HOW THE CHILD SEES THE CITY..
Is it he mindlessness of childhood that opens up the world? Today nothing happens in a gas station. I'm eager to leave, to get where I'm going, and the station, like some paper cutout, or a Hollywood set,is simply a facade.But at 13 sitting with my back against the wall,it was marvellous place to be. Thw delicous smell of gasoline, the cars coming and going, the fresh air hose, the half heard voices buzzing in the background-these things hung musically in the air, filling me with a sense of well being. In ten minutes my psyche would be topped up like up like the tanks of the automobiles....FRANK CONROY..
Friday, 7 October 2011
Sunday, 2 October 2011
small notes
This blog keeps morphing into ideas which give the appearance of have no connection with the previous set of ideas. Time in the mental space doesn't leave me to much room to gather my thoughts into a coherent set of worked out arguments. Some weeks ago I was convinced I lost this blog. Was I upset? Yes. Although the absence of the blog gave me the reason to re think what a blog means to the person writing the blog, and, how do other people read the blog?
What is a blog intended to achieve?
I think my original mistake was the view the blog as a steeping stone towards engaging people in some kind of quest. What quest? I keep thinking. One thought leads on to another thought,sometimes without logic. Is this a form of Post Modern mourning in a world where the Post Modern is now mocked.
The Post Modern might be mocked, never the less, aspects of political and economic discourse bears all the all marks of a Post Modern world.This is scary.
So what am I going to explore now?
Simple....culture, walking and making up stories.
Action comes from an over active mind. I will try and post every two days. Its my little note to the world.
What is a blog intended to achieve?
I think my original mistake was the view the blog as a steeping stone towards engaging people in some kind of quest. What quest? I keep thinking. One thought leads on to another thought,sometimes without logic. Is this a form of Post Modern mourning in a world where the Post Modern is now mocked.
The Post Modern might be mocked, never the less, aspects of political and economic discourse bears all the all marks of a Post Modern world.This is scary.
So what am I going to explore now?
Simple....culture, walking and making up stories.
Action comes from an over active mind. I will try and post every two days. Its my little note to the world.
Friday, 23 September 2011
whats gone wrong with the left
The left is in retreat. That's the political argument doing the rounds at present. Some shift in the political discourse suggest the left is in a permanent state endless decline. If this is the case, then we in Europe are in for period of awful decline and punishing social disintegration.
Why is the left completely in a state total disarray. I would love to complete this discussion but this lap top is fast disintegrating itself......
Why is the left completely in a state total disarray. I would love to complete this discussion but this lap top is fast disintegrating itself......
Thursday, 15 September 2011
thought I lost my blog
At last I found my blog thoght it had gone away somewhere never to return But I think its back..
Monday, 29 August 2011
walking before returning
This is proving more demanding than I originally excepted.How do i capture that essence which the depressed gaze offers up to an individual who is in the grip of depression.Maybe the only method I can think of is to insure "something " is written down at the exact moment the depression is reaching that point where all life appears lost and worthless. But in order for me to reach that critical tension I have to dig deep into my soul and conjure up some energy in order to meet the depression head on. Of course to do this means digging deeper into an already fragile soul. This is the challenge.
Monday, 15 August 2011
riots and non riots
The day Tottenham took to the streets and the media went moved into hysterical blasts of moral indignation I walked along the South Bank of the river Thames. It was obvious that the end of London hadn't effected this part of the capital. The glorious tackiness which insures the South Banks popularity will not fade way for sometime to come still attracted thousands of people who strolled along in blind oblivion to the coming catastrophe which would spill down from the confines of Tottenham.
Maybe the throng of families, lovers strollers where unawares of the history being played out on the streets of North London.
This got me thinking about the vastness of cities. Tottenham imploded but the South Bank still supplied its sense of chaotic escape.People simply enjoyed the sun. No looting burning or other types urban disasters.
What developed in the North of the capital was alien to this Sunday stroll. As this none involvement always been the fate of Cities? What seemed to be taking place was a sense of disengagement. People simply weren't bothered.The news may have been predicting an explosion of rage,but the sense of fun was at odds with a media interpretation. Some alternative existence was being played out in the Capital. Lives where not connecting, communities live in separate zones whilst the media concentrates on the problems of one area they cant focus on the whole. London was not threatened. Never the less geographical dislocation concerns have always been a fact in the growth of the Urban landscape.
Maybe the throng of families, lovers strollers where unawares of the history being played out on the streets of North London.
This got me thinking about the vastness of cities. Tottenham imploded but the South Bank still supplied its sense of chaotic escape.People simply enjoyed the sun. No looting burning or other types urban disasters.
What developed in the North of the capital was alien to this Sunday stroll. As this none involvement always been the fate of Cities? What seemed to be taking place was a sense of disengagement. People simply weren't bothered.The news may have been predicting an explosion of rage,but the sense of fun was at odds with a media interpretation. Some alternative existence was being played out in the Capital. Lives where not connecting, communities live in separate zones whilst the media concentrates on the problems of one area they cant focus on the whole. London was not threatened. Never the less geographical dislocation concerns have always been a fact in the growth of the Urban landscape.
Sunday, 7 August 2011
walking before returning
When I was a kid and lived in Kings Cross the train stations were part of growing up. They took on the role of adventure playgrounds. Underground tunnel linked two stations. Back then Kings Cross Station was the elegant sister to the Gothic Monster which is St Pancres. Steam Trains ruled the landscape in every possible manner Smoke, soot, and noise filled the day and night This is a vanished world of darkness and adventure. The tunnels were mysterious and scary. Dark underground vains which spread out under the the dirty,bustling, travel traps above the ground. Trains appeared like vast metal demons which spat out steam,fire, and thick smoke.
The stations where dark and dirty. Places of departure and returns. Soot was everywhere. Smoke was everywhere. People who worked on the stations didn't appear to bother with the kids running all over the place. We could look after ourselves. And we could and did.
St Pancres was the darkest. The vast glass roof was coated in 100 years of grim,smoke,and darkness. The place became an adventure in survival. We kids imagined becoming lost in the grim and ending up in some far away land.
I remember the oak panelled waiting rooms, dirty and sad, but also mysterious. Throw backs from an old time. The vastness of the station added to its strangeness. It possessed a sense of out of timeliness.
We lids didn't know anything about this strange place being pulled down. It belonged to our dreams. Its filth and emptiness fitted into a landscape of ruins and adventure. Smoke and fire. All those waiting rooms,always empty, deserted but hiding ghost. I was fortunate to have the greatest adventure playground in the whole of London right on my doorstep. A Gothic monster which towerd over the whole landscape. We had no idea of its history but we had a sense of place. It belonged to us. Its dirt was our dirt. We loved it.
Now its a shopping mall devoid of place and meaning. a cleansed spectacle which means nothing. Its cleansed of meaning and adventure.
The stations where dark and dirty. Places of departure and returns. Soot was everywhere. Smoke was everywhere. People who worked on the stations didn't appear to bother with the kids running all over the place. We could look after ourselves. And we could and did.
St Pancres was the darkest. The vast glass roof was coated in 100 years of grim,smoke,and darkness. The place became an adventure in survival. We kids imagined becoming lost in the grim and ending up in some far away land.
I remember the oak panelled waiting rooms, dirty and sad, but also mysterious. Throw backs from an old time. The vastness of the station added to its strangeness. It possessed a sense of out of timeliness.
We lids didn't know anything about this strange place being pulled down. It belonged to our dreams. Its filth and emptiness fitted into a landscape of ruins and adventure. Smoke and fire. All those waiting rooms,always empty, deserted but hiding ghost. I was fortunate to have the greatest adventure playground in the whole of London right on my doorstep. A Gothic monster which towerd over the whole landscape. We had no idea of its history but we had a sense of place. It belonged to us. Its dirt was our dirt. We loved it.
Now its a shopping mall devoid of place and meaning. a cleansed spectacle which means nothing. Its cleansed of meaning and adventure.
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