Thursday, January 13, 2011

rain in the realm of fantasy

(photo taken by Jeppe during Ganpati in September)

Issues are slowly culminating on this little hill of ours. It really feels like part of the 'experience' - we're struggling with the implementation of (surprising?) rules, spending time in meetings and heated courtyard discussions instead of studying or sleeping, and through all this controversy of sorts figuring out our ideas, ideals and priorities.
At least, so I like to think.

We've been told about rules that will now be properly enforced, such as the one about not sleeping in other rooms and have been presented with new ones, including the appointment of some sort of 'paternal figure', who will aid us in our 'living' here. Everything is a little dubious and ambiguous as of right now, but discussion (as long as that will truly occur) ought to help all of us (as the 'community' we like to call ourselves) work out something, at least personally.

On a less serious note, I went down for Active English today for the first time this term. I got a group of boys to play games with outside, which was a lot of fun and a welcome relief to be able to imitate animals, race through 'heads, shoulders, knees and toes' and just generally think no further than the next 'educational' game we could play to keep up the energy.

Sunday, January 9, 2011

explosion explode


close up of hans hartung's T. 1966-R.4

winterbreak 2010/11 is over, and thus i have returned to india for what will be the last time in a while. it's exciting, it's worrying, it's nostalgia-inducing, it's sunny, it's disorientating and school started today.
hans hartung, T. 1966-R. 4

busy with piles of ib coursework, laundry and social 'obligations', it's incredible how fast the time here at a uwc has gone. i feel changed, static, tired, a mixingmeltingpot of fears and hopes and thoughts and loves.


irma blank, eigenschriften

last term, i went to see the dalai lama talk at a peace festival in pune, celebrated ganpati (honouring ganesha and throwing red powder at eachother) and diwali (the festival of light), made another art installation and traveled the south of india. i've been home too, and i'm trying to remember to keep dreaming.



nieuwjaarduik scheveningen 2011 (source)

we went to paris, where these art photos are from, and spent time in france, during which i finally started my ee properly. at home, i did the new year dive for the third time, and got interviewed by a chinese radio as they spotted my chinese heritage. after brief visits to the museum, town, library and friends, i was back on a plane out.

i ran into an italian friend from school on the plane, and am now working my way through the things i need to do. hopefully, i'll have pictures of traveling/art/campus soon, so this blog will be kept a little more up to date.

here's to one more term of writing in indian ink!
x.

Monday, December 6, 2010

an itch so slight

I REMEMBER 02/03/2010

I remember nothing. Everything. You, time, events, my views, what we wore and when. She sent me a picture the other day, Thursday perhaps, ironically I cannot recall the day. It was us, frozen in a moment, in a space forever there if we remember it, a corner in the framework of my, your, our time. The sun was up and drawing out sweat and smiles from our ready bodies, if I try I might even feel it again. Or rather, I will feel my remembering of it.
Memory, like photography, captures something, but there is a lens, a layer, a distance between my memory and that moment. I remember everything.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

expanding life

Arkaye Kierulf; Textbook Statistics

On average, 5 people are born every second and 1.78 die.
So we’re ahead by 3.22, which is good, I think.

The average person will spend two weeks in his life
waiting for the traffic light to change.

Pubescent girls wait two to four years
for the tender lumps under their nipples to grow.

So the average adult has over 1,460 dreams a year,
laughs 15 times a day. Children, 385 more times.

So the average male adult mates 2,580 times with five different people
but falls in love only twice in his life—possibly

with the same person. Seventy-nine long years for each of us,
awakened to love in our twenties, so more or less

thirty years to love our two lovers each. And if, in a lifetime,
one walks a total of 13,640 miles by increments,

Where are you headed, traveler?
is a valid philosophical question to pose to a man, I think, along with

Why does the blood in your veins travel endlessly?
on account of those red cells flowing night and day

through the traffic of the blood vessels, which if laid out
in a straight line would be over 90,000 miles long.

The great Nile River in Egypt is 4,180 miles long.
The great circle of the earth’s equator is 24,903 miles.

Dividing this green earth among all of us
gives a hundred square feet of living space to each,

but our brains take only one square foot of it,
along with the 29 bones of the skull, so

if you look outside your window with your mind only,
why do you hear the housefly hum middle octave, key of F?

If you listen to the cat on the rug by the fire with
the 32 muscles in your ear, you will hear

100 different vocal sounds. Listen to the dog
wishing for your love: 10 different sounds.

If you think loneliness is beyond calculation,
think of the mole digging a tunnel underground

ninety-eight miles long to China
in one single night. If you think beauty escapes you

or your entire genealogical tree, consider the slug
with its four uneven noses, or the chameleon shifting colors

under an arbitrary light. Think of the deepest point
in the deepest ocean, the Marianas Trench in the Pacific,

do you think anyone’s sadness can be deeper? In 1681,
the last dodo bird died. In the 16th century,

Queen Elizabeth suffered from a fear of roses.
Anne Boleyn had six fingers. People fall in love

twice. The human heart beats 3 billion times — only — in a lifetime.
If you attempt to count all the stars in the galaxy, one

every second, it’ll take 3 thousand years, if you’re lucky.
As owls are the only birds that can see the color blue

the ocean is bluish, along with the sky and the eyes
of that boy who died alone by that little unnamed river

in your dreams one blue night of the war
of one of your lives. (Do you remember which one?)

Duration of World War 1: four years, 3 months, 14 days.
Duration of an equatorial sunset: 128 seconds, 142 tops.

A neuron’s impulse takes 1/1000 of a second,
a morning’s commute from Prospect Expressway

to the Brooklyn Bridge, about 90 minutes,
forty-five without traffic.

Time it takes for a flower to wilt after it’s cut from the stem: five days.
Time left our sun before it runs out of light: five billion years.

Hence the number of happy citizens under the red glow
of that sun: maybe 50% of us, 50% on good days, tops.

Number who are sad: maybe 70% on the good days—
especially on the food days. (The first emotion’s more intense, I think,

when caught up with the second.) So children grow faster in the summer,
their bright blue bodies expanding. The ocean, after all, is blue

which is why the sky now outside your window is bluish
expanding with the white of something beautiful, like clouds.

Fact: The world is a beautiful place—once in a while.
Another fact: We fall in love twice. Maybe more, if we’re lucky.

Sunday, November 7, 2010

summertime clothes



Almost winterbreak!

adolescent sky


Still working on my research workbook, and this piece by LucyandBart is how I feel right now.
It was Diwali this weekend, so Friday was a Change of Pace day and required some dressing up and relaxing, which was good. Sunday rang in with a Pakistan/Indonesia fund-raising fair, and a brilliant Sunday Spotlight with a sitar player doing an hour-long improvisation that completely tranced me out.
Now it's a Monday, and we're off on Project Week in three days or so.
At some point, I will return to my usual waxing lyrical about events here, but right now it's all being channelled into obscure portraits and discussions with my coyears.
x

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

inverted world

Working on my research workbook, and loving this.
Here's some words to more than substitute my silence of late:

My Heart // Frank O’Hara

I’m not going to cry all the time
nor shall I laugh all the time,
I don’t prefer one “strain” to another.
I’d have the immediacy of a bad movie,
not just a sleeper, but also the big,
overproduced first-run kind. I want to be
at least as alive as the vulgar.

love from India.