Right now it's 6:30am and I'm sitting in my room listening to some kind of trippy remix version of a song by a French group called 'Air'. I've been listening to them since about 6pm yesterday; a good solid 12 hours, whilst I've been attempting to get my work sorted and trying to make sense of a collection of essays written by Vilem Flusser.
I don't come on here often, mainly due to the fact that I've got a backlog of writings that I keep in log books and rarely ever write up and post on the t'interwebby for the main purpose of it being a bit too much of an insight of this life of mine. Albeit, given that I am a Freelancer, I'm often moving around the country/world and meet some interesting characters and have a couple of weird revelations of my own, so in that sense, it'd be a good thing to write up but I think I'd only bore myself. My attention span is incredibly shit. Although on reading through my numerous logs of things I've written down, it actually makes for quite interesting reading. Mainly because everything is written on tiny little notebooks and are often summarised in short sentences whilst I'm on the go so I can keep track of what I'm doing or what I've seen/thought. Sometimes I lose all inhabitions and write a massive chunk that'll go on for about 5 pages, but I'm pretty sure I can filter that junk out when it comes to writing it up for here.
So here goes nothing. The actual weird inner monologues that I write down and the numerous places I've been. So, I'll start backwards: To today. Given that it's not even 7am yet there's not much to say apart from my utter bemusement over whether or not I should hate Vilem Flusser for being such an unreliable Philosopher and showing absolutely no evidence for anything he accounted for, apart from the odd bracket or two of some kind of time period or late Philosopher who he believed to be of significance. But anyway, that's another story altogether. Throughout that time, I've been violently ill throughout the night, you'll come to see this is a frequent occurance within my life and has been for a couple of years now. I don't sleep a lot because of it... Other times, I just don't sleep. Not an issue, means I get work done.
The sky is pink right now. It's 6:44am. Last Friday morning I awoke to one of the most beautiful sunrises I've ever seen. I was out in Somerset and had an impromptu stay with a close friend of mine, who happened to live in the arse-end of nowhere, in a beautiful house surrounded by green pastures, lakes, swans and cows. To be awoken by the sound of a cow mooing is enough to make me smile! We'd spent the previous night in Bristol, watching the famous composer and pianist, Ludovico Einaudi perform -- one of the biggest influences within my life. One of the final peices he played was called Due Tramonti ("Two Sunsets") which is a piano duet with a cello which already had me in floods of tears as soon as he hit the first key. Ol' Ludo played for hours, adament on having a standing ovation that I missed the last train home so took a nice, dark, disturbing yet hilarious drive back to my friends' house who'd already come prepared with his own stash of food in the side panel of the car door. By the time we hit the hay at 2:30am, we both woke up whilst dawn was breaking to the brilliant stereotypical Cantonese rapore of "Nei ho ma?!" (how are you?!) to his reply of "Nei hooo!" before he fell asleep again. I sat up in bed to watch the beautiful dark blue starry sky gradient to a dusky pink along the horizon which gradually grew to a firey orange, then pale blue as the sun rose above the fields. Due Tramonti was stuck in my head, as was a thumping headache but I didn't care, because for one of the first times in the history of sleeping in beds:
a) I had actually slept.
b) My once ice cold feet were completely warm and toasty.
This is coming from an insomniac who has the shittest circulation that I wear jumpers back home in Malaysia and parts me of turn blue or generally stop working whenever I'm in England. For me, my warm anatomy was a miracle. Hell, even on the bus journey from Wells into Bristol, the whole thing was 45 minutes of sheer natural harmony, as horses ran through the fields that lead out into the distance to reveal even more hilly fields and woodlands with the sun dancing on the trees. I'd grown quite attached to the place already, and felt it even more so by the time I arrived back in London Paddington where the fresh, crisp air was replaced by exhaust fumes, and the vast expanse of the Green Belt was now a concrete jungle that limited the extent of my view to about 10 metres. Rubbish. Everyone running to get somewhere that caused me to want to run to get home. Chain reaction of rushing, avoiding eye contact with everyone and the wonderful tinny ambiance of a teenager's mobile phone music held up to his ear whilst his friend raps with him. Not forgetting the wonderful aroma of some Morleys Chicken left in a box that's been shoved down the side of your seat. A nice, "welcome back".
Wow I can't wait to leave this city.
Anyway, backlog write-up of notes begins now....
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