The Daily Dark

Ramble, Ramble, Ramble

I want to write, recklessly, passionately, freely. But words, lately,.  they escape me. They seem to be lost in the labyrinth of a mind I once used to know but today is a foreign land.  More often than not I find myself at a loss of words, as, if I had deleted words from my memory and  only the capacity to observe had  remained . Truth is as well that maybe  most  but not all conversations haven’t lit the fire of intrigue…still I miss words, I miss inspiration, I miss lalalala… As a result of this state of mind I’m bombarding the residence with Stravinsky, Radiohead and Wax Tailor. My whole body aches for adventure, adrenaline…there is this scene on a movie called The Invisible, where the main character simply escpates to a club where no one knows her and lets herself get lost in the movement. That is the feeling I’m craving for. To let the mass devour me while at the same time I’m feeling with every inch of my body.

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Maybe I should switch to spanish, and let the language of my thoughts guide me. Last time i checked I still spelled emotions in spanish and not in the weird english my new teachers are providing me with. The actors of my mind are invisible and do not like it. As a result they are punishing me by turning my thoughts off. I should go and read the newspaper and find out about the mechanism of power and economics, for the press is not death  and what better  practice than  to occupy my memory space with tycoons and news than art and poetry? and yarayarayarayaryayayayayayaya Casual note,  Actors, Punishment, Newspaper, economics are common words employed by the scholar authorities of the classroom. My mind resists to rationalize them and hence turns them into a private joke that when read outloud looses all its meaning…sad tale of all private jokes-fresh air kills them. 

What shall i do to convoke those pestering little offsprings resulting of the letters making out ? I have tried jumping on my bed, only to find the cracking of the sprints too bothersome to be tolerated for long, holding my hair up , letting it down-browsing and singing, standing on my tip toes as well as on my head. Nothing has worked, nothing, nada, nantes. I want to close my eyes and wake up in Edith Stein’s Paris or in my contemporary NYC. Nostalgia vs. a need for speed. Currently there is an exposition taking place at the MOMA that has my mind drooling…I have tried ordering some special brain hangerchieves for it from Amazon but they are out of stock. It’s so sad. 

 Carsten Holler, a belgian experimental artist has crossed the ocean with his superb artistic installations. With a specialization in Insect Communication, an artist and biologist, he creates pieces that bring to mind a science laboratory. Among his creations there can be found monumental slides-seen in the Tate Modern a few years ago, they are now visiting New York. The slides have a double propose,to allow the individual to loose control and to feel parallel to this what it is  to be an experimental subject. 

One of the artist’s main aims is to create an emotional response. Just imagine that instead of walking for ages among pictures of suffering Christs or dovey eyed virgins you got to ride the art. How is that for interaction? You need to pad yourself for descending, head and knees and elbows as well. truth is that you are going to get bombs as you feel the friction of your body against the surface increase as you go faster. But, hey, that’s life right? Bumping at full speed and not realizing that it hours till a few hours later. 

The main drawback that I find in the experience is that they film it all, your fearful face turning into a smile,  the effacing of whatever was on your mind before you let go and yes, even that speck of a second you thought about someone you don’t want to think about but still think about because you care about them. I find it a little too Foucaltish for my taste. Even if after all  Holler is first a scientist and then an artist. 

Some say that this life is just an experiment some superior force began one day in alten, alten Zeiten and then forgot all about. If so, I’m glad the force forgot about us. Imagine being observed, measured, manipulated every second of your life and then have it recorded as a list of expectation,triumph, failure. I already have issues with  human’s similarity to rats to become a rat myself of a higher figure, thank you very much. Can you perceive the irony of my declaration? I do not want a superior invisible force controlling me but I’m willing to subject myself to an artists gaze. Guess that it’s human nature to be contradictory…and maybe just maybe it isn’t that bad. We all need some one to recognize our existence in this world, let it be with love, hate or scorn gazes build us. We can not choose who sees us, but, we can choose whose eyes we care about. I care more about an artist, a thinker, a sensible observer than that of an invisible figure that decided to go check his Facebook status rather than stop his human bacteria  from killing each other. 

With this declaration in mind, I bid you farewell. I’m off now to play for a while in the new slide that has sprouted in the labyrinth of my mind.  I might not find an exit or a sense, but at least, I shall have some movement in my thoughts. Or even better yet

 some James Brown and candy. :) 

http://youtu.be/XgDrJ5Z2rKw