and then I wrote an email to a friend of mine.
Here are some pictures.
and then I wrote an email to a friend of mine.
Here are some pictures.
Its a phenomena to hear the daily rumination’s of your neighbor showering, slurping milk in his cereal bowl, listening to the radio, masturbating, showering and general other private life sounds, and yet never actually really seeing them because of a wooden fence that separates you from him. Im pretty sure he cant hear me because the sound from his side is funneled in through a small space filtered by a Mosquito grille and a cat.
I have a lot of uncertainty now, and yet I know somewhere in there I will miss these days. Perhaps this is a time of resettlement and reassurance from a relationship that I now find myself in.
I also find myself in the eye of the storm. Im doing things now that are prime and ahead of the curve. Yet Im filled with doubt and procrastination is the crutch Im leaning on. Im trying to do a lot maybe too much, but if I dont Ill feel as though Im not doing enough, like I feel that anyway regardless of the capacity Im at.
Who knows. Just remember the important things.
I dont know how to do lots of things. There has always been heavy doubt in me. Its been my defining role in life. “I just dont know.”
Since returning from India, the act of leaving, going away and doing something –anything– the dont know seems less prevalent then it once was. Manifesting what I want seems a nudge easier then it was, but I still dont exactly know what I’m doing, and there is something in me that says now, that something will work out. Thats never before, been the light at the end of the tunnel for me. Theres always been this horrible sense of doubt and disbelief, where it comes from I cant exactly say, probably somewhere in my upbringing and whatever negative experiences that I accrued along the way and never learned from.
Where to start.
I dont know. I have so many things to say, people to talk to, to fill in the gaps of information on the things that Ive been doing and so on etc. Its great to be back and I feel a sense of simplicity, and a sense of having some handle on the future like I haven not had in such a long time, and those past sentiments are something I done even remember to be honest. I’m happy not remember it either, but somewhere in there Id like to know what to watch out for so that I can try and avoid it in the future too. I dont know if Ill necessarily ever actually get back to that same point again, but approaching it scares me. Jenny is positive, extremely so, especially considering all that she has gone through. It amazes me her integrity despite her own convictions that she has been really struggling, because from where I’m standing she is the strongest person I think Ive ever seen.
Bombay, not Mumbai. I prefer it, and the Bombers themselves call it Bombay anyway.
Its as hot as Goa was, but the humidity levels are off the charts. What I thought was humid in Goa was just for starters. Here its totally and completely insane. It takes 20 minutes to sweat out a liter of water. I go nowhere without a 2L bottle of Bisleri. Bisleri is the nice brand of water in India. Its an Indian company started by a French couple who came here some time ago and scoffed at the lack of good clean drinking water in bottles. Since then of course, there are others. Bailey, which is harder to find, but equally as good and the same price. 1L bottles are about 15 rupees, 2L bottles are 25 rupees, depending of course if you ask the price, because most street vendors will try and hoodwink you and make you pay more even thought he price is moderately unclearly marked on the bottles themselves. The Batch Number, date and Price “(inclusive of all taxes)”. But I still like to ask because I like to see the honesty levels of the vendors. Most outside of Goa and so far Bombay, are not honest and some, even when you show them the price will argue the price with you. Old school values; haggle. Theres no haggling in America. We are soft now, lazy, the price is the price. I still like to ask for a deal when I have to go to the Apple store just to fuck with the doe-eyed whizz-kid clerks. Who cares if Steve Jobs had $750,000,000,000 in the bank before he stepped out, he shouldn’t have had that much money anyway, he should have by virtue of the fact that he travelled India himself, known that that money would have been better off in the hands of those who know what to do with it to make their days a little brighter. Like those tribal families out there on the street in front of the hostel Im currently in. They are rolling with the rats, and their children are playing cricket and badminton amongst the traffic “OUT”! I saw that, that was out! Ballard market, haha what a fucking Joke, ‘fixed prices’ total and complete bullshit.
Oh look at that Im sweating as I’m shitting here in relative comfort of porcelain three floors above you, and the little brown children with blue string around their waists are dropping their payloads into cracks in the pavement. Their shit is cleaner then yours though -and you fucking better believe it.
I AM IN INDIA!
An intense change from Seattle. The first sensations were the warmth, comfort for my body & muscles relaxing. The smells of wood burning fires, everywhere there is a thin base layer of wood fired pollution and you can see it in and on everything like a thin blue haze, then there are the devotional smells of incense and other ceremonial smells, and then after that is car pollution and somewhere in the mix is the stench of human waste and social waste- unfortunately plastic bags aren’t banned here yet, so they account for a vast amount of the visual blight. The the most potent sensation for me has been the sound. Oh how amazing and dimensional the sounds of the city are. In the inner suburbs of Bhopal where I am staying, I can get to the roof of the house which is about 4 stories high and I can listen in full three dimensionality of all the sounds both immediate and further away because there is no Interstate highways here to dampen everything else down. The simple sounds of human voices, the Call to prayer in Bhopal’s any number for 2000 mosques, the sounds of low flying jets, and of course the whine of the ubiquitous two-stroke engine and the myriad of colorful car horns designed to get you out of the way regardless of which side of the road you are on..
Stray dogs, like Dingos, fill the spaces between the mad clumps of humans and even rarer are cats, I saw one sprinting across the road yesterday whilst walking through the neighborhood, a rapid black thing moving with purpose, unlike the dogs with their curly tails and insouciant ways, you can see how they roam and get a greater understanding of how the dog evolved into the socially adherent animal it is today, here where dogs arent typically kept as pets or are considered a luxury.
Im dealing with the vestiges of jet-lag and in these secluded times I can concentrate on writing here, or processing images while hearing the mosquito sine-wave through my synapses and occasionally enjoy a snack on some new meat.
I arrived in on Tuesday Jan 15th at around 9pm from a blink of an eye flight from Delhi via a twin turbo prop. The flight was so short because I simply got to my seat and fell asleep before I had time to put on my seatbelt, and I woke up in Bhopal the airport is nice modern structure really only designed to hold an office a toilet and a baggage claim all with walk through security, unlike Delhi Indira Ghandi Airport with has more security & idiotic bureaucracy then Ive ever seen anywhere else on the planet. Yesterday was my first full wake up day in the new land, it was supposed to be my slow-entry day into a new reality, I guess I didn’t need it. My friend and reason to be in India, and who’s house Im staying in, introduced to me a very bright young spark by the name of Hari who is in administrating tech-support, and is wildly eagre to impress the irishman from America, he took me to the roof and showed me what the area looked like from the higher vantage point.The warm air and sounds made an impressive immersion into the new reality. I was brought Tea. We chatted, made plans spoke of the future and then left the house and caught a TukTuk to see an illustrious environmentalist friend to talk about a project. After that we went to see an Artist and discuss an alternative project on folk music and the loss of tradition, a problem thats becoming increasingly furious everywhere. Then we went to the Afghan Cafe in downtown Bhopal and had an amazing ‘snack’ served to us by a beautiful Afghani man with piercing black eyes and long black hair. Amazing food, marinated tandoori lamb, curried fish, Paresh meat (afghani meat dishes), yogurt and mint, Mint naan, red onion (mild onion) with lime etc etc etc all this amongst the chaos of pollution scooters two-stroke tuktuks and anything else that can shit out more carbon then a factory…
Well after 5 years I finally moved out of my house which I moved into after splitting with my then wife.
Moving out and splitting my life into two has been freeing and interesting and ultimately a little unreal.
Im in holding pattern until I leave, the staging area is my friends house, the perfect chill period before leaving and ultimately stepping out of familiarity and far outside of my comfort zone.
I feel good.
its amazing to me anyway, what your subconscious tells you. I kept telling myself for the last two years that I needed a new pair of sunglasses for my trip to india after the coating scratch debacle in the back seat of my friends car as I was trying to take pictures of the downtown heart of Seattle as we were whizzing by on the soon to be vanished ‘viaduct’. I had lost the rubber eyepiece from my Fuji 546 camera and the screw threads are pretty sharp, and between all those little b-bump’s on the viaduct i managed to scratch odd a healthy portion of the lens coating on my decade old Bolle coachwhip’s..
Anyway, Id convinced myself that I needed new sunnies for the trip and that it was time to buy only the best that I could afford, so I did a chunk of research on what good was and was convinced that the terminator style Oakley Batwolf’s were what I needed -fuck knows why I thought that these would be the best thing since sliced bread because i tried them on in a handful of stores and then poached a pair at a great price on eBay and as soon as I got them I whipped out the hot knife and branded some holes in the arms to attach the requisite shock-cord bungee, and I did it before id even worn the things out for a full day. Well after about 4 days i realized they were just never actually designed to stay on a normal human head, they are designed for cops and pin heads with long noses and axe shaped faces or faces that have been shaped with the help of an axe whichever.. or frat boys who wear them on their fat heads and dont actually put them over their eyes.
So then my REI shit-yerself-in-side-out annual discount came up and Id some money on my account anyway for whatever reason so i tested and played with a heap of styles and settled on a really comfortable pair of whatevers that were so insanely comfortable that I just dont know what baby. until I got up on my bike and they became buckets for sweat, and it really pissed me off. So I tried them off my bike and they were fine but then the summer came and the sweat came back and that killed them for India because well india is supposed to be warm over there like.. So I returned them and bought something else more pertinent to surviving a non zomby apokalips.
In a screaming cold sweat drenched wake up about something else entirely I couldn’t get back to sleep and amongst a few other things which Im sure will become their own uninteresting blog entries, I remembered that I was in fact a relatively smart 31yo when I came to the conclusion in that Nelson based backpacker oriented shop in New Zealand after leaving that really cool pair of sunnies Id had for almost 14 years, the ones with the crack in the right lens. They were so cool and they were high end knock offs of Terminator/Velvet Underground style Balorama’s,. in some cranky arsed paedo’ farmers house in Nelson after having missed my bus in Wellington. I remember that dirty old wanker came into the filthy room he provided in the middle of the night with his hands extended wearing gray track pants and a navy wool sweater and a large bratwurst down one leg of the trackies stinking of booze and thinking he could have his way with the alter boy fairy (me) who came to stay in his smelly old dirty lime colored walled, orange sheeted bed which was concave from abuse.. disgusting.
Where was I? Oh yes sunnies.. so in a moment of clarity I went looking on ebay for the same old pair of Coachewhip’s which had served me so well all these years only to find they aren’t made any more and the only ones I could get are used. Hopefully the lenses are Ok.
I had another dream about Istanbul and going swimming.
Its not really a recurring dream but I do keep dreaming about a warm place where there are a lot of people who are not necessarily my race and dont necessarily speak my language but there isnt ever any kind of distress about that. Maybe thats the magic of dreams that your brain manufactures certain conveniences in this case the language barrier because the rest of the content of the dream is more important.
Ive had these dreams a few times in the past, its always very near water. I think I associate Istanbul with water, and sunsets, the colors Brown, Black, Pink, Gold & Dark-Green, these colors are reflected on the surface of the water, in warm evenings of post workday swims off well warn concrete or stone steps that you know have been used by hundreds of generations. Older portly gentlemen with grey hair dip in an out of water in dignifying and therapeutic traditional exercises.
The smell of turkish cigarettes, and the smoke from food stands marks the air with a sense of wonder and an added layer of dimensionality. Pomegranates, dates, cheese, fortified butter, and other foods I dont eat regularly are around me.
Is this a dream about comfort, security and the feeling of actually having some control over your life?