utterly fucking beautiful
October 5, 2007
People’s behaviour.
The eddies people’s behaviours produce when they demand – by projecting a response, inviting affirmation of phenomena – the attention of others.
Observing pressure diffusal as though skimming over clouds.
For a while, the space between people who are talking, or doing the same activity, or walking in a group without a real destination, fascinated me. The echoes produced by the tangential interaction of peoples egos, while the focus is on social relationships, makes perceptible the bonds that elasticate cameraderie.
It is delightful to see a growing thing, not by the eye, but by a quick recognition of solidarity, feeling, in the quality of its form, the transmission of heat.
That peoples’ motivations are quite separate from one to another,
- occupation; outward semblance of emotional state; cooperative position regarding one another notwithstanding -
this is quite valuable to know, so that I can feel able to balance the goldfish bowl on top of my head and laugh at the absurdity of the moment in combination. Individual, unknowable motivations, these let the people have dignity, and you can ask for favours and know that their delivery is at the behest of a thinking, responsibility assuming person. Knowing that the fundamentally uncommunicated is relevant, removes the suggestion to feel swayed by and filled up with the tide contained in the sole goldfish bowl whose tide my tears replenish, and whose evaporation is at the whimsy of others.
It lets us know so little. It’s a dumbshow of gestures. Behaviours are interpreted and misunderstood and reinforced and undermined and equivocated through the context and the opportunity.
Group behaviour. Approval. How far to respond to an initiative of someone else. How strongly to uphold the original intention.
Can I temper my emotions through behaving in concert with or denying certain awareness of equilibriums?
Why would I seek to diminish the significance of an attraction that I avow to myself, in orbits of public access? It will pass, as all things pass, except, it is true that there are things that are the same as they ever were.
Things that I fall asleep thinking, “Was I born…..” such and such a state, or in such and such a description “…?”.
Freedom, light, falling, boys that look like an angel, to be held forever, exhaustion, to be without a body.
Things that I wonder if I am utterly mistaken about, that will one day be proved to me.
Things that I know.
The pulse of brutal, indifferent, glorious devices that’s holding everything with edges together.
