A Secret Fire Inside a Rock
I spend the day doing different things, also being idle. I lift my eyes and someone is there, “What’s your favourite ABBA song?”, We jump up and dance for half of the album. ABBA is actually really damn good. We have a snack, then sit with our laptop.
Someone walks by with a plant cutting. Someone lights a candle on top of a crab shell. “Does anyone know how to make banana bread?”, several people say yes.
That night I go home and talk to my partner about what happens in the brain when someone learns a new skill. It’s mysterious and totally unpredictable. We go to bed and dream the same dream: a house with many rooms but walls.
Breathe deeply and pay attention to your breath. Slowly think of a think yellowy sauce, maybe one that tastes very good with fish or salad. Continue to be aware of your breath.
A group of people sit in a circle in a special place. They agree not to know what they should do together. They do this for a long time.
A Heavy Flag
Stand in a circle, and move your arms. Your body is a trunk and your arms are a breeze.
When are you part of a group and when do you stop being part of a group?
When does a guest become a part of the group? Can one draw a line between the inside and the outside of anything?
When someone eats a bowl of soup, when does the soup become George or Alice or Martin? In the mouth? In the stomach? When the proteins are absorbed into the blood stream?
George, Alice and Martin went to a public swimming pool on a hot summer afternoon. George asked Martin and Alice if they mind if he pees in the water. They replied “yes, we will never be friends with someone who pees in a public pool, that’s disgusting”. They also said that the pool has a sophisticated chemical warning system that will make any Georgeness in the pool light up with green phosphorescence. He did it anyways and nothing happened. He smiled as he did it, it was satisfying to have a secret.
People who know how to jump rope know that the key to rope-jumping lies in the tiny jump that happens between the actual jumps. There’s somethings about that redundant little motion that says “I’m ahead of the game. I’m in control, I have jumps to spare”.
In other words, the tiny jump works not by making the activity more efficient, but by making rope-jumping so deliberately and pompously inefficient that the body, the rope, and the rhythms of the universe have no option other than giving in to the will of the jumper and allow them to jump for ever.
It turns out that a week with 5 days is just as long as one with 8.
Things I can see from this window:
- A palace
- People with dogs
- Fucking sparkesykler
Close your eyes and imagine the sounds of juice. Imagine the pleasure of this listening.
Open your eyes.
Close your eyes and imagine that you have very long finger nails. They vibrate as they pick up all sorts of signals from the surrounding space.
Open your eyes.
Close your eyes.
Keep them closed.
Recipe for moldy coffee.
- Back street
- Coffee machine
- Not knowing
Two people having a conversation while playing ping pong.
They talk about smoked meat, about the relaxing properties of bubble wrap, about the scarcity of real, hand-pressed orange juice, and about the intelligence of dogs.
After 20 minutes they realise they’re not speaking at all, They’re just hitting the ball back and forth. This explains why they never seem to interrupt each other, and it also explains why many good ideas roll away for no reason other than an excess of energy.