the sourcerer: This place we call home.

Sunday, August 5, 2012

This place we call home.

While we go to work and make plots and plans and spend a gazillion dollars, across the road the community of pavement dwellers carry on with their daily life. Since I wrote about them the first time, I've become friendly with them - we greet and talk a little. I'm still not comfortable enough to whip out my camera and photograph them - I just don't have the time to do it properly.

Fridays are bad. There's a lot of drinking and staggering around, badly aimed punches, cursing and the wailing of womenfolk.

Early on Saturday morning, all is peaceful again. He's sitting on his bedroll reading a comic, heating water on a tiny brazier. The woman in the purple sequined dress is fast asleep next to him, her head on his shoulder.

3 comments:

arcadia said...: Hi Lily. Ja, ek dink die kontras tussen die twee werelde sou my vang. Hoop dit gaan goed by jou. xxa; August 6, 2012 at 3:14 PM
the sourcerer said...: net stres.....
sien uit na September
xx; August 6, 2012 at 9:11 PM
tanjawilmot said...: ja. and you wonder perhaps which one is more abusive. though the cross making thing is there are choices available on one side of the street, not so>; August 9, 2012 at 10:45 PM

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You could tend a garden at night, only at night, pouring dark water onto leaves, and into the earth, like pouring midnight onto midnight. You could hold your soil-stained hands up to the moon. The stars would gleam on the bottom of the shovel. It would smell the same as a daytime garden - it would smell green, violet, red, white. But come back, in daylight. Come back, to see the colours without closing your eyes.
- Sean Michaels. Accompaniment to the song "Immune" by LOW. Said the Gramophone

Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is non-existent. And don't bother concealing your thievery - celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: "It's not where you take things from - it's where you take them to."
Jim Jarmusch (1953- )

You got very hungry when you did not eat enough in Paris because all the bakery shops had such good things in the windows and people ate outside at tables on the sidewalk so that you saw and smelled the food. When you had given up journalism and were writing nothing that anyone in America would buy, explaining at home that you were lunching out with someone, the best place to go was the Luxembourg gardens where you smelled and saw nothing to eat all the way from the Place de l'Observatoire to the rue de Vaugirard. There you could always go into the Luxembourg museum and all the paintings were sharpened and clearer and more beautiful if you were belly-empty, hollow-hungry. I learned to understand Cézanne much better and to see truly how he made landscapes when I was hungry. I used to wonder if he were hungry too when he painted; but I thought possibly it was only that he had forgotten to eat. It was one of those unsound but illuminating thoughts you have when you have been sleepless or hungry. Later I thought that Cézanne was probably hungry in a different way.
Ernest Hemingway (1899-1961) - from A Moveable Feast.