From the salt crusted coastline of Maine - jagged unforgiving glacier-carved rocks with old veins, peeling birch forests, things that are not so gentle to the touch, deep blues and greys, slow decomposition, an old fellow stuck in his ways. It seems to me a place simultaneously beautiful and simple, a place not moving too fast in any one direction, but content to wobble silently and calmly on the axis of the future.
From this place, this home, to a place of slow thick movement. Not gentle saline tidal undulations, but flowing viscous human turbidity. Smells of ancestral spirits hang in the air, feral dogs can sense the excitement and sound their siren of progress. Neighborhood vegetable shops are expanding, soy milk is being heated at an incredible rate. Some of what is here will no longer be here very soon. A lot of what was once here is only preserved in the minds of grandmas and in the concentric circles of a few trees that have been saved by that sash of orange monk robe adornment.
Yes, how did I get here? Did I choose? Are we meant to allow this world to move us? Or do the laws of physics require that we push back on it equally and oppositely? Or is it the inevitable realization that no matter how still we remain, how hard we try to make the chaos and confusion of the world forget us, we are hanging onto dear life as we are whipped at an incomprehensible speed around a sun and a solar system and something larger that encompasses all of these.
Or maybe we should just dine in phonebooths and sleep on the job.
A video about a project not so dissimilar to the ones I work on:
http://www.dw-world.de/dw/0,,30490,00.html
No comments:
Post a Comment