Fair universe, how I thank you. It was another day where the city took a few days to grow on me. Big thanks to my older brother for being so well loved that a distant family would take me into their home and give me such unwarranted treatment.
Valencia, you dirty, corrupt, artistic, utterly Spanish and adorable city. I navigated your streets in the rain and made it just in time to a haven for film photographers. Despite arriving minutes before closing, your best showered me with helpful tips and filled my bag with fresh film stock. You even rounded the bill down and gave me a nice cloth bag. With a quick and happy goodbye you pointed me to a modern art museum that wasn´t full of laziness, but rather sharp anti-war sentiment and intelligent decontructions of propaganda. I left and took a picture of a cop who then threatened me if he ever saw himself on the internet. Jackass, I know you take selfies and put them there yourself.
After playing the ignorant gidi card I left and chuckled at the absurdity of a law and order figure being so upset for being lawfully captured on film. Unless you were embarassed for say, hassling someone with no cause, why be afraid of having your photo taken in public? He should have less fear, his portrait will probably look as ugly as his person and not make the cut.
The desicion has been made that this second taste of Europe needs to be savoured for longer. Two months has been doubled to four months. Photos need to be taken. Things need to be written. Music needs to be played. Apologies to the family (and especially the dog), but things are rolling in strength here that make the stasis of the past few years at home seem wasted. They were not, of course, but the feeling is there. Trust in your instinct is something I vowed some time ago, and so here I will wander, collect, absorb, dissect and enjoy.
Roll, walk, push, sit and watch as the landscape shifts before you. The smells change, the language transitions from one romantic to the next and before long, time will bring you back to your starting point with fresh memories and ideas to challenge that cursed, beautiful, comfortable stasis. Why search for more when you start with everything an ape needs?
More rambles. Bukowski the articulate jerk; whose words peel behind your eyes as fast as your hunger allows. What indulgence and self-loathing can do for expression is frightening. Why are so many idols such volatile people on an individual level? Kurt Cobain who blew himself up, Elliot Smith and his sword to gut, Nick Drake and his pills. How many other of my favourite creators push their bodies to their limits and beyond? How can I possibly reach my goals if I refuse to indulge in such depravity? The vegetable lovers usually seem too smug. And the hipsters! So self-conscious. Who wants to be someone who can´t enjoy anything for fear of being seen to enjoy? The punks who hate conformity yet look as similar to each other as houses in the suburbs. The irony is not lost on all. Metalheads and their obsession with death and violence share more in common with their fathers than they´ll probably ever know. Who can you be that doesn´t just degrade your privilege?
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Feeble
Old and feeble
Unable to fly
The small dog slowly chases
Without emotion
Or haste
And puts it to rest
Nobody cries for the pigeon
Old and feeble
Unable to fly
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Things Grow
Father of daughter
Of brother´s love
Across oceans web spinning
Twisting more intricately
Until today under the bright sun
We roll through the country
Where love first sprouted
On cement blocks
Time goes back
To the beginning
Of my brother´s love
A faint uncertain future
Grown on blocks
At the edge of Sisante
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