Only A Speck.

Open publication - Free publishing - More only

The Security Guard.

I know that it is common knowledge that we suffer from a lack of identity, but then again how do I know? Can anyone speak for everybody?

I was talking to one of my friends over the weekend, who works as a security guard. He went on about his dissatisfaction in his workplace, the fronts that people put up, the ways he gets treated, it's all common knowledge, and normally with anyone else, my head would be spinning the words , yada yada yada, it's something I've heard of before, but from him, it felt like a special occasion, it was as if he carried all the gravitas and weight that I've felt lacking from many a conversation.

Can anyone be said to be genuine anymore? Well, it felt like he was something like that, for that moment at least. Something happened last night when he spoke. It was as if a pin had dropped in the centre of our pub and everyone had to be quiet. Was it because those words were the last thing that you would expect such a person to say? Yet at the same time it felt for me, that he was the only one who could talk about these things. The security guard, the quiet one at the party, the truly observant one, I've always suspected that the one who rarely speaks, not out of intimidation, or passivity, but from the wisdom of erudition, has a voice like no other.

He was the one who lived under the heel of a boot, where all he got to do was to watch the figure on top, pressing down on him. It was as if that if he were to speak, he would be the one to say it for everybody. A man like my friend, has learnt more about life than any university grad could ever hope to figure out. That being said, there are many security guards that do irritate me, the kind that hold on to their positions as if it was their God-given right to inflict their own brand of justice in some out-dated style of a bad ass cop figure type. They hang on to their sense of authority, or to put it in another way, their sense of position, as if it was the last thing they had in all the world. I assure you that my friend is not that sort at all, he's a sensitive soul with a hard as nails facade.

He also talked of a distaste for plasticity in our culture and in our lifestyles. In return, I shared with him my view, that  in every relationship, there seems to be a measure of compromise, of falsity/plasticity, that the ability to live true to anything singular, is abhorrently difficult because whatever is true to any individual is so contorted and twisted by media. We the Hollow Men (although it's Eliots', let's claim it for ourselves) are so hungry for reality, for a way of truth in our lives, but in this media saturated environment, where everything is up for grabs and nothing sticks, the quest is even harder, even causes for good have to be marketed and approved with some incentive, some appeal, it has to become fashionable. Trends die. That's the natural progression for trends, can we learn something from that?  I suspect that one of the things we've learnt from trends, is that we now understand the silent art of disposing each other, and our beliefs and convictions. When we've sucked each others wells dry, a new trend in our fashionable lifestyles can begin.

After the conversation, as he turned his back to me, I lingered on my view that moved from our balustrade, a panorama that began by looking down from the back-end of the Esplanade, then stretching up to the channel of water and eventually, directly at MBS. The dice was rolling against everything as I turned to join my friends, I felt that potential slip back into a world of compromise as we would make our way back to our separate states of being. I know I can't let it go anymore. This is all the reality I have left. Those last words that felt real over the weekend, by my friend, the security guard.

Word Junky.

Word Junky

Today’s a strange day for me.

For all the words are bigger.

Bigger Words = Bigger meaning.

-Me.

Bigger is better and biggest is best.

-Burroughs.

And every syllable,  

From every tongue,

That's been filling up in my Cochlea.

Has progressed.

And now adapted,

I'm a walking boom-box machine,

With only myself,

I play the role of the listener.

Without class and without 95.

And my eyes,

They used to scroll through FB,

Like one who sets his gaze on a stream,

Of tepid water.

All the words couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty back together again.

Now the words are coming at me

Better than any kind of lover.

In the fashion of  Koon’s balloons,

Or Holzer’s texts.

Word’s the size of skyscrapers.

It’s all very personal now.

And I finally believe in words again.

Each word is the sum of all parts.

It’s true.

And every part carries meaning.

I do believe so.

If you don’t believe me

Carve this out,

On a tablet of plastic.

And repeat it like a mantra.

“All words carry meaning. And all meaning is good for me.”

Do this for 41 days and 41nights,

Without food, drink

And entertainment

Eventually,

You’ll get what I mean.

And yes, you may use FB,

But only to communicate your experience.

Film Directors' Comics.

Check these out, comics by filmmakers David Lynch, Federico Fellini and Alenjandro Jodorowsky.

David Lynch

Federico Fellini

Alenjandro Jodorowsky

Sleep All Summer.

This is such a delightful song, can't help but post it. This reminds me of the duet between Jeff Tweedy and Feist. Suddenly I'm trying to recall all those other duets I've heard over the span of what I've listened too. From the top of my head, there's Dylan and Baez, The Postal Service, The Fiery Furnaces, Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald, will probably post their videos in the future, if I can find them.

Picasso's Birthday Party.

Front

Back

Inside

It was a few months ago in february that I took a trip to Beijing for a regional workshop, part of my training for the Middle Years Program that I'm teaching. There was this little exercise that our workshop coordinator made us do that I thought was really funny. Each of us was assigned to make a little birthday card for an imaginary birthday celebration for Picasso. Slipping into boy scout mode, I made a little strip out of a little card I found in my hotel room. Found out that there's a song by Jonathan Richman about  Picasso being the immaculate charmer he is. Yes, lot's can be said about Picasso, but he did get all the girls didn't he? 

I recall my trip to Beijing with extreme fondness. I Remember Oliver from San Francisco who to me had this imposing physicality about him, he was one of those personalities that you can't rub from your memory, always bouncing around both in movement and in lively, often times funny verbal expression. He's one of the nicest person's I'd ever met, I always have a fondness for imposing personalities that humble themselves. Then there's Kazuko from Osaka, who's presence had a very calming affect on me. Her anxieties about teaching were so honest and everything about her person was so transparent and true, it was strange that she messaged me the day before the disasters took place in her country which also happened to be my birthday. Finally, of all the people I remember fondly, there's Philip from Britain. I remember that he was the biggest surprise for me, his gestures and appearance constantly seemed aloof and battered, as if he'd been through a lot, which I found out to be true, yet he was always encouraging and positive in his outlook, no matter the frustrations he faced. It was wonderful hanging around with complete strangers, artists/teachers like me who had common hang-ups regarding being artists/teachers and sharing the joys about what we do. But best of all, we could share one or two of our own private anxieties because it wasn't said or acknowledged, but we knew that there could be no damage between strangers who would probably never see each other again. It was for only three days, I missed a liu Xiaodong exhibition I really wanted to see and I didn't reach the Great Wall, but I found some commonality. 

Update: 

Here's the band Modern Lovers playing Pablo Picasso.

The Strip I Keep.

I thought of sharing this, ever since I came up with the idea of conceiving this blog. I Keep this in front of my writing space at home, to remind me to be weary of the opinions of others when it comes to making Art, that I have to be mindful that what I'm trying to convey isn't to please any particular audience, but to be as truthful as I can be to the way I see and observe the world around me. I'm starting to find that my Art is meant to give me more than pleasure, there's a certain amount of responsibility that goes with the process of Art making, but there's no political agenda in what I create and I am not making art solely for private gain. There is definitely an agenda going on, but the specifics of the agenda are personal to me. For me, an agenda must never be written like a manifesto, it always fails in that form, for my work, an agenda must remain unspoken for it to be as open as a poem. I don't want to shy away from 'abstract' thoughts, thoughts that are too vast and complicated for most to comprehend but at the same time I'm hoping that the work can be relatable. Anyway, this is the way I have seen the world thus far, a sequence of conflicting polarities that once strung together and worked out, might lead to hidden truths or new pathways.