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artpost: someone said it was like lava
Oct. 22nd, 2008 11:03 am
London from above at night, by aerial photographer Jason Hawkes
London from above at night, by aerial photographer Jason Hawkes
Hidden Landscapes
Jul. 3rd, 2006 01:03 pmSILENT LONDON
March 2005 - 735x500mm - Blind embossed etching
by Simon Elvins
Using information the government has collected on noise levels within London, a map has been plotted of the capitals most silent spaces. The map intends to reveal a hidden landscape of quiet spaces and shows an alternate side of the city that would normally go unnoticed.
March 2005 - 735x500mm - Blind embossed etching
by Simon Elvins
Using information the government has collected on noise levels within London, a map has been plotted of the capitals most silent spaces. The map intends to reveal a hidden landscape of quiet spaces and shows an alternate side of the city that would normally go unnoticed.
another day of making busy
Jul. 21st, 2005 01:00 pmHabit carries with it consistancy, a reliable fall back of behaviour traits, how like all my friends have begun using pet names without even considering it. Darling and Dear falling from lips in accordance to our norm but not the public. Honey, meaningless without the bee-sting of kisses. When such mouths touch, there should be pull from the centre of being. Should the habit. Black robes and white wimples, it's a thought, an outward exclamation point of my personal state.
Andrew and Navi are making together a very sweet couple. I'm glad they've found each other in the myriad crowding of our friends. I wonder who's next sometimes, as if my parties are the bouquet thrown by a bride. The upcoming omen of somebody getting laid a bit more regularly. Relationships are topical, a point form reference that I'm beginning to pay attention less to. Stop dominating the conversation. I want to remember that there's a world out there. That as I sit at my desk, a million people are laughing.
London had another day of Pfft Terror. The best news quote yet has been, "It was a minor explosion but enough to blow open his rucksack. ... The man who was holding the rucksack looked extremely dismayed." Somehow that sums it up nicely. (Thank you![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
smogo for finding that one).
In other news, the FDA has approved placing shock treatment implants into peoples brains to combat depression. A generator the size of a pocket watch is implanted into the chest. Wires snake up the neck to the vagus nerve, delivering tiny electric shocks through that nerve and into a region of the brain thought to play a role in mood. I particularly like the last bit, "Deaths have been reported among some epilepsy patients who have a VNS implant, but Schultz said there was no sign of increased deaths in the depression study."
Andrew and Navi are making together a very sweet couple. I'm glad they've found each other in the myriad crowding of our friends. I wonder who's next sometimes, as if my parties are the bouquet thrown by a bride. The upcoming omen of somebody getting laid a bit more regularly. Relationships are topical, a point form reference that I'm beginning to pay attention less to. Stop dominating the conversation. I want to remember that there's a world out there. That as I sit at my desk, a million people are laughing.
London had another day of Pfft Terror. The best news quote yet has been, "It was a minor explosion but enough to blow open his rucksack. ... The man who was holding the rucksack looked extremely dismayed." Somehow that sums it up nicely. (Thank you
smogo for finding that one). In other news, the FDA has approved placing shock treatment implants into peoples brains to combat depression. A generator the size of a pocket watch is implanted into the chest. Wires snake up the neck to the vagus nerve, delivering tiny electric shocks through that nerve and into a region of the brain thought to play a role in mood. I particularly like the last bit, "Deaths have been reported among some epilepsy patients who have a VNS implant, but Schultz said there was no sign of increased deaths in the depression study."
forgive me if I want to chew out your eyes
Jul. 8th, 2005 02:24 pmYesterday was a long test of my breaking points, from every trying direction. An exercise in self immolation. I had put all my energy into preparing to put Matthew on a plane, I had nothing more. The bomb blast in London was not as shattering an event as it's perpetrators were perhaps hoping for, (nice of them to choose a date which makes sense both sides of the water, I thought, very considerate), but they have managed to wash our increasingly small world with justified concern.
At work I checked my e-mail, the early morning having been spent on a death grip attempt to hold onto my last vestiges of restful sleep then by airport checks, is this going to delay his flight? Change his flight? and was informed that an old friend had died. A pilot from Hope had a heart attack and didn't make it. He was a good man, watching out for Marrissa and I when we were much younger and more liable to sneak off to the other end of the airfield at night to watch the stars fall down and sip at Chetan's family stash of Sweet Cherabim apple cider. I've been absent there for a long time, several years now, but I'd known him since I was ten.
The next letter was worse, a discovery of trust violated. There were other things in my in-box, a few girlish letters I was happy about, I'm pen-pal-ing someone like I promised, and that's pleasant, but they were all overwhelmed by one tiny note. I had to excuse myself, leave my desk and sit instead on the floor of the lavatory with my head on my knees. The day I put my love on the plane should not be the day my trust base is assassinated, but it was.
This was where I began to be disturbed at my ability for composure, at how quickly I'm able to simply eat what's hurting me and continue, as the day before was less than great as well. In fact, every week lined up since the beginning of May has had tiny shattering disasters scattered about within it. I'm half as worried about myself as what's been going on, because I've no clue what to do with stress. I've no one I may talk with, no hobby that vents anything. No outlet. At first it was tucked away in small corners of my mind, goading me to cry when I was tired and alone, then I began to find it in my body, I would tap on things and flick my fingers, pressing my hands into fists and releasing them over and over. Now, I don't even know now. My teeth are stones, my tongue contains acid, and I am so very careful not to let it show. Someone said the other day that I'm going to die of machismo, and they might be right, but I don't know any other way. I only want my hands to stop shaking.
I was controlled by the time Sandi came to pick me from work. We made small talk successfully in the car on our way to Matthew and I even managed to laugh a little when we arrived. He was packed, his entire life in a giant black suitcase open in the middle of the floor. The rest of the apartment looked exactly as it always does, a hotel room set-up with a futon instead of a bed, all the personal touches looking committee approved. Even under the crushing weight of Matthew's departure, I was glad to leave.
The airport was simply that. A hiatus place, where the food is merely something to do until enough time has passed and the people aren't real, but props with which to make meaningless conversation. I've kissed three people goodbye there now, though never when I myself was leaving, only when I was being left behind while they continued their lives without me. he's been here too Part of the reason why I haven't applied for my passport again is that I know if I have one, I won't say goodbye and leave through the doors, instead I will walk up to a counter, any counter, and buy the cheapest ticket possible rather than return to Vancouver proper. That's dangerous behaviour and it's good to have a yoke for it.
A baggage handler smiled at me fondly when I saw Matthew off. He looked over and you could read in his face that he thought we were sweet, our kisses seen with nostalgia. I wanted to hit him, but instead I turned away. I found something to take with me from the kiosks, a tradition of mine to keep balance, a mental koan of departure, and caught buses back to the office.
After that was my first day of work at the chocolate shop.
I was half an hour late but my supervisor decided to mark me down as on time anyway, my co-workers are the most friendly people I've ever worked with, (if a shop were to be run by the people who stay at global backpackers hostels, that might be similar), I must have had a quarter pound of chocolate and a half pint of ice-cream and gelati, rounding it off on my way home with a frozen chocolate dipped nanimo bar, and I still came home depressed.
The next five weeks are going to be long.
I wish I knew how to let people be nice to me.
At work I checked my e-mail, the early morning having been spent on a death grip attempt to hold onto my last vestiges of restful sleep then by airport checks, is this going to delay his flight? Change his flight? and was informed that an old friend had died. A pilot from Hope had a heart attack and didn't make it. He was a good man, watching out for Marrissa and I when we were much younger and more liable to sneak off to the other end of the airfield at night to watch the stars fall down and sip at Chetan's family stash of Sweet Cherabim apple cider. I've been absent there for a long time, several years now, but I'd known him since I was ten.
The next letter was worse, a discovery of trust violated. There were other things in my in-box, a few girlish letters I was happy about, I'm pen-pal-ing someone like I promised, and that's pleasant, but they were all overwhelmed by one tiny note. I had to excuse myself, leave my desk and sit instead on the floor of the lavatory with my head on my knees. The day I put my love on the plane should not be the day my trust base is assassinated, but it was.
This was where I began to be disturbed at my ability for composure, at how quickly I'm able to simply eat what's hurting me and continue, as the day before was less than great as well. In fact, every week lined up since the beginning of May has had tiny shattering disasters scattered about within it. I'm half as worried about myself as what's been going on, because I've no clue what to do with stress. I've no one I may talk with, no hobby that vents anything. No outlet. At first it was tucked away in small corners of my mind, goading me to cry when I was tired and alone, then I began to find it in my body, I would tap on things and flick my fingers, pressing my hands into fists and releasing them over and over. Now, I don't even know now. My teeth are stones, my tongue contains acid, and I am so very careful not to let it show. Someone said the other day that I'm going to die of machismo, and they might be right, but I don't know any other way. I only want my hands to stop shaking.
I was controlled by the time Sandi came to pick me from work. We made small talk successfully in the car on our way to Matthew and I even managed to laugh a little when we arrived. He was packed, his entire life in a giant black suitcase open in the middle of the floor. The rest of the apartment looked exactly as it always does, a hotel room set-up with a futon instead of a bed, all the personal touches looking committee approved. Even under the crushing weight of Matthew's departure, I was glad to leave.
The airport was simply that. A hiatus place, where the food is merely something to do until enough time has passed and the people aren't real, but props with which to make meaningless conversation. I've kissed three people goodbye there now, though never when I myself was leaving, only when I was being left behind while they continued their lives without me. he's been here too Part of the reason why I haven't applied for my passport again is that I know if I have one, I won't say goodbye and leave through the doors, instead I will walk up to a counter, any counter, and buy the cheapest ticket possible rather than return to Vancouver proper. That's dangerous behaviour and it's good to have a yoke for it.
A baggage handler smiled at me fondly when I saw Matthew off. He looked over and you could read in his face that he thought we were sweet, our kisses seen with nostalgia. I wanted to hit him, but instead I turned away. I found something to take with me from the kiosks, a tradition of mine to keep balance, a mental koan of departure, and caught buses back to the office.
After that was my first day of work at the chocolate shop.
I was half an hour late but my supervisor decided to mark me down as on time anyway, my co-workers are the most friendly people I've ever worked with, (if a shop were to be run by the people who stay at global backpackers hostels, that might be similar), I must have had a quarter pound of chocolate and a half pint of ice-cream and gelati, rounding it off on my way home with a frozen chocolate dipped nanimo bar, and I still came home depressed.
The next five weeks are going to be long.
I wish I knew how to let people be nice to me.
London's burning.
Jul. 7th, 2005 10:16 amToday tastes like leaving. Crisp blue sky and a metallic coating of smoke on the skin of the tongue.
"I know that you personally do not fear to give your own life in exchange for taking others. That is why you are so dangerous. But I know you do fear that you will fail in your long-term objective to destroy our free society. I can show you why you will fail. In the days that follow, look at our airports, look at our seaports and look at our railway stations. And even after your cowardly attack you will see that people from the rest of Britain, people from around the world will arrive in London to become Londoners, to fulfill their dreams and achieve their potential. They choose to come to London as many have come before because they come to be free. They come to live the life they choose, they come to be themselves. They flee you, because you tell them how they should live."
- Ken Livingstone.
Londoners are to contact BBC with phone and video first-hand accounts, here. Pictures have begun to be collected here.
"I know that you personally do not fear to give your own life in exchange for taking others. That is why you are so dangerous. But I know you do fear that you will fail in your long-term objective to destroy our free society. I can show you why you will fail. In the days that follow, look at our airports, look at our seaports and look at our railway stations. And even after your cowardly attack you will see that people from the rest of Britain, people from around the world will arrive in London to become Londoners, to fulfill their dreams and achieve their potential. They choose to come to London as many have come before because they come to be free. They come to live the life they choose, they come to be themselves. They flee you, because you tell them how they should live."
- Ken Livingstone.
Londoners are to contact BBC with phone and video first-hand accounts, here. Pictures have begun to be collected here.
