In the past month, John Berger's small book with the big print "Ways of Seeing" has been in my peripheral vision a fair bit. Instagram post here, a quote there, hands holding it here, it appearing oddly frequently on surfaces. So I've been thinking, maybe this is a book I should read. Today, I found out that he passed away. And there have been a ( Read more... )

The park in Cochin and that golden late afternoon light that gives everything a bronze sheen. Of age, of emotions. People walking through the park. Playing in the park. Reminding me of Hari Sukan in a bronze age of my life. Where time is languid, with space for daydreaming ( Read more... )

Writing is a muscle. So even on days when there isn't much to say, one must write ( Read more... )

Twenty six paces is what it takes to still the mind. I think. I did not really try it but it sounds like the right number. Brooklyn is a space with colour. There is life. And life that is simultaneously mundane and spectacular. Perhaps one constitutes the other. Or maybe it’s jst the paces I have been taking. I spent the last week looking at ( Read more... )

I walk with my ears open. Sometimes more so than my eyes. And I pause to catch a tear in space, lives lived in this edge to edge of time. I hold them like a small package in the form of a sound clip. And sometimes they have names like: "shovelling snow from the roof", "cranes moaning in the middle of the night", "bull frogs in damhoek ( Read more... )

Which is what popped up when I clicked "post new entry".

Hmm.. a series of chopped up thoughts from chopped up time.

Notes on Castells

Manuel Castells analyses recent social movements and locates the importance of the internet as the kind of infrastructural backdrop to the circulation of values, and the capacity for connection in enabling these ( Read more... )

The silence of skin on skin ( Read more... )

I time travelled in the last 24 hours. Yesterday a friend took me for a walk on the streets of Beirut. I always find walking in a city a small way to try and get to know its pace, its energy, what it makes time for, and where some of its lines might be. The first night I arrived, the moon was full, and I have never seen it quite as large, as yellow ( Read more... )

Funny how I always return to this space when it's about fathers or grandfathers. I made a kind of resolution to write more this year, and I think I did. But not in this space. In other fragments and scraps of paper, screens, small and big. But anyway, I am getting greater clarity about shifts needed, and a return to this simple means of turning ( Read more... )

End of 2015/start of 2016 seems to be about fathers. I found out a friend lost her father to a car accident on Facebook, early in 2015, and that she has been shattered by this. And I feel so sad for her, I wished I sensed it early enough to bake her some Lamingtons, unasked for. Which I still will. But better if it came before an intimate baring on ( Read more... )