along to bookworms everywhere, and those that went before him!


1. Total number of books in your house:
umm... the thought of counting them all is too daunting. Here I have maybe 3 or 4 bookshelves full of books, one in my room, one in the living room and one in the hall, so maybe a couple of hundred! does this include books in storage at the houses of my parents? We tend to use them instead of wallpaper, which isn't that far from the truth really, as it is only in the last few years that we've invested in enough bookshelves to hold them all (enough? What am I saying? There are STILL books lining windowsills and available table-space, even along work-surfaces in the kitchen. I can see my words sending shivers down the spines of all those NSPCB activists amongst you)

2. The last book you bought was:
Well I picked up a free copy of H.G.Welles' The War of the Worlds today on my ambles through the college sweet shop, supposed to come free with The Guardian, but I guess people are too intent on the realities of dissertations and pending exams to want to visit realms of alien invasions. So there was a whole pile of them without the newspapers, ripe for the plucking, which the girl behind the counter very kindly pointed out to me - Perfect for me, I had that itch to spend money I don't have on some literature, so it was my gift from the cosmos :) The last book I technically bought, however was a hardback copy of Haruki Murakami's Kafka on the Shore . . . now given the choice I would always go for paperback, they're more comfortable, more tactile, unless it has pictures. Words soft, images hard. Makes sense. But I didn't have the choice. I love Murakami, I first came across his work on the stage, Theatre de Complicite— had a multi-media production of The Elephant Vanishes at the Barbican and it sparked my interest enough to buy The Wind Up Bird Chronicles. Thank you Simon Macburney! So yes, I bought that together with a book on Theatre Under the Nazis which was written by one of my tutors, John London, and may be helpful for some of my research… However, that was a while ago, and I still haven't opened up London's writings, so maybe it won't be so much help after all, at least not this time round.

3. The last book you finished was:
not theatre under the Nazis, but to be honest I have words streaming out of my ears, eyes, mouth, it is getting hard to remember where one book ends and another begins, such is the enviable toil of a student. I think I am a bit perverse though in that I would much rather be reading something that I'm 'not supposed' to be reading, however interesting the books that I'm meant to be reading are, contrary-wise. However, I have been diligent and good of late, so the last book I finished (not including those that I have selectively dived into) was Ozu, a book on the Japanese film-maker, Yasujiro Ozu; (films such as 'Tokyo Story', and 'An Autumn Afternoon', 'Early Spring', etc.) The last novel I finished was Sputnik Sweetheart by Murakami, really he is the first new (relatively) writer that I have got excited about for a long time. There's an extract from it, and several other reads, in the archives of this blog.

4. 5 books you often read or that mean a lot to you:
Dare I mention Murakami again? There is a book I love from my childhood called Gypsy, which I have on my bookshelf here - a beautiful hardback with stunning illustrations and poetic tale of a young gypsy boy that I am sure is partly responsible for my wanderlust and imaginings of freedom today! The Lion The Witch and The Wardrobe is the first book I ever remember reading myself, and that when I was four. I used to sit on a little stool and read anything I could get my hands on - newspapers, books, carton packets, - to old Les as he worked with us on renovating my dad's house. He was partially deaf so I'm sure he didn't hear half of what I was saying anyway. I loved Narnia, though poor Aslan strung up on the stone table gave me a few nightmares to unravel for a while! Theodore Zeldin's An Intimate History of Humanity was a treasured companion to my travels through Morocco, an inspiring book for an amazing journey that will be forever entwined in my memory with my reawakening to nature and raw sensuality. I really recommend it, and if you can get the chance to read it whilst you trek through North Africa then so much the better! The Old Man and the Sea from Earnest Hemmingway has been good to me. Again this has accompanied me on my travels, this time Spain, and is the perfect size to slip in to your bag, and read in a small cafe— in the sun. . . . . . . to be continued (I need to sleep). . . .

5. Who you're going to pass this along to and why:
I am going to pass this to Noah, cause I'd like to know what he thinks, and hopefully it might inspire him to pick up Heart of Darkness again and start work on his play. And Karl, because I know he'll have an interesting collection of stories and I haven't spoken with him for a while, maybe he will even change his mind and start a blog (?). Likewise Ananda, I know she will enjoy thinking about these things and I look forward to sharing our ideas and reading the things on her list. Others too, will share them with you tomorrow maybe, must post this and go to bed. Anyone, it's all good... must . . c lo s e . . .. . e y e s . . . . . . . . . . . ..

1 of those times when thought & practice are galaxies apart. the frustration of (wo)man's creative life is things rarely outshine the imagination

and this didn't even come close! . . .


“Our lives are ceaselessly intertwined with narrative, with the stories that we tell and hear told, those we dream or imagine or would like to tell, all of which are reworked in that story of our lives that we narrate to ourselves in an episodic, sometimes semi-unconscious, but virtually uninterrupted monologue.� - Peter Brook, from Fortier, Anne-Marie, Migrant Belongings:Memory, Space and Identity, Oxford: Berg, 2000

Home is . . .

Initially researching homelessness, our investigations reduced down into one essential question: What is ‘home’? Then further, how is it performed, expressed, projected? It is clear that ‘home’ is a concept embedded deep in the heart of each and every culture, and yet it is also unavoidably personal and subjective, born from values and perceptions of not only a given community, but also of any individual whom interacts within that given sphere. “‘Home’ involves a ‘unique synthesis’: ‘an aspect of life and at the same time a special way of forming, reflecting and interrelating the totality of life’.� [Simmel, Georg, ‘Female Culture’ in Georg Simmel: On Women, Sexuality and Love, ed. G. Oakes, New Haven: Yale University Press, 1984 (1911)]

We offer our presentation to you in a form of participatory analytical documentary, rooted in sound and space, a venture into perception and apperception a la Chris Marker, perpetually aware of the elasticity of boundaries and the ephemerality of any definitive universal referential centre, and of the ongoing dialogue of cultural investigations. Chris Loscher’s story, performed through interview, is the heart, yes- the home of our own, the point of departure from which we each endeavour to follow our own journeys out into the macro/micro-cosmos, engaging in negotiations of cultures (our own, each others, and those perceived beyond the walls of our bodies, our minds, and Goldsmiths itself) through which our own didactic reflexive processes might encourage a wider exploration into the nature of home. Further how does each space interact to form a dialogue that serves to paint a bigger picture more complete? In the performance of cultural identities, does our sense of home determine the stance from which a culture is both viewed and performed and vice versa?

Inspired in part by Lars Von Trier’s Dogville, the three-dimensionality of one’s conditioned perceptions is challenged through our abstracted representations of the house’s edificial structure, merely indicative and representative of one that is otherwise filled with subjective meaning; to encourage us to question the origin of our own assumptions and perceptions of what home might be, and how/where it manifests as both source and destination and is thus performed. The flatness subverts further the architectural declaration of space/time that is presented through the Great Hall itself, which itself serves as the formal and ceremonial epicentre of life here, the point of entry and departure, the symbolic home or heart of Goldsmiths College . . .

‘Our house is our corner of the world. As has often been said, it is our first universe; a real sense of cosmos in every sense of the word.’ – Bachelard’s Poetics of Space