Friday, May 31, 2013

Immortal Fashion


Does death not always have life embedded within it? We tend to think of the two as binary oppositions. Rightly so because nothing can ever come back form death, if a person dies that specific person has reached an end. But if we step back and look at not the particular but the general, we know that the rule of physics tell us that nothing ever ends. Nothing dies in so much as it always changes. Instead then of something being dead, a tree for instance, it has actually just changed into something else, for energy and matter can never disappear it has to become something else. So when we talk of death we are actually then, inextricably talking of life. When one thing dies something else is born. That is the way of fashion. The organic cycle if you will. Many talk of death when it comes to fashion, of the decay and discarding. But I wonder, is fashion not birth?

Wednesday, May 29, 2013

Reign Supreme


I am screaming, shouting and tearing myself in and out of these thoughts. To be stuck and actively thinking yourself out of a corner - the same as physically being able to jump over or finding a way around, running faster. To think so deeply and tangibly that it feels in the core when you reach another level.

Wednesday, May 22, 2013

River run

Sometimes, it's good my town looks like this in springtime, so I don't feel like fleeing too often.



Friday, April 19, 2013

Night calling

It's Friday night, it's warm outside and I'm painting my face, base heavy in my ears, while the rest of the room prepares for bed.
It's a wonderfully odd experience to be sharing a sleeping space with seven strangers. All female, as the sleeping quarters can be gender specific, which I chose. We're an eclectic mix. Two asian girls traveling together, young, probably early twenties. A mother daughter couple, also asian, with the daughter being early twenty late teen. Another lone girl of mediterranean heritage. And a lone woman I'd have to guess to be in her late sixties. I have, overall, seen much more families and elder people staying at this hostel than my prejudices would have assumed.
The elderly woman have sat herself on the cold tile floor, legs folded beneath her and knees hidden under the bed. She's clad in a threadbare t-shirt styled nightgown. Reading glasses on as she leans her sprawled out elbows against the mattress, on which she's strewn papers and a couple of books. Her handwriting is small and ubiquitous. The kind which makes you forget there even is any white paper underneath it. Even had I known the language I'd still not be able to discern any words. Centuries of work, treasure hunts and passion is what it touches upon in my mind. But it is too out of place. Alone, tired bone structure and in a hostel. It doesn't add up with the tiresome and tireless pursuit of research.
Her bed is closes to the door, mine furthest away, we both have the lower ones. In between us resides the mother and daughter. I can't help but to flex my back muscles in tiny jolts as a favorite beat reverberates and regurgitates nights before and promises of soon. Isolated hip movements and the rhythm sliding down thighs, there are continents between us now. While I've been trying to tame the flush in my face due to the humidity the daughter has climbed down from the top bed and is squeezed in next to her mother on the lower. Despite her age, despite the very tiny mattresses. It reminds me of my friends back home, who also share a bed seeking the embrace of their mothers.
There is a very homely feeling that's grown forth. At first I was sketchy, stuffing my things in any obvious hiding place, more the cause of any irregularity then any of them. A pre-acquired guilt regarding my electronics and the safety of any belongings; why bring such value if you think they'll be stolen. But now I'm much more relaxed as everyone else are too. Smartphones, computers, wallets strewn everywhere. And over the iron rails of the bunk beds hang hand washed cotton underwear.

Lone Star

It's such a remarkable experience to be traveling on your own. Everything is so quite, your mind so loud. I'm for the first time really allowing it to sink in how much of a talker I am. Certain days it feels like I'm about to explode with the need to simply share my observations.
A very humbling and educational experience.