Tuesday, May 8, 2012



 I think a lot about time. Time is a malleable concept. An hour is not an hour. Sometimes an hour is a second. Sometimes a day is an entire life and when you wake up the next day you are someone new. I have been soo many people. Every few months I think I am a newborn. Sometimes I am an old man, sometimes I am young boy.
____It could be that time is a feeling. Something like that. Maybe it's linked to my heartrate. That would explain it. Since hearts can stop and you die and hearts can fly away and leave you alone while they go off to sit under a tree and recover. To work things out for themselves - I'm sure mine would be better off without me holding it back sometimes. That would be nice right? I could tell my soul: dear soul, you can just tie me to this stop-sign and you fly off and go take care of your things. I'm too slow for you. I hold you back. I'll wait here, and when you are ready, when you have done all you need to do and loved all you need to love you can come back and find me. And we'll be together again and you can tell me about what you saw and I will be proud of you. Farewell Soul. __(just please, uhm, _come back for me. eventually).


I also think a lot about space. Where I am. How I came to be here. If there's escaping it. If maybe I were somewhere else I would be somebody else. If it's even possible that I be somebody else. Maybe in the nighttime I am more me. The real proper perfectly honest straight to the core me. Maybe in Paris I am more me. Maybe in Tahiti. Maybe when I'm hungry and hot that is the real me. Maybe it's too far now, too far lost. No longer recoverable. Maybe I've died and become someone new soo many times there's no way to go back to the original.
____In my family we debate this often. Perhaps because my auntie and uncle escaped Iran through the desert into Pakistan. And had to live in squallor before they came to Australia. You don't get much of a choice in circumstances like that do you? Everything is not a lifestyle choice. That's my mother's favourite line. She's right I suppose. You can live anywhere, if you have work and have shelter and you're getting by, you're fine. No one's trying to kill are they? Perhaps not. Perhaps so.


One day I stopped dreaming. That's not entirely true, I just stopped remembering them. I don't miss it. Growing up most of my dreams were about me being chased. I thought I was Orestes. Run Orestes, run!! I would giggle to myself in the morning. One night I met my grandfather in a dream, sitting at his kitchen table where he always sat when I was a child. He had made me tea. He tried to speak to me but I couldn't understand what he was saying. He had recently passed away. From that moment on I was certain he was helping me. Maybe I still am, but the feeling is softer now. I have to think about it to remember it. It feels like a hug of sorts. Like the air surrounding you is your friend and likes you. I like that feeling.
____In normal circumstances I know if I've been dreaming because I wake up covered in sweat. Don't remember a thing. Just sweaty. Wherever it is I go, it must be far. Perhaps I am still running. Perhaps not.



- Life's not a game of win and lose q. it's not even a game
- the future has a way of sorting itself out. just leave it alone
- work harder. that's the answer. always.
- this is the only way it could have been. this is the only way it could have been.
- the gym will fix it/this


That feeling like I'm falling... it doesn't go away. Sometimes I lie on the floor to remind myself it's there. On Saturday, it was sunny, and I put a towel on the tiles outside and slept in the sun. I rolled my shorts up so I could show the sun as much of myself as possible. I covered my face with a hat so I could close my eyes. I had an invisible blanket. I was soo warm, and calm. In my head I believed I could hear the waves of the ocean. It was delicious. I like to be naked when I am in shape. I like the shapes of my arms and the little lumps of muscle on my back. When I run I pretend I am an engine in a train. Or a robot. (But lying down in the sun I pretended I was a cloud. I had no ideas. No thoughts. I had no dreams. I was not late or early. I was not anything, I was not even my own body. I was just a shape, floating in the sun. Weightless and beautiful beyond compare

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Time is an illusion, so of course it would be, as you described, liquid.