It was a funny day yesterday, much waiting, reminding me of Teching Hsieh's performance works that are directly in relation to waiting and duration. More on him later, surely.
Although I am fully aware that life throws you curveballs all the time and that things almost never work out how you want them to, or smoothly, (and thank God for that!) it is still somehow surprising to have moments or entire days that seem to be comprised of mishaps, bumbles and directionless paths.
Even amidst so much activity and buzz. Yesterday reminded me of when I used to stand on large transfer-point metro platforms and just watch people rush past me in all directions. A certain motionless appears or transforms from within even in mid-flight when the destination becomes impossible to get to, or otherwise.
And this is where things become confusing. If I have so much to do in one place, why wander to another, especially when I doubt in its ability to fully procur its positioning to me upon arrival, if I ever make it? Why not just-stay-put-in-that-case.
I do think there IS something to days where nothing happens and you accept it, and days where the chase is somehow still on. A sense of futility is an important challenge to engage with, and treat with a certain type of adventurous curiosity despite the frustration. When stuck in a labyrinth without much chance of escape, may as well enjoy the foliage and look for bugs and edible flowers while you're in there, as the old saying goes...
Monday, October 26, 2009
Friday, October 23, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
Mbonisi Zikhali
The poem below is written by a pretty amazing human being and extremely talented writer Mbonisi Zikhali, who I recently had the pleasure to meet and get to know over this Thanksgiving weekend. Hailing from Zimbabwe, he's been in Canada for the last several months.
He's currently a journalism student at the University of Carleton in Ottawa, and the Canadian Journalists for Free Expression have started a campaign, with the help of Emily Wilson, a fund for Mbonisi's monetary needs over the next several years while he's studying.
To see more about his life and the ways in which you can help contribute to his studies click on this link.
He's also left-handed, which makes him superior. Sorry to say this to all you right-handed folks, but it's true.
He's currently a journalism student at the University of Carleton in Ottawa, and the Canadian Journalists for Free Expression have started a campaign, with the help of Emily Wilson, a fund for Mbonisi's monetary needs over the next several years while he's studying.
To see more about his life and the ways in which you can help contribute to his studies click on this link.
He's also left-handed, which makes him superior. Sorry to say this to all you right-handed folks, but it's true.
Flying Backwards
I disregarded my wings
until that day I flew backwards
The wind caressed me,
and whispered secrets of flight
unknown to eagles.
I blushed from the ariel view,
wishing I understood God
from the ground up,
but seeing his/her face
from the sky down.
I fought the wind
feeling its sting with every breast stroke
I stung back with unspoken words,
and, silence was my weapon of choice,
No. My weapon of noise.
So loud it punctured my eardrum
and I sought rest upon a tree's branch,
and its leaves welcomed me.
Saying softly,
"This is us before the snow."
Mbonisi Zikhali
until that day I flew backwards
The wind caressed me,
and whispered secrets of flight
unknown to eagles.
I blushed from the ariel view,
wishing I understood God
from the ground up,
but seeing his/her face
from the sky down.
I fought the wind
feeling its sting with every breast stroke
I stung back with unspoken words,
and, silence was my weapon of choice,
No. My weapon of noise.
So loud it punctured my eardrum
and I sought rest upon a tree's branch,
and its leaves welcomed me.
Saying softly,
"This is us before the snow."
Mbonisi Zikhali
On those days.
Where everything is about as appealing as lightly coating yourself in the dog poo you just stepped in.
Kind-of hilarious, when none of the buses come on time and the seats are uncomfortable and everyone is wearing ugly sweaters or drawing stupid pictures. The sound of the fan in this café or the other one is sending little jabs of frustration all through the body. Everything is visceral and raw and extremely unnerving.
Why indeed are some days like this? Perhaps to promote the richness of contentment received through experiencs a little less jarring, moments and seconds that pass far more easily through the system and its functioning.
And probably a good thing, too, to feel severely annoyed about life and all the little beasts that inhabit this world, to be reminded of just how human and imperfect things are.
Now go f-off. Alright.
Kind-of hilarious, when none of the buses come on time and the seats are uncomfortable and everyone is wearing ugly sweaters or drawing stupid pictures. The sound of the fan in this café or the other one is sending little jabs of frustration all through the body. Everything is visceral and raw and extremely unnerving.
Why indeed are some days like this? Perhaps to promote the richness of contentment received through experiencs a little less jarring, moments and seconds that pass far more easily through the system and its functioning.
And probably a good thing, too, to feel severely annoyed about life and all the little beasts that inhabit this world, to be reminded of just how human and imperfect things are.
Now go f-off. Alright.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
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