after a brief hiatus, january came...
December 16 2001 sun.
a b o u t f a c e and a r t
i'm a more mature worker person now,
without my consent, i've passed some kind of ritual of workhood.
lovely greek dinner across town with SAS people and the san franciscan.
lively bunch, smiling waiters, delicious food, and a turnabout that happens
every single time we're about to leave someplace. as i muttered to boots as
we made our way across the brilliantly lit and frostily-icy square to Slussen;
better to have loved and lost...
and so now with hours remaining; we're reborn in our own traveling way;
we're nearly free, we're almost breathing real air again. so close but so far,
we drink tea and marvel at the potato, bidding us a few last days farewell.
british prizes to a man turning a light on and off;
contemporary art at it's self defining best, although unfortunately the artist himself doesn't even know what he's created - i'm not convinved that he's simply leaving it
to us to decide. there is much to decide: one says it's like the forced light states in
prison; i have to admit watching a news report while the lights go on and off inspired
me enough to come over here and include my thoughts.
madonna gave the award out and she seems to have a briish accent.
i guess people can be born in to the wrong country as well as the wrong sex.
my words are back; i could build this page with thousands of popsicle sticks;
skinny little black and white letters piling to the sky
in a fragile mess of a popsicle stick house.
i actually prefer BBCworld.
December 15 2001 sat.
a bathed poot stares blankly at cnn;
the potato has yet to melt the ice on the rooftops across the courtyard;
when today was planned, things were different.
violence ravages the parts of the world where bread is still holy.
where did saturday morning cartoons go.
we eat, we sleep, we watch.
December 13 2001 thurs. Sankt Luciademo days. making trax!
busy midweek over, phone calls from boca raton,
switcharoos and new faces from australia on MBA breaks.
soon the final packing commences, over unsnowy hills and waters we will
land in our brightly coloured walls and tattered doors to the sights and lights
of a green christmas season. the warmth of another winter won't be unwelcome to me.
and now i've been thru the tunnels and past the locks enough times to say i've been.
we've heard the singsong voices and brushed passed the northern faces.
more and more, i think about sepulveda boulevard.
i think lisa nilsson would like it there.
a lately rare moment of comfort comes over me tonight as i listen to her earthenly silky voice. praises quiet today for anything that lights your way, and mine too.
December 12 2001 wed.7 days.
pootsy theorizes on subects she ought not.
fatigue sets in.
December 6 2001 Thur.it's no wonder i'm not in self-describing mode;
early days of darkness, exhaustion, and counting so many numbers
both upwards and downwards. even the java barely warms my soul.
the rest of the world runs about their holiday parties and shopping,
i know where they are when they leave me alone.
yawning and rocking, i could use a good kyra chant.
kyra talks of imaginary lines that come from the heavens and pass thru
crown chakras to the base of your spine and connect via your pelvis
into the ground, and anchor themselves into the center of the earth.
i could never imagine being so 'lost' as to require such powerful imagery
for any life-affirming purpose, but even grounded people need to remind
themselves of it, once in a while. besides, in her voice angelic and serene,
it's easy to believe that she believes it, and if it's real for you, i see it too.
and now i'm seeing what will have to be packed or eaten before we leave.
deep inhale and exhale, yawning, lift forehead to keep eyes open.
i can't tell you anything that you don't really want to hear.
December 4 2001 Tue.
love to watch those numbers rise. a rare treat in december.
i'm not in whimsical land, my mouth knows no prose -
switching the boxes on tells me stories of a world that he tried
to explain to me; refuted by me to my very core. year after year
my bones grow older and wiser, and i must swallow some of his stories
of hate, of war, and of desparation that knows no bounds. it's the parallel
universe that i could only try to ignore for so long; the hatred that i will
never understand, and over and over, the cries of men who were so
convinced of their purpose here on earth,
when in fact, they never even had a clue.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
boots flips thru a complimentaty airplane magazine;
i'm slowly sipping my warming java,
and the machines hum, they hum.later Mon.
while we were in stockholm:
the us began bombing Afghanistan,
kabul was overtaken, as was konduz,
planes crashed in the black sea and in new york,
an SAS flight crashed into a baggage terminal in milano,
a crash in a tunnel caused a terrible fire in switzerland,
a crossair plane crashed near zurich,
numerous airlines got bailed out, others weren't so lucky,
george harrison died,
more serious clashes between Israel and Palestine,
and the Segway Ginger device was revealed.
December 3 2001 Mon.
i grew up in a non-competitive world. i still resent competition
and feel that it is unhealthy for children. probably 80% of the
planet disagrees with me. dispite this, the prime competitor is
always available for a few rounds and never argues with me if
i feel like giving up. the only person i strive to be better than,
the world buzzes at us thru the boxes;
i watch it, embarrassed and ashamed.
half-wanting to be buried and covered:
half wishing i could help.
a busy weekend! of christmas markets and dinners with new and old friends.
time is tick tick tocking, as we wind up to go home. one more short flight before
the big bird takes us home in 16 days and the great scandinavian adventure comes
to a close.
i dreamt about a most complicated scene of buying, then returning,
a swatch watch T-shirt. i spend too much time staring into (expensive) store windows.
December 2 2001 Sun.
busy friends managed to carve out an evening to spend with us;
and it was obvious to all that it was time well carved. a crispy-clean
but friendly "crossover" restaurant aptly named MoonCake, replete with
angelic-blond table attendants dressed in the prototypical permapressed
black and white. prices to match, the best table in the house, a newly
adopted Vietnamese girl, and a surprisingly warm and natural reunion
with friends from another time. the kind of evening that just lands in
your lap while you're still baffled that it finally did. stumbled into a
taxi after midnight and scotch in their exotic slanty ceiling
custom-made penthouse flat which is like nothing i could
even begin to describe. architecture evades me; but
the view from many of the windows reminded me of
the computer-generated aerial shots and surreal
lighting to boot, from moulin rouge.
eventually, alice made her way into my lap,
knowing that it was a safe haven from
the arms of bringing her to bed.
i did a few double-takes as i guided the taxi driver back into our
neighbourhood; the kind of surprising deja-vous that you knew
from the very first trip here might happen eventually, but you
just couldn't picture it.
December 1 2001 Sat.
it's a sniffly land with no kleenex boxes, the guests confirmed that.
a veritable hungarian smorgasbord! was enjoyed by all.
if one were comparing his cooking skills; to anyone; a feat.
a yawning poot awoke still hungry - still sniffling - and buzzing for a reason.
i'm an easy comfort-finder, i can survive in this creative environment,
it feeds me, it turns me in, i keep myself, i thin out my thoughts
in order to survive.
article by article, he appears in the doorway, just hidden from view,
until he is covered enough to prowl around with a guilty face.
it's dark and grey, prowling weather, it's stockholm in december now,
it's settling into something that's leaving us short of breath.
it's a kind of deafmuteness, cut off from the circle of life that is ours.
there is an earily siilarity to the feelings that swept over me during my first
week in los angeles, like a live death with only small peepholes.
but that's if you really think about it; and i can distract myself.
it's harder for him. i understand completely.
the swedish twins
don't look that swedish
now that's an old train!
copyright Poot's Place 2001
all photography on this page original