Monday, November 8, 2010
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Sunday, September 19, 2010
|Let's start with risk... we are all conscripts in one sense or another...for all of us, it is hard to break ranks, to incur the disapproval, the censure, the violence of an offended majority with a different idea of loyalty. We shelter under banner words like justice, peace and reconciliation that enroll us in new, if much smaller and relatively powerless, communities of the like-minded...to fall out of step with one's tribe; to step beyond one's tribe into a world that is larger mentally but smaller numerically--if alienation or dissidence is not your habitual or gratifying posture, this is a complex, difficult process. It is hard to defy the wisdom of the tribe, the wisdom that values the lives of members of the tribe above all others. It will always be unpopular--it will always be deemed unpatriotic--to say that the lives of the members of the other tribe are as valuable as one's own. It is easier to give one's allegiance to those we know, to those we see, to those with whom we are embedded, to those with whom we share--as we may--a community of fear...let’s not underestimate the retaliation that may be visited on those who dare to dissent from the brutalities and repressions thought justified by the fears of the majority...we are flesh. we can be punctured by a bayonet, torn apart by a suicide bomber...fear binds people together...and fear disperses them...courage inspires communities: the courage of an example for courage is as contagious as fear.... but courage, certain kinds of courage, can also isolate the brave.|
The perennial destiny of principles: While everyone professes to have them, they are likely to be sacrificed when they become inconveniencing.
Generally a moral principle is something that puts one at variance with accepted practice. And that variance has consequences, sometimes unpleasant consequences, as the community takes its revenge on those who challenge its contradictions--who want a society actually to uphold the principles it professes to defend. The standard that a society should actually embody its own professed principles is a utopian one, in the sense that moral principles contradict the way things really are--and always will be. How things really are--and always will be--is neither all evil nor all good but deficient, inconsistent, inferior. Principles invite us to do something about the morass of contradictions in which we function morally. Principles invite us to clean up our act, to become intolerant of moral laxity and compromise and cowardice and the turning away from what is up-setting: that secret gnawing of the heart that tells us that what we are doing is not right, and so counsels us that we'd be better off just not thinking about it. Again: There is nothing inherently superior about resistance. All our claims for the righteousness of resistance rest on the rightness of the claim that the resisters are acting in the name of justice. And the justice of the cause does not depend on, and is not enhanced by, the virtue of those who make the assertion. It depends first and last on the truth of a description of a state of affairs that is, truly, unjust and unnecessary.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Friday, September 3, 2010
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
From where he was standing on the balcony, he could see them both. They couldn’t see each other. He could speak with the neighbour that had locked herself out on her own balcony, and was looking for a way to enter her house. He was talking to her, with sweet soothing words, as she was already getting scared. She was scared of heights, she was scared of the cold, she was scared of raindrops, she was scared she would have to stay out there until her husband returned. The reason she was locked outside? She thought she saw rat turds and she went out to investigate. He was telling her to remain calm, not to look downstairs and that he would call her husband or her mother. Meanwhile, something else was happening inside the room. The other one, standing on the bed, was lifting her blouse slowly, revealing her tummy button initially and then her breasts. Her eyes were inviting him girlishly, her body womanly. As the neighbour was continuing her agonizing exploratory dialogue, his replies began to falter, his responses becoming more general, as he clumsily tried to recapture her words. “We are going to be late for the concert…”she told him, stressing the -cert bit particularly, playfully hinting she was not at the least interested in the concert.
He placed the unused concert tickets inside the plastic box and then sealed it, leaving it on top of that last short side-table, left behind by the removal people.
He walked towards the balcony door, stepping on the wooden floor, leaving his echoing footprints on the dust that had previously been covered and had not been mopped since the bed first went into the room. His eyes turned to the wall on his right.
There was a blue paint mark at the height of a piece of furniture that used to be there from previous tenants. Konstantinos, the landlord, pointed that out the day he first showed the house to him. He didn’t mind it he said, he would paint the wall anyhow. Later he decided not to paint it, because he decided he liked its patina. Then he brought a poster to cover the mark. But he wanted to frame it first and then he decided that he would finally paint the wall. He had to abandon this plan as well, since he had already started planning his exit from the country and had decided he would leave this house.
He looked down. The poster was there next to the heater, wrapped in a nylon roll. He took it out with ceremonial tenderness and stretched it. It was an A3 poster, cream, full of words and doodles. When he bought it, he thought it was Peter Brook’s notes for his book, The Shifting Point, since the quote “Hold on tightly, let go lightly” was prominently written somewhere on it but it turned out they were simply the notes of some advertiser graphics designer in New York. He bought it as a gift to his son who was studying theatre studies who he was going to meet later that day.
He delayed arriving at the meeting point. The sky was all dull red. Desert dust had emigrated from Africa flooding the sky. He felt his eyes smart and dry and thought of them the same colour as the sky. A stench from a cat carcass or something, made an entrance to his nostrils. He looked alternately the soles of his shoes, and then the open litter bin before he entered the café, hoping to discover the dead animal and solve the mystery of the origin of the smell. His palms were equally red and swollen. He had an allergy to dust and his own sweat and he hadn’t relaxed for a single moment his grips of his motorcycle steering wheel driving there. All that was distracting him from his sincere decision to enter a dialogue as an active listener, to really hear his son out, to not reply hastily and unreflectively, to not reply at all if necessary. It was their first encounter after a long time. It felt such a success to convince him to see him. He had decided not to disappoint him again. How crucial a meeting that was? Crucial indeed. His son was already there, standing in a remote table at the back of the main hall. He could see him. A young waiter with a full body apron passed by in front of him jostling him annoyingly.
He raised his eyes again towards the blue mark, wrapped the poster up without looking at it and placed it at the corner of the empty room, touching on the floor leaning against the wall.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Monday, April 19, 2010
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Friday, April 9, 2010
Monday, March 22, 2010
Monday, February 22, 2010
unbalance so as to re-balance
hide the ideas, but so that people find them. the most important will be the most hidden
actors. the nearer they appear (on the screen) with their expressiveness, the further away they get. houses, trees come nearer; the actors go away
fragmentation 'this is indispensible if one does not want to fall into representation. see beings and things in their separate parts. render them independent in order to give them a new dependence
things too much in disorder, or too much in order, become equal, one no longer distinguishes them. They produce indifference and boredom
don't show all sides of things. a margin of indefiniteness
the actor is double. the alternate presence of him and of the other is what the public has been schooled to cherish
what our eyes and ears require is not the realistic persona but the real person
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Saturday, January 9, 2010
talking to you. answering. allegedly silent words
vocalised in the form of a car radio v/o
reverbing in vice city cortexia
huge signs, pointing yourside
stuck in a synaptical traffic jam
two vehicles ahead some emotional 3-axis lorry
gets unexpected flat tyre
tolls collectors inexplicably happy
enormous videowalls, alternating your form, one or another
taking turns, alien to familiar, advertising salvation
be it packed or simply serviced and then
come the trailers of imaginary prose,
my character, yours, a psychodrama then a
sports underdog story
temptress, broken favourite pieces, i4, gottlob, haircut, alone
creative, we must, broadband, vespa, ahead, bios
and various other words parade
a flickering red led display indicator,
some sort of unintelligible (ha) value system
is clearly in place
and then they are spotted. two imposing enormous cranes, and a peculiar
helicopter shouting encoded instructions over the loudspeakers
numerous handlers, forklift drivers and lay labourers
running about commited to the task
a whole partition of the road is at this very momment being relocated,
connecting a high bridge, with a previously inaccesible pasture
over and above the err...sea
no need to talk i guess, about no thing. we already speak.
no need to talk