After landing from a surrealistic gondola trip above the Thames in very dear company I found myself in timeless wonder, surrounded by the current setting of the old docklands. Somehow tuning in to this, a street vendor called out to me ‘OK mate’ in broad cockney and gave me a knowing London look. He was Chinese.
And that’s how I am just beginning to get bearings here again. In the cab going home much later that night the driver was a soul brother who spoke in humble yet silken language of love and life. He was Sri Lankan. And as for me: well I’m a lumberjack and I’m OK. Not ‘arph.
Meanwhile it’s this Monday, ambiguously winking at Friday, and there is such huge multi-channel pressure bearing down on the soft machine of present accounting that a new deal is being summoned up between the automatic and the natural. How this goes is how this goes.
It’s looking like a reflection reversing itself into a projection as a matter of course, not as the special effect of rendering automatic an aspect of nature. Which, at super-speed, is pretty much the baseline of recently established artworks of the public scene. As it is of the common web-weaving in conversation of a sense of transfer from the used-up wonder of ignorance to the brutal innocence of not-kowing as a way of knowing.
And that includes knowing this to be such a slow-motion quickie that it feels like a pull from the void, gathering form like a dancing partner moving out of blackness into full colour. Dancingly then, that’ll be me done with this for now.