J_M_D_Telvatia
08-21-2008, 10:53 PM
A Peaceful Land Preceding Political Abstraction
Everything was just fine, everyone was okay. People walked the streets, sold goods and services from sidewalks and shop windows and families and individuals from the four corners of the earth strolled freely along the cool paving stone walkway under a strange canopy of eucalyptus trees and skyscrapers built by the seven wanderers of the world, surpassing formalist argument, and anyway, no one bothered argue about the ideology of architecture, they walked the shaded street, each one smiling and perhaps chatting with a neighbor or business associate or friend and walking along, peering into the next shop or next display of items set before them on a stand, arts and crafts of course, but also advanced technology and illusion for fun as well as work. It really is all a blur though, an Aztec temple?
Sure, and a great Mosque at the corner and Mies van Der Rho did the building to the left, even though he isn't "here" any more, I think I described his philosophy of architecture as atheist in a report once, a long time ago, but since we are not discussing the philosophy of architecture... ah! But wait, I recall now, as I sit, taking in a semi-dry breeze from an open window, sipping Turkish coffee (it's not as bad as Americans say it is, I am used to Polish coffee), my gaze is serious to the utmost, am I thinking about something serious? heavy? a burden of the world? No, I am thinking about nothing at all because I am trying too hard to look like I am thinking. But the breeze feels nice and my face has become much darker since arriving on this sunny and strange spot of human inhabitance.
I bought a white shirt, of the lightest material, I don't know what it is because there is no tag and I didn't know the language of the merchant I bought it from, and really because I didn't think to ask until this moment. There is a great lake nearby, I put my feet in it earlier today, walking along the beach, tide touching near to my knees, I saw people of all the four corners of the world in their bathing suites or covered completely or not at all even! How strange and how surprising! All together all at once!
But I am exaggerating, I am getting too excited, for there weren't too many people in the beach, for it was slightly populated and no one was naked, what was I thinking!? Really, no one was naked, but little groups lay together and individuals alone and couples on the shore or walking slow, sipping tea and eating cheese on breads, smoking pipes, cigarettes and cigars and opium and ganja, strawberry flavors swim through the air, clouds in the sky above dissipate and the jurgle of conversations fade as I walk past and further and new jumbles of laughter and different pitches of another group come into view of spread open mouths, teeth showing for a moment of belting or bleating out cackles: "What!? I laughed because her laugh is funny!" That's what it is all about, laughing because someone else is there, laughter is communal. To be communal requires a group of at least two or more. A group of two or more, it is not bad but it can start a war or make lovers forever more. The more people, the more abstract is our world; conflict begins along such abstract lines.
I saw it on the TV at a beach front bar, the TV was not prominently displayed but the bartender was not returning to fill my drinks upon repeated requests, he wore a baseball cap backwards and had scruff and seemed to wear the same clothes everyday I visited, which was everyday after an honest days work, I would have a drink, make arrangements with wife or friends or family or business associates or occasionally pass by the bar for the freedom from habit, a psycho-socio-geographic ritual that seems to be the backbone of every broken middle aged or old time fogey. Everyday I saw him, Bub, he wore the same clothes and today he wore the same clothes and was watching the TV set with his jaw clenched, his eyes fierce, God only knows what he was thinking and I could only guess. I called out, louder and then louder again, he was a statue, he disappeared from the physical realm, my jaw dropped, I slid off the barstool, sauntered over to the where Bub stood, Bub's arms folded, face droopy and pouting mouth, flashes of light and patterns danced across Bub's motionless face. I looked at him, I was right in front of the bar, in front of the back side of the TV, "Hey." I said to Bub, and in a slow skidding slide, turned the TV at an angle to see what took Bub from the moment. I watched for a moment, I don't know how long the images flashed across my face, the old speakers on the TV made listening fuzzy and it didn't matter, I didn't need to hear when I could see, at least see what was shown on the screen. I looked up and Bub was looking at me as he was that TV screen...
J_M_D_Telvatia
ChicaGO
August 2008
Everything was just fine, everyone was okay. People walked the streets, sold goods and services from sidewalks and shop windows and families and individuals from the four corners of the earth strolled freely along the cool paving stone walkway under a strange canopy of eucalyptus trees and skyscrapers built by the seven wanderers of the world, surpassing formalist argument, and anyway, no one bothered argue about the ideology of architecture, they walked the shaded street, each one smiling and perhaps chatting with a neighbor or business associate or friend and walking along, peering into the next shop or next display of items set before them on a stand, arts and crafts of course, but also advanced technology and illusion for fun as well as work. It really is all a blur though, an Aztec temple?
Sure, and a great Mosque at the corner and Mies van Der Rho did the building to the left, even though he isn't "here" any more, I think I described his philosophy of architecture as atheist in a report once, a long time ago, but since we are not discussing the philosophy of architecture... ah! But wait, I recall now, as I sit, taking in a semi-dry breeze from an open window, sipping Turkish coffee (it's not as bad as Americans say it is, I am used to Polish coffee), my gaze is serious to the utmost, am I thinking about something serious? heavy? a burden of the world? No, I am thinking about nothing at all because I am trying too hard to look like I am thinking. But the breeze feels nice and my face has become much darker since arriving on this sunny and strange spot of human inhabitance.
I bought a white shirt, of the lightest material, I don't know what it is because there is no tag and I didn't know the language of the merchant I bought it from, and really because I didn't think to ask until this moment. There is a great lake nearby, I put my feet in it earlier today, walking along the beach, tide touching near to my knees, I saw people of all the four corners of the world in their bathing suites or covered completely or not at all even! How strange and how surprising! All together all at once!
But I am exaggerating, I am getting too excited, for there weren't too many people in the beach, for it was slightly populated and no one was naked, what was I thinking!? Really, no one was naked, but little groups lay together and individuals alone and couples on the shore or walking slow, sipping tea and eating cheese on breads, smoking pipes, cigarettes and cigars and opium and ganja, strawberry flavors swim through the air, clouds in the sky above dissipate and the jurgle of conversations fade as I walk past and further and new jumbles of laughter and different pitches of another group come into view of spread open mouths, teeth showing for a moment of belting or bleating out cackles: "What!? I laughed because her laugh is funny!" That's what it is all about, laughing because someone else is there, laughter is communal. To be communal requires a group of at least two or more. A group of two or more, it is not bad but it can start a war or make lovers forever more. The more people, the more abstract is our world; conflict begins along such abstract lines.
I saw it on the TV at a beach front bar, the TV was not prominently displayed but the bartender was not returning to fill my drinks upon repeated requests, he wore a baseball cap backwards and had scruff and seemed to wear the same clothes everyday I visited, which was everyday after an honest days work, I would have a drink, make arrangements with wife or friends or family or business associates or occasionally pass by the bar for the freedom from habit, a psycho-socio-geographic ritual that seems to be the backbone of every broken middle aged or old time fogey. Everyday I saw him, Bub, he wore the same clothes and today he wore the same clothes and was watching the TV set with his jaw clenched, his eyes fierce, God only knows what he was thinking and I could only guess. I called out, louder and then louder again, he was a statue, he disappeared from the physical realm, my jaw dropped, I slid off the barstool, sauntered over to the where Bub stood, Bub's arms folded, face droopy and pouting mouth, flashes of light and patterns danced across Bub's motionless face. I looked at him, I was right in front of the bar, in front of the back side of the TV, "Hey." I said to Bub, and in a slow skidding slide, turned the TV at an angle to see what took Bub from the moment. I watched for a moment, I don't know how long the images flashed across my face, the old speakers on the TV made listening fuzzy and it didn't matter, I didn't need to hear when I could see, at least see what was shown on the screen. I looked up and Bub was looking at me as he was that TV screen...
J_M_D_Telvatia
ChicaGO
August 2008