iislucas

monday evening

2011-12-19T22:46:00.000-05:00

It's the evening and it has returned: a an uncertainty with writing about my life, my thoughts, or lack of them. And where to write things? I'd like something like Google-plus; letting people subscribe to channels of my writing, but instead, I have to select what circles to put people in, then they either get all of me, or nothing at all... so I'm blogging...blogging has acquired a kind of romance too.

I day-dreamt of futures, as I walk home from work; imagining how life could be. It turns out that it's hard (for me) to imagine a future I really want... or rather it's easy, but a little too fictional when it happens.

Eli eats some pizza.

I got given a phone today, a fancy thing, but I don't have a phone contract, so I can't use it without setting up a contract and paying... I dream of a future without admin...

I also saw this...

car? ...

And, not related, but also something I was thinking about, I'll get married on Friday it looks like... life trundles on!

dropping time

2011-12-03T01:47:00.001-05:00

So I'll not be methodical, I declare. I'll skip and jump about as I please. It's a night I don't care to sleep. I decided today, tonight, to map out what I care for doing. It seems to divide into 4 parts... political/saving the world (kenyersel.org), science/mathematics (mostly graphical languages and learning basic university maths I missed, or just forgot), physical things/movement (aikido, tango, tai chi), and creative/artistic (learning to play music, drawing, poetry).... and... oops... I missed out fun! (for me that's reading, also dancing and socialising and cooking and going to see films). Then I thought about how I'm spending my time, frantically trying to float on the sea of stuff not happening...

But nonetheless, it makes me feel more optimistic. Knowing what I like, and thinking that maybe I could change my life to do it... I daydream of working 2 or 3 days a week so I can spend the rest of the time doing my hobbies...

I then did some catching up on what's going on in my email box, piles of ancient things I've told myself I'll reply to. I 'star' things I want to come back to... the star looks now like a symbol of gilt... but along the way found my favorite thing that happens this time of year, a new song every day from the atheist advent... now I'm smiling and thinking to read a book in bed.

return to words

2011-11-21T21:28:00.000-05:00

I stopped writing for a while; I lost sense of purpose in writing. I felt I was restricting myself in my writing. I wanted to say a lot more, and also less. That wordless cloud has passed. My fear was that it pointless in the onslaught of social media; the fear subsided. Pointfullness is a hopeless struggle.

Anyway, I spent some time recently in Shanghai, where I discovered the building in these photos. 1933 is it's name. A former slaughter house of concrete that makes my mind run wild with sci-fi imaginings. Now full of boutique shops, cafes and random spaces in progress.

I found China (Beijing and Shanghai) made New York feel like a pale shadow of capitalism in comparison. There's a lot of money in China, a lot of action, a lot happening. A strong sense of the country growing, blossoming. Coming back to New York, I found a new affection for this city. It's darkness and brokenness.

Saturday in sunday's clothes, more tea

2011-08-20T16:21:00.001-04:00

I'm starting to question blogs; why blog in the new age of G+ and Facebook? It's saturday, the sun shines after last nights storm, like nothing happened. I just spoke to Scott on the phone - he is stranded in Newark for the last 12 hours. Elizabeth is making a bag. We ate a brunch of Vietnamese Sandwiches and salad. The dog has recovered from his gastric excesses; the last of his lost poos, we think, have been cleaned up (the mysterious stench from under the bed is no more!). I do a little Quantomatic programming; and plan to have an amazing coffee and prepare the Soho hideout for the arrival of Aleks and Clare next week. Like have transitioned me; and while I still feel oft and on like a frustrated artist reduced to factory work; I'm also finally getting the hang of writing software with the conceptual sludge that is c++. And here's a picture I rather like, from a while ago, when I walked over the Manhattan bridge with Taina... And here's some cushions I saw in a shop of colourful french cloth-things... they made me think of Vincent, and Elham, and Edinburgh, but this time not melancholy. The kettle boils, and I consider the ways a handle can be attached to a bag. More tea...

missing Edinburgh

2011-08-07T17:54:00.000-04:00

I'm missing Edinburgh this Sunday... so I tore into washing dishes, they are all done now. I still feel a bit melancholy; did some chores, wrote emails, fighting the eternal war against admin.

I dreamed of my father a few days ago, he was thin and unwell, desperate to get another hit of morphine. He cared for me, but was also twisted out of society by addiction and desperation.We were in the south of spain, he was on the run; I remember the dry dust and smell of herbs and heat and ruins. When he was fed, he was ok, but when hungry he was agitated, wild, and risk-taking.

I have a Ramadan dinner plan tonight - should be fun and friendly. I think I have a sense of needing projects, and of needing those projects to progress; maybe I should try and be more satisfied with living, and care less about projects... perhaps I'm just falling into my familiar "finally catching up on sleep blues"... this city is a lot more work to live in, and I miss my dear friends from Edinburgh...

But then there are some wonderful things here too... And Simone has just arrived from her boat trip, looking well and adventurous, as well as a little tired from the long train ride from North Carolina.

A sunday walk through town

2011-08-01T00:09:00.000-04:00

It was Sunday today, I ceased it with unusual indulgence. After a slow waking up, an excursion to eat - the place was good, but brutally noisy - I retreated to Grumpies, where we partook in reading newspapers, and I settled into myself happily again. Then a walk, via various shops. A shop selling colourful pillows; jewelry shops; sex-toy shops, and finally arriving at the cafe where Harry met Sally. Chowing a pastrami sandwich, and discussing the strange little fears that one lives through: mostly I cower under the fear of saying what I want... sometimes so much, that I don't know what I want! Luckily I was advised to eat the pastrami sandwich, some soup, and something resembling hash browns. Past an exciting bookshop on the way home, and it's already tomorrow. Now I'm sitting, doing nothing much, noticing little drops of sweat run down and tickle my tummy... time to sit by a fan or turn on air conditioning, else I'll be a raisin by the morning...

hot, cold, and chicken soup

2011-07-24T12:36:00.000-04:00

New York is hot now, dense, and I have a cold. I'm confused as to how to care for a cold in this crazy heat - drinking hot lemon and ginger tea seems kind of perverse. I drink cold barley water and lament all the things I'm not doing, read up on housing law, and try to catch up on the escalating pile of email, and all the things I've promised to do but not had time to... but it's not really so bad; Jazz plays in the background and sounds of Elizabeth making chicken soup drift through from her kitchen.

The sum of their parts

2011-07-19T21:47:00.000-04:00

I bumped into the phrase "the whole is more than the sum of it's parts", and I was reminded of how thirsty this sometimes leaves my mind...

Briefly, I think the key observation is that "the sum of their parts" is usually rather undefined. The question is often really about the notion of "sum"...

For instance, consider how 2 * 3 = 6, and 2 + 4 = 6. Addition (2 + 4) and multiplication (2 * 3) are both functions that result in 6, but with different constituents (2 and 4, vs 2 and 3). So the question is then, "what are the parts of 6?". The number 6 can be made by from 2 and 3, but it is certainly more than the sum of 2 and 3 (2 + 3 = 5), so 6 is more than the sum of it's parts!? On the other hand if 2 and 4 are the parts of 6, then it is exactly the sum of it's parts. If 2, 4, 2 and 3 are all parts of 6 then 6 is way less than the sum of it's parts...

The general point being that there is a special relationship between "parts" and "sums". If you use the wrong kind of sum, then you don't get the whole from it's parts. Sometimes you get more, sometimes less. So, if ever someone tells you that something is more than the sum of it's parts, it's interesting to ask, what kind of sum and what kind of parts are they considering.

In other news, I went to a Google picnic today, lots of sun, games, free drinks and super-soakers...

a trip

2011-07-04T15:41:00.000-04:00

There's a kind of squeeky cleanness, and a stiff unhappy look to the people; the painful look of money. Hiding out in a Moroccan cafe after the conference, drinking mint tea, I find myself next to the bravado of x-pat British lads, telling stories of their triumphs. I blank it out; indulge in my programming and tea. Waiting to compile, the evening arrives, clear blue, pleasant temperatures.

a dog named lucas, lucas phoneless, weekend larks

2011-06-20T22:06:00.000-04:00

I've met a dog with the same name I have; a grey 'scotty' dog, big whiskers. More than almost anything else, he seems to love licking my feet - I'm reminded of an approximation my dad's words: "dogs have a delightful disrespect for the disgusting".

Last weekend's blur started with friday night of tense but amusing Hitchcock, in 3D! 'dial M for murder' a thriller/mystery delight; carefully unfolding plot, pulling me to and from a grim murder-minded character. It all ends happily, but I'm still a staggering zombie stunned walking out the cinema. Recovered by way of drinks at an enthusiastic music mad and ball-guided frenchman's loft-like apartment. Saturday rolls on and I make my way to a cheeze-party in Central Park. Cheese, wine and a random guy who makes a mean mojito cocktail throws the party into a slurring, happy, basking in the sun til the afternoon ends and I loose my phone. Amazingly I feel no loss for the phone; a little worry about someone using my phone, but I call up and cancel it and it's like I never had one again.

So I'm thrown back to my days before telephone; even more so perhaps now that I have no home phone either. It's a strange sense, loosing the power of instant communication. But I've ordered a swanky and new smart machine that looks like an Ian Banks spacecraft. It'll take some days to arrive, and then I'll finally arrive into the universe of my work-peers. So, until then, I'm email and silences.

Sunday I dance in Union square. There's a man in a bin watching everyone, and there's another man watching the man in a bin too. I dance on.

return of the ceiling, my gnome, on a hot hot day

2011-06-11T22:04:00.000-04:00

It's been getting hot; the kind of heat that tickles you all over as little droplets of sweat magic themselves all over you, as if you are melting, your body slowly trickling its way home, back to the ocean.

My flat feels like it is haunted by little gnomes. When I'm at work, the sneak in; sometimes they break things: a blind here, a light-bulb there; they stomp about in big boots and leave dusty prints too. But I feel strangely fond of them as they, bit by bit, also magic a bathroom a new ceiling. To be honest it looked more interesting before with the wood and pipes. Just the light is missing now on the white ceiling.

At work, I feel like a gnome, trialing away at bits and pieces, enjoying it more as I find a good pace, and find myself able to contribute. This week has been paper reading, reviewing, and come 5pm, I go to practice Aikido in the furnace, land of foot smells. Then back to work for a little longer, perhaps having some food there. It's been a social time recently too; parties on roof-tops, barbeques, conceptual art in the form of rent-a-burka, and indulgent luxurious lie-ins.

Zombie rabbits and bathroom ceilings

2011-06-03T20:44:00.000-04:00

There's a shop around the corner that, as far as I can tell, caters to the desires of killer-zombie-rabbits...

It's a curios thing, a bathroom ceiling. Mine had developed a bulbous shape which I told the 'superintendent' of our building about. One day a crowd of men came to look at it, "water!" they exclaimed and ran away. A week later, I find I have no bathroom ceiling at all. All I can see now is a network of pipes - big think lead-looking ones, and wires - thin and creeping things. The rest of my flat blossomed in broken glass, blue gaffer tape, and finally a myst of nose-twitching grey dust.

Outside a motorbike with a deep booming motor drums by, and all the cars start a-woooping-and gleeful honking. I'm sitting on my dusty stool, looking up the blinds I've just fitted, and considering spending my evening waving a mop.

Today I got to speak to one of the gods about saving the world. I was pleasantly surprised to find that he was keen - I once wondered if the gods of my new world might not actually care for the lands of everyone else, but anyway, they do! Seeds of rationality bumble into a garden of gods.

Now I hear a ding-dong of a door, mine? Cautiously, I open my door to find a waft of perfumes. No; it is not my door they wait at, but the one opposite... where's that mop?

a new place and dreams of large cats

2011-05-25T09:05:00.000-04:00

I've moved. And the sun has returned. The heat of the city is now starting to thicken. The noises of the refurbishment in the floor above are dampened hammers, and boots - but not so loud that they are disturbing, more like the large explorations of a some strange hungry animal. Last night I dreamed of sharing a small 1 bedroom flat with my father, and one of my sisters who was sleep, and a small but scarily strong leopard. The leopard was waking up slowly as I cared for it, and then becoming curious, and exploring for food.

I the night before, I also dreamed of a large restless cat who I'd accidentally forgotten about, it had been living on a far, in my fathers house, and that farm, with the long neglect, has sunk and become an underground basement. As I descended the stairs, showing a friend my new place, I suddenly remembered the cat, who'd grown lonely and impatient with time... it would be pleased to see me, I thought, but I was also slightly scared and guilty feeling for the years that had passed.

Moving and raining

2011-05-20T00:12:00.006-04:00

A long week of late working late nights, and tonight I'm scraping the little dregs of soul that eeked out there life, pulling them out of this flat. Packing boxes. Boxes boxes, moving offices and moving home. And contemplating where and why people get angry - why do I get angry sometimes? Where does the sense of struggle come from?

Then remembering the delight of the tumbling drumming rain last night... pictures from the corner by my new flat, where I watched the rain pondered buying an umbrella.

Running, Central park, Harlem,

2011-05-14T12:31:00.000-04:00

Today I went running in central park, this is the third time I've been running (in my life); I'm still thoroughly confused about what one is supposed to do. I watch other runners, but they all do different things. We run around the lake, I feel the heat of my body building up, the gradual lazy internal barriers slowly arrive, and then pass as if they never existed. I notice a small stone in my shoe, playing poke-the-heel at random places.

Back to my confusion, it really is much more complicated that I thought. I'm constantly barraged by questions from my body: do I land on my heels, rolling my knee and ankles out? or my toes absorbing weight through my ankles? or try to land with my foot flat-ish; and do I land on the outside of my foot or the inside? in the middle? And that's just a few possibilities for the feet - what about where my feet are placed relative to each other; and what about the hands? the tilt of my body? and my head? and my shoulder? It's like all my body wonders where it should be in the crazy new act to angular propulsion. On my VISA I'm a resident alien - that's certainly how I feel running.

Yesterday, I walked a bit - I visited Harlem - bought croissants from L'Ambassadeur. This looks like it might be rocketing to my favorite bakery/restaurant in New York: I loved the simple human manner of the people that worked there, the west African music, the relaxed atmosphere, the delicious simple french-style fresh bread... and around the corner, a block or two away, we ate dinner in a delicious Jamaican Rastafarian place: "nothing that walk, crawls, swims or flies" was written on the wall. Vegan curries and fried plantain, slightly bitter greens, and brown tofu-like stuff. Wholesome, real. A chess set permanently on one of the tables. Relaxed people at the end of the their day, life is taken more easily, more naturally here. Perhaps I'll move up here in a bit, it's cheaper too, just a commute to pay.

Oh, and work became exciting this week; a good brain storming session. World domination by argument maps was drafted; founding eyes laid some minutes over it, I snapped a short for the record. My excited rant also caught a fellow to two. I'll cast the net a little wider soon, it's nice to feel that the idea might actually catch fire; I guess I hadn't dared to hope... perhaps a little early still, but exciting nonetheless. Oh, and I've managed to extract a good mathematical problem recently too. Some very fascinating projects and questions.

Ah, time is upon me - I go to get the keys to my new flat in Soho...

a new apartment soon; walking some green hills

2011-05-11T22:56:00.000-04:00

I'm tired, body aching subtly from Aikido of a couple of days ago, mind warn flat, having spent days pouring through piles of code, striving for understanding where there is little to be understood.

Now I listen to some Portuguese Fado, Madredeus, a transition from melancholy to playful. Reflecting on work, it feels like people work really hard to do easy things, where I feel they should be working to make hard things easy. I feel I've said this before, but I don't know where or when... a deja vu... am I repeating myself?

Last weekend I made it out of the city, went walking with Taina at an idyllic villages that was also somehow consequentially hideous. Still walks outside of earshot of taxi-horns were welcome...

We did hear what sounded like a nuclear warning siren from a 60s film echoing over the hills - maybe from the nearby military base?

Oh! I've got a new apartment, but I'm regretting it before I've even got the keys... the more I think about it the more I think I got a crappy deal... I'll stop thinking about it... I can change in a year's time.

The new place is small, expensive, but in a nice part of town. Yesterday I ate some of the most delicious Greek food I've ever had - in a tiny place opposite my new flat. It has 4 tables each for 2 people, and one table for three. The tables are all very close. Cosy. Tiny. But soooo tasty... reminds me, at the weekend, a visit is planned to taste the delights of a French-style bakery run by Senegalese formerly from Paris... diversity. New York enjoys serious food diversity.

bycles and a flat search

2011-05-04T23:30:00.001-04:00

At the weekend, I saw cyclists from my window, thousands of them, for hours and hours...

The day before yesterday, I managed to feed myself something I should have thrown away. A new experience of strange stiff pains all through my body, much like having flew. Only lasted one brain-stifling day.

And today I looked at flats, with help from patient Taina and Eftikis, more flats than I was expecting to ever see the inside of in one day. "Exposed brick", a feature of New York apartments, plays a surprisingly prominent role, often as the view:

Tonight, I've been trying to prepare the paperwork... missing details led me on a long chase, eventually arriving at HSBC representative telling me that I should put all my passwords in a single excel spreadsheet, and use MS office to password protect it... I'm pretty sure that is a terrible bit of advice.

Now I've fought my way through the paperwork, maybe I'll have a new place to live tomorrow!

Sureal and argumentative

2011-04-24T11:53:00.003-04:00

People wear a worn look, perhaps it's more than skin deep. "Life is hard", it says. They walk slowly, and it's a tired walk. They fight, in slow motion, to be in this painfully small space. The space here is full, culture squirming to break through the concrete, and yet, mostly, it's just a show, crying for its own emptiness. In the East Village, I came across this...

"Time and space died yesterday."

Last night I met, for the first time in my life, a convicted advocate of pure-capitalism. I knew such people existed; but it was the first time I actually spoke to one. Like an exotic fish, I gaped at the Swedish investment banker. Sadly, we had only just started our discussion before he had to leave. I'm hoping to finally understand this view of the world, what drives such believe? I want to delve under the rhetoric and see what is the implicit rationale he holds. I feel I may need to bolster my collection factoids: we did briefly talk of immigration in Sweden, where I got the impression his view is a stereotype that sketched in fears that Muslims are aggressively evangelical, that they want all women to wear the Burka, and have no interest in anything Swedish, except taking advantage of the social security system - a position I expressed my disbelief for. Fundamentally, his belief seemed to be that economic laws corrupt society and lead it to despotism. And there was me thinking that such laws are a mechanism by which we escaped oligarchy... ahh, some exciting conversations await the next time we meet!

Work-wise, I've been feeling rather incompetent, slow, struggling in slow motion to absurd the sea of acronyms and swamps of endless software gunk. Luckily my manager and colleagues, like a break in the clouds and a fresh breeze, shed a humble light on my predicament, helping me realise that it's normal to be stuck in a swamp, but if I keep clambering through, I'll get to dryer land. Maybe I'll even have the chance to walk a dream of democratic, rationaale argument...

Oh yeah, I've been thinking that "Rationaale", with emphasis roughly "rationAAArle", might be a fun word for my twisted take on rational and scientific: it is being open minded, it is the antithesis of dogma, it is the unification of differing positions by acceptance heterogeneity. For instance, it accepts emotional arguments as emotional arguments. It accepts cultural arguments in light of their cultural momentum. It is the gentle heart of science. It accepts all things by accepting them in their context. It is accepting that all things have context, and that the context needs to be made explicit in order to form a constructive collective reality.

You might have noticed that I'm also using a twisted definition of argument: for me an argument is just a statement of an idea or position; typically towards or against some other statement.

Maybe it's worth being a little concrete: our capitalist is arguing from some beliefs. A rationaale for this position is that he has a model that everyone knows everything perfectly, and that if power congregates, then it will, by some virtue of his image of pure-capitalism, be broken back into something else, saved by economic demand. This is the context, and now we can argue about realisation of this context, or lack of, within the world we see around us.

I guess I think that, fundamentally, we nearly all agree, but on top of this agreement lie layers of confused imaginations. These disconnected intellectual backdrops draw us apart and scare us from each other.

Oh yeah, I spent some time this week writing about argument mapping - perhaps
it shows :)

of homes and trycicles of the NYPD

2011-04-14T22:37:00.000-04:00

The days pass and pass... I returned from Edinburgh and Oxford on monday to a different New York, to heat, to streets covered in flowers and plants, to people dressed lightly, to the flowers finally breaking out among the trees that were previously just grey skeletons haunting the pavement.

It was strange to be back in Edinburgh; the roots I used to feel are no longer there. Maybe it was just lacking my own flat, my own room, or maybe it was not staying in the heartland of my old haunts. I was awed by the emptiness, by Edinburgh's greenery, and by the leisurely nature of its cafe culture.

New York coffee places are largely pumping affairs: eat and begone!

On other matters, worky projects here are starting to properly catch my curiosity, and I made last night to what people here seem to call a "minimal wave" club: an electronic vision of the darkest 80s, stripped bare, and stuffed with groove; the club was preceded by live music aptly called Dark folk from Gent.

Oh yeah, here's a fun thing about modern new york: the NYPD drive tricycles... still makes smile as I get my morning coffee.

pictures; and things to do...

2011-03-25T08:47:00.000-04:00

Some more pictures; I went out to Queens, apparently all the best food is out there, in small unassuming and very local places. They certainly have lots of roads...

I walk past this humble cat very often, always make me happy to see her.

I'm still searching for the noodles and comic place I remember from 2003...

But last night, I went to see some classical music, there I was told of a cigar-bar, a place licensed for people go and smoke cigars and drink whiskey...

Things to do are vastly outpacing the rate I can do them...

There is a sign that says BUMP

2011-03-22T23:39:00.000-04:00

There is a sign that says BUMP.

A man picks up his dog's shit, with his bare hands, and places it delicately by a tree.

Galleries last weekend, some work of Marcel Dzama at David Wirner - chess, war and sex, contrasts interwoven. Then Glenn Ligon (images to words, angry sad reflection on racism) and Edward Hopper (magic painter of light and people) at Witney.

I spend an hour today practicing falling-over, at various speeds, from various heights. The final 10 minutes are the hardest: a strangers holds out her right arm; I stand in front her, a little to one side. She is a blond girl, of medium build with a round face and a kind smile. I place my left hand on her wrist, and then throw myself over her arm, my feet are high in the air, and I'm still holding her wrist gently. I meet the ground first with my other arm, and then my back, finally my legs. Quickly, I stand up, and take her wrist with my other hand, and throw mayself again. Again and again.

A basement, Bar 55, the most hard-worn musicians I've ever seen play their hearts out while I drink whiskey.

It's been a fun week, culture, music, friends, explorations of Brooklyn. Work-wise I'm still frustrated by programming with a pile of sludge (C++), plotting revenge of ML (an almost brilliant language)... also looking forward to visiting Edinburgh and Oxford soon (Don't ask, I can't tell you when, it's a surprise).

time, time traveling, and psychic puppies on a window-sill

2011-03-16T20:24:00.004-04:00

I got home early today, left the office at 17:30, that felt pretty good. But I also had too much coffee, on and off, over the day, leaving me kind of drained and hyper. Now I'm fighting back against the encroaching sea of emails and also tackling a few outstanding electronic chores.

Repeatedly failing to do any exercise is frustrating me a bit. I need to find a way to get to Aikido, I was planning to go at 6am, to the early class, but it's too early for me, if I stay up until 2am as I tend to, then it destroys me. Work typically wraps its ugly arms around me in the early evenings, at the end of which, Aikido is finished; and during the day, I get caught up by... well... mostly debugging shitty c++ programs and dreaming of writing in ML again... Perhaps I can schedule Aikido into my diary and go at lunch-time... new plan!

Yesterday I finished reading the Time Traveler's Wife, a story of beautiful human nature; almost too romanticly-sweet for me, leaves you feeling good as you read it, somehow inspired by the characters, but also a little unreal in the way fate falls out in front of them; I think the sensation of your own fate, looking into your past, can be comforting and intriguing, but when a fateful sensation lurks in your future, then a delusion is afoot, possibly a dangerous one, I ponder.

Today's observations of New Yorkers: there is an oddly large number of shops selling collections of rat-shaped hairless tiny dogs. Outside, groups of women gape at the creatures. The dogs look a bit bored to me, but they occasionally pull-off a cute-trick, bite each other, and I imagine, poo on their sterile window-sill once in a while, surely. So, I wonder: what is the link between 24-hour psychic advisers on every street corner, and the puppy shop on every street? Is this some demonic mechanism that traps people's souls in puppies and makes the dogs hair fall off? Or are the psychics pulling a ruse, pretending to talk to the dead, when in fact they communicate with rat-shaped dogs via string and yogurt-cups? the mystery...

images on the way to work

2011-03-11T22:36:00.002-05:00

I wake up, and admire the view...

I walk to work, this is typically what it looks like:

There are strange characters here, like this rat, who hangs about on the side of the street. I often see him on the way to work. I don't know why there is a yellow prong coming out of his nose, it's always there, and today it matches the puffy jacket of a passer-by.

carnival in queens, alien-heads galore

2011-03-07T21:27:00.001-05:00

This weekend, I went to a party in Queens; Astoria. It was the kindly invite of a friend of friend, a Greek carnival party, where wild alien-heads is probably the best description of my favorite costumes. This inspired me to dance slightly strangely - I just got sent this video as an approximation for my dancing... I'm hoping some of the party-people will send me some pictures of the Alien heads and maybe photographic proof of my mad dancing. Getting to the party at 1am meant leaving kind of late, hurray for all night trains. The next two days I lived in space - a floating purgatory where my insides had been turned to saw-dust and sand. Luckily my guest, Conor, who arrived a couple of hours after I got to bed, was in a similar state - he'd just celebrated house-selling before flying here. We enjoyed conversing about teaching, long-distances, loves, this and that, and a sprinkling of type theory things: what is the type-theory of fancy pointer structures and their shape-changing transformations, and how do you describe their inductive shapes?

2011-03-03T21:25:00.003-05:00

The first week at work has been surprising in how unsurprising it has been. Much like Wikileaks - all the stuff you didn't know, but strongly suspected - turns out it's true!

What was a little unexpected was the 'party' atmosphere. Also, people don't overwork like I worried they might. Although I've been working very hard this first week - but I can see it's just the first week. There's a deep river of thought here to run things rationally, and they have the resources to try and make it happen. That feels very good. On the less positive side, I've not come across an interesting concept or idea yet, I'm worried I'll miss academia for that, but I guess it might also be the first week of introductions is naturally administrative. Missing my academic friends in Edinburgh!

I've been making a morning ritual of walking to Grumpy's, reading a little with a cappuccino and croissant, and then making my way into work. A nice start to the day. Sleep has been a little problematic; hard to get the right temperature, constant sirens and horns are also a little unusual for me. I just bought a couple of blankets, and a non-feather pillow, so that should help me avoid sneezing and getting some reasonable sleep. Last night I dreamt. The dream took place in a big white box, with some rocks, and water at the bottom. There was a big hungry green lizard who was chasing, trying to catch, and eat a terrified frog. There was also an aggressive hungry fish taking big bites out of the lizard's body and legs. The lizard didn't seem to notice, he was totally intent on catching and eating the frog. I could feel the mad urgent chasing hunger of the lizard, and also of the fish. I was also very worried for the frog, he was leaping out of the jaws of the lizard, up into the air, and hard against against the plastic of the box, and sliding, falling back down towards the lizard's gaping mouth. Several times the frog lading on the lizard mouth, but managed to push against it's jaws and jump up again. Full of angst, I watched the scene, feeling for all 3 creatures, terrified and hungry. Then, the lizard managed to jump up as the frog was falling, and the frog was caught this time in the throat of the lizard, who hungrily gulped him down. I woke up. It was 6am-ish. I fell back to sleeping shortly after, this time dreaming that work didn't allow me to grow a beard, and I remember feeling terrible about it, scared and shamed because I hadn't shaved, and also frustrated by the crazy requirement. Luckily, when I wake up again at 9, I realise it was just a dream, and the disarray of my facial hair is not an issue.

Sorry there are no pictures this post, no pictures allowed at work, and I've not been anywhere else. Having said that, I did randomly meet a lovely couple while queuing at a restaurant yesterday; ended up sharing a table and enjoying dinner together, over a kind of Korean sake. It was very popular Korean place (Woorijip); discussions about ranged from marxism and radical left wing politics, to technological revolution, and the existence of rationality. It was food to my hungry mind, who was aching for some good chat. The Korean place itself was amazing, with 2 tears of queuing, first by the door, then inside at the back. The place has an atmosphere of hot chaos, while outside it was bitter cold. As I watched I realised the bustling waiters who rushed here and there, and directing people to tables, and urgently but gently pushing people out of their way - that these waiters were a powerfully efficient mechanism, they made the place work, they were the blood of the place. It was wild and delicious, and also very homely tasting, not amazing, but good. I loved it.

Also started writing a short story about the life of a conceptual artist... more on that another time. Til the weekend!

A short, delightfully bitter Capuccino

2011-02-27T15:21:00.002-05:00

A short, delightfully bitter Capuccino, and a gentle brioche in the lobby of the ACE hotel; I'm really here for that Stumptown Coffee. The lobby, where I'm sitting, is dimly lit, full of people and the sounds of conversations in an enormous space. Lots of faces highlighted by laptops, brass and black, lamps. A few people trying to read in the darkness. I think I can vaguely here some music behind the echoing conversations.

Yesterday was good, today too; Yesterday started early, then a couple of Aikido classes leaving me feeling glorious. Some drifting through streets, ate the biggest salad I've ever eaten (and I'm a big salad eater, but it nearly defeated me), found a way to get some more money out of my UK account (struggling with my US bank account...), and then coasted my way downtown to explore east village.

Simone's bar, wifi and whiskey!

A bar called Simone provided me with a space to do some programming, eat about 50 olives, and eventually make my way through the biggest measure of Macallan I've ever been poured. A little light-headed, and stuck with my programming, I swayed out to find ramen noodles and lots of green tea. Then I wondered streets following my favourite style of walking random. I came across a charming and swanky little hat shop, villagescandal, walked out with two very different hats that I actually really like, and a complementary scarf. Feeling way cooler I wondered past closed subways, eventually finding a way to get back home. A few hours programming later and I had sorted out a serious chunk of my quantum robot machine - essentially routine programming, but demanding as I wrapped my mind around some friends code.

Time Square today

And now a plan is needed for today... Aikido, or walk in the sun to time square and then central park...

2011-02-25T19:10:00.000-05:00

Man and parrot outside Murray's Bagels

I'm moody today; woke up on the wrong side of bed, on the wrong side of afternoon; struggled to make my way out, anywhere, to just do something. Doing something ended up being getting a bagel, watching a man and his parrot, then a coffee at Grumpy's; which is how I felt before the coffee - it was a good coffee. Going for cocktail and book reading in a bit, or perhaps to see True Grit. The big city blues today are finally wearing off today, as the evening arrives; and as I watch the lights of seemingly infinite cabs make the ant-like way down 6th avenue towards me.

sighting masonic temples, fortune tellers, and lovingly made burgers

2011-02-23T20:52:00.002-05:00

Simultaneously lost for words, and overwhelmed with things to say. Here's a sprinkling of sights...

View from living room window;
masonic hall is the middle building

One thing I noticed today is that the building 1 block away - it is basically in front my of living room window - seems to be a masons guild, it's a big building, openly advertising that it is a secret society...

I realised yesterday, while doing a random walk-about, is that on pretty much every block, there is a fortune teller. I can choose from a variety of palm-readers, a fair sprinkling of tea-leaf readers, also astrologers, people who speak to the dead, and many many more. I guess a there must be a lot of demand for them... there's almost as many places helping you speak to the dead as there are phone shops trying to make you speak to your mobile phone.

There is something else that is on every block as well: a fitness club, usually second floor. One sighting today: a line of men on running machines. I find this alone strange, a line of people running on the spot, going nowhere. But what I've not seen before is that each person had his own 30 inch TV, in front and a bit above his machine. They all showed different channels. The guys were all running, but with their head craned up to watch TV. I guess something shocking must have come on the TV and distracted one guy: he stumbled, falling hand to the floor; but what amazed me was that he was able to keep watching the TV even as he fell over. The running starts and stop, but the TV watching is eternal.

I spent a good part of the last few days wondering about Chelsea, Greenwich Village, and Midtown today - Fiona gave me a collection of New York City Walks; I took my first of these walks today. It was a fantastic architectural one, this is a very impressive city to be in. It's heaped with diversity and there's a totally unashamed attitude to the architecture here, it says "I'm a big f-off building; what you gonna do about it?". It would make a building like Appleton Tower seem like a lost and shy garden shed.

After today's exploration of New York Aikdio, a very friendly experience, I was left with some appetite, and decided to try indulging in local burger. I've never seen a burger made with such love and attention... the way the onions were carefully caressed, the cheese gently layered, and bread rolls precisely placed - it nearly made me cry. Truth be told, I enjoyed watching the burger being made a lot more than eating it - feel kind of heavy and full now...

And it's time to do some washing; turn out I'm not getting my stuff until march; I only brought enough cloths for 3 days... (and luckily one Aikido gi, and my dancing shoes)... I guess I'll have to do some shopping, New York seems like a good place for that... ah yes, must go and get my Aikido Gi now...

2011-02-21T15:27:00.001-05:00

Just arrived to my flat in New York, a 17th Floor on 6th Avenue, the centre of Manhattan. Rather like a hotel; white clean dry walls; it's about the size of my old flat, but feels a little smaller; my stuff isn't here yet, but I am, well, a little tired, kind of emotional. Outside it's just slightly snowy, police sirens sing from the street below, when they pass regular horns holler at each other. Outside my window I can see three large cylindrical water containers on the roof off the building opposite...

Eyes feel kind of heavy... guess I'd better find some lunch, and maybe buy some more cloths...

Dangerously in Sydney

2008-08-09T00:49:00.002-04:00

A collection of long flights, 40 hours from setting off I'm washing away jetlag, slowly, loosing moments here and there as I stare nowhere. Thoughts come in a sporadic trickle: I nearly died on my first road crossing, a mad speeding sports car jumped a red light and swished past honking cars and the shouts of nearly run over people. For my part, I quickly took a step back and walked on like nothing happened. The hotel is bland, but pleasant.

A little later, crossing roads again, I listen, amused by the sounds of an old computer game emitted from the man crossing road lights.

A Japanese on Dixon street, just outside China town and full of Asians– must be good I presume, turns out to be cheep and plentiful rather than tasty, but hits the stop and bangs a hold in the jet lag.

Now in espresso bar on Kind street, good coffee, chocolate, and luck would have it – free wifi. Only thing missing is water with coffee. Feeling a bit dried out, but friendly interactive australian temperament makes up for it. These people have a good sense of humanity, and the bar man appreciates that I run linux on my laptop.

Time to do some work.

Lost, Smuggling and Consuming

2007-11-27T14:55:00.000-05:00

Somehow I have not managed managed to sleep again. I mismanaged my packing, fixing the shower at 2am, forgot my french phone cards, euros, but nothing too serious. Arriving in gatwick there was a branch in the corridor, everyone else went down the left branch, but reading the sign I realised I had to take the other corridor, international connections... can I really be the only one? Various passageways merged and passed by in the airport maze, I chased the very yellow signs, one by one, alone, passing them again and again. My heavy steps thud softly on the carpet, audible in their solitude. Some people pass me, going the other way, at least there is some other humanity in this airport - unless they are robots... they do not act human, walking step step step, in hurry, like they are scared and alone. Poor lonely robots.

Then I'm there, before a security checkpoint, waiting in line, pulling my coat off rather inelegantly. The generic unhappy security man gets the people in front to take off their shoes, carefully telling them everything. Pre-empting him, I ask “shoes off?” and “Yes” he says, and proceeds with the laptop drudgery. I nod acknowledgement, placing my bags and coat in the tray, I suddenly think to ask about my belt, which he says is fine as is. I pass through, get searched carefully, pick up my stuff, fight my coat back. But suddenly I realise I have my shoes on! A huge joy spills through me, a smile embellished my face. I won! This small victory against the tyranny of paranoid terror-maniacs! Never has smuggling made me feel better! Me and my shoes, we beat the fear-mongers, the madmen, robots of insanity bear witness to my triviality!

Sober, reflecting on the nature of the - I have to admit it - completely accidental victory, I realise it was the acknowledgement followed by belt-flashing distraction that won. It broke his story, his plan, and he didn't realise it, but his brief moment of controlling me lapsed and failed to catch the silent shoes. The security who searched me so carefully simply weren't expected shoes and so they did not see them. We humans, I ponder, prime ourselves for the expected cases and find it hard to even see the unusual.

Sometime later, in Gatwick shopping-land I grumble at Costa's inability to provide a glass of water with their coffee, I shrug them off, exercising my consumer power. The consequent search leads me to a better place - at the opposite end of this, the north terminal, is a french cafe, an oasis of freedom! Free tap water in Gatwick! another success! A good birthday so far, I buy myself some shoes and wonder how to pass the time between flights, trying not to sleep too heavily.

Memories of Spain in Paris

2007-09-20T11:04:00.000-04:00

Paris again, a small cafe somewhere, this table is too small for my latop and the coffee. Two girls discuss something serious in deep arabic tones. A little break from work, waiting for the library to open and use the free state-provided internet. The corner tables in this cafe are the prime places, I have the inside corner by the window, my neighbour just left; she was a young women dressed in fitted black, intently hunched, reading a book and on occasion drawing smoke from her cigarette. Now a young couple come to take that empty corner table, softly complaining about something.

I found this note of from Granada in Spain, probably sometime in late May...

There is Arabic pop playing in this narrow tetoria at the foot of the Alhambra. Outside the sun is dry and hot. Inside, three young Spanish girls share a shisha at the far corner, while in front of me an old and ornate rifle hangs on the wall beside a pink sign indicating 490 EUROS. All of the decorations in here are for sale.

I have escaped the wonderings I use to fill my otherwise missing hours. When the agenda of everyday life is thrown out, it leaves a void of action.

I had forgotten that to be asked for fire, for a light at least, was once a common event in Britain. It still is here. But I have no fire, and only now do I realise that for the last several moments that the girls in the corner have been trying to get my attention. I shrug to the girl apologetically, and say I have no none. Slightly amused now by the giggles that preceded their attempt to get my attention, in good humour, I return my bitter tea and over salted falafel. I came here to write, nothing on my mind, devoid of philosophy, sadly projectless and outside the world of communication; I'm an uncontactable anomaly! Now it is Arabic ninja-techno on the TV, and a beautiful woman starts singing while ninja's jaunt around the background. So, still empty of philosophy I'll finish my tea. But that's it! The creature of my empty heart, a hesitation, lost indirection, slight tension – the curious creature I travel to find. A heart of uncertainty – the very stress in the unkown about what to do next!

Retirement to The Samarkand Teashop

2007-05-15T11:45:00.000-04:00

The Samarkand Salon de The, a carpet covered cafe on a small backstreet in the centre Paris. I sip a bowl of widely spiced tea and listen to a mournful sounding ode from Usbekistan. I'm here, having escaped from a week of 9am to 7pm technical talks and too much work that left me hectic and tired. Now in bustling Paris, staying at family and friends, feeling time slow down in the absence of schedules, I enjoy the days events and spring surprises: a little tango, a lot of wandering and walking, some dinners and a few discussions later. Soon I will take the train to the village where my mum lives.

Stormy Paris

2007-04-29T12:25:00.000-04:00

Dressed all in white, an elderly woman holds herself upright on two metal crutches and stares strait into the sky, watching it throw down a storm. Her dog faithfully but coweringly, with tail and head hung down, waits for her to fill her eyes so they might move on. I sit under a canopy watching the busy street of Sunday-closed-shops and listen to the thunder. Opposite me is the Boulanger Patisssier Denis, an orange enclave of cakes, sweets and sandwiches. A man with a parrot on his shoulder and a brown leather bag buys a sandwich while I drink my coffee and listen to the rain.

A little later I've found the delightful creaky wooden-floored flat where I will sleep tonight. The warm glow from yesterday's sun still lingers on forehead, especially when I lift my eyebrows. I have a day to linger here and prepare my talk. This flat is the ancient Asian home of my great aunt, currently lived in by a cousin, and it has recently acquired hot water. To my surprise there is a distinct non-existence of a toilet. Sometimes in small Parisian flats they are in shared by several flats and have a separate door from the stairwell – but after a little adventuring I find it is not the case here. A phone call to my mum, who once lived in this Asian treasure trove of china and dark wood, reveals the curious geography of this flat: there is a secret door to a neighbours flat who has a toilet. When I get back from the phone box, I bang the ornate gong and nod to the Buddha.

Back to Edinburgh Chaos

2006-12-02T12:36:00.000-05:00

I'm back in Edinburgh, the wind howls and tango based chaos storms around me. My next trip will be to Nimegan - until then you can find me at a cafe near appleton tower. :)

Walk in the morning sun

2006-11-27T07:20:00.000-05:00

Yesterday Graham and Sam arrived; we lunched on extravagant sandwiches and then undertook an expedition to find the remote exhibition of the school of architecture. A note I had scrawled in a bar provided our directions: "school of arch. continue right past lake. turn right. lots of trees and hidden house". This lead us through Cristiania, and out again into the seeming wilderness by the south lakes of Copenhagen. We did find trees and a monument-like stone building and a hidden house, but it was all locked and all quiet. So we made are way back by meandering through the lake-side artisan houses of Cristiania, beautiful hand craft dreams realised, a floating wooden cabin, a space craft, a miniature castle in black and white with towers and circular windows. Like my fantasies of being an architect from 20 year ago.

In the evening we met at a dark indie punk venue to chase another bar-acquired ill-direction. The billing was Jazz meets Punk. The venue had a dark alternative, real, and somehow Glasgow-like feel, but the music was empty of talent - young men self indulgently ignored their spectators. But to talk with Graham and Sam was warming and dear, we rambled around snippets of suddenly remembered news, falling into cryptography and out through politics and relations.

This morning I woke early, the beer I dared to drink last night grinding at my sleep. Another year passed last wednesday and I grow increasingly intolerant to beer! I took a stroll in the shining cold and daring sun of this fresh morning. Empty streets and art gallery windows. Then to cafes stretching chair-limbs, rubbing their window-eyes, watching the city wake up; brings a smile to my face. Now for breakfast and plans!

in celebration of cake

2006-11-23T07:51:00.000-05:00

It's raining and I'm in a good mood - my teaching is over and we've just eaten cake had a taste of whisky and enjoyed some good coffee. So here are some pictures from the last week or so....

Holiday in Hamburg

2006-11-17T04:16:00.000-05:00

A sunny day and I take the train to Hamburg, a surprise ferry ride over shining waves then packed back into our train. I step out of central station in the twilight night falling, blown into a modern pedestrian highway of brightly lit sopping centres. These giants stare down patiently and abstractly on the small dark clothed, light skinned crowd who bustle bellow. A handful of breakdancers hold out, hang out, jump and dace, glory in their little fort of couter-culture, a drop of real culture.

Wondering takes me to the river, a wide peaceful body of water on which swans patrol and ducks parade if a little nervously. "Selected Coffee and Selected Music" catches my eye, appealing my ear. They offer good, heart thundering coffee, sweets and pastries, and music to listen to, and bated by, to buy. I bite and part 3 hours later, tuned up and befriended the owners who love Scotland and Whisky, who fed me music and biscuits.

The Portuguese scientoligist

2006-11-11T15:24:00.000-05:00

When I stay at home for too long I get gloomy, restless, push sanity for kicks. Annoyingly, the cd player skips. Luckily there are lots of records. But not as many as it felt like there was a few weeks ago. So the mint tea here is really good and in the evenings they have tunes I have not been listening to all week. Downstairs is dark and cosy, upstairs I get internet from an unwittingly generous neighbour.

I have noticed a something in over the last few weeks, people sometimes treat friendships as investments. Being passing air in the city makes people pull up their coats and walk on. Does the wind ever get lonely? Perhaps its the temperature of the wind that makes a difference, too hot or too cold people will shield themselves from it's flames and claws.

Yesterday, like most evening these days, I went to dance tango. Recently my life can be painted in few colours, tango for the night, programming and theorising for the now diminishing light of day, and sometimes a dash of eating here or there in the twilight. But last night I met an unusual character, a young dark haired Portuguese scientoligist. She moved to Copenhagen to study scientology - I was so dumbstruck that all I could do was say, ok, and smile to keep the nerves at bay. She asked, with a big smile, if I knew what that was, "Sure, Tom Cruise is a scientologist, right?", I reply. She nods enthusiastically and tells me the centre for scientology in Europe is in Copenhagen. I am saved by some music. I still hold out hope that it was a joke - can someone really be serious like that?

shadows that a bright moon cast

2006-11-05T12:08:00.000-05:00

There are thoughts, places in the mind, that I'm scared to go. But I can feel them as they walk through the shadows that a bright moon cast.

I'm sitting in my regular net-robbing cafe, with liquorish mint tea, on an antique faded green armchair. It's saturday, I have lime cake and I relax. Tonight I'll go to a tango-meal followed by what I've been told will be a big Milonga - dancing will end in the morning, the metro runs all night at the weekend. I don't know what to expect, probably good, life thrives in the spaces between expectations.

And tomorrow, I'll take a class in what I'll describe as a physical theatre for awareness with games of balance, trust and natural reaction. I was introduced to this last week and the echo's of "where are you?!" still revolve in my mind and the aches in my muscles have only recently resided. Some dark habits were rerevealed - one is to be lost in isolation, in hazy distance - known from Aikido but still lurking in the mood shadows.

I wonder where I am... does that imply knowledge of where one can be? or only that one can be?

Well, time to go back to my flat, shower and find the dinner.

more pictures

2006-10-31T12:38:00.000-05:00

A few pictures from the last week or so, I have not managed to work less, so my life is still a bit dull. I did go to Malmo and dance a lot of tango at the weekend, and there are stories to tell, but I'm tired tonight, so they'll be told another day. But I did goto Tivoli last week and tasted the witches brew.

in which time speeds up and truth becomes irrelevant

2006-10-25T07:50:00.000-04:00

This week time speeds up, truth becomes less relevant, and the washing machine in our block of flats packs up. I promise more excitement next week when I will go to Sweden for the weekend and work a lot less, I hope.

I've been discussing the idea of personality recently - we are certainly made up of stories, of images of ourself. These seek out new stories and roll along time like a runaway snow ball. But what if we let go of these stories? Onion-like, our stories are layered, intertwined and living creatures. Even history in this world is a painting repainted by later tales. Memory becomes fuzzy, and truth lies subservient to the clarity of images. Is every truth really a story - more truthful is just a stronger story. But still, the question of truth beyond stories begs an answer. Two tales might reply...

In one, everything is an image, a dream gently passing, a thousand mirrors reflecting each other. Stories are as good as they relate to each other. Nothing more than images. Absolute truth becomes meaningless it is all an image. But even here some images are more powerful than others. What we must learn to understand is the nature of image.

In the other tale, the images end at the lake of experience. Some relative truth pervades, stories are only as good as capture experience. Experience is a spring from which stories can spiral, but stories are subservient to experience. Personality then becomes what is natural beyond the force of an animation. We must learn to swim in the sea of experience and this way we can escape images prison.

Either way, the force of images are strong, the only question is do we have only images to fight with, or can we find something deeper?

I always felt that Buhdism, most clearly but other religions also, could be talked about in these two ways: they are either a strong image with which people might be happier, or they hint at a process from which to find some absolute and from which people might escape images altogether.

I hope they fix my washing machine soon.

Napoleon's Imprisonment

2006-10-17T05:46:00.000-04:00

Another one of those funny nights when I cannot sleep, so I'll tell you about my week. It has mostly been full of work, so I don't have too much to say, but there was still an amusing episode or two.

My landlord came by, he loves Napoleon. [sneezes] yeah, I seem to have become allergic to my flat, it started when I replaced the life size bust of Napoleon on the window sill with some fresh basil. He was relocated to my wheeley suitcase, hiding him from me and me from him... actually, let me show you...

He made me feel watched all the time, so one evening in a sudden burst of revolutionary energetic flat-domination, I moved stuff around, him especially.

[sneezes] ... so my landlord came by last weekend and he seems like a nice guy, I don't know why he came round, at first I thought the spirit of the hidden Napoleon called him to save the bust from imprisonment. But when I showed him what had become of his idol, my landlord, a smiley grey haired man laughed and told a story about when he had Napoleon standing on the top of the toilet cistern; how his friends couldn't go to the bathroom with old Napoleon sternly watching them. So tea was drunk and stories shared about this and that - his record collection, a small fragment of which still lives here - but eventually he gets up and says he'll be off, so I say bye and see him out, and still don't know why he came by, but it was nice nonetheless.

Other things that happened this week include bumping into an obelisk, learning why I should always floss, eating the most creative sandwich of the year 2004, meeting the red rhino of shoes, passing a kitsch bitch and seeing other guf. (Sorry for the picture-blurriness)

For the Tangeros, more news on Copenhagen Milongas: Saturday is a bigger night, a friendly crowd, mixed music, no tandas, no cortinas, eye contact works sometimes, dancers mix styles, ends at 2am, fairly central. The sunday Milonga is very nice, central, with tandas and cortinas that work so smoothly you wont notice, and the dancing goes until about about midnight.

Battery powered first impressions

2006-10-09T09:37:00.000-04:00

I have batteries for my camera! So, I've put some pictures of things in Copenhagen online.

Tortus Eyes

2006-10-08T17:40:00.000-04:00

An effeminate sounding man sings to cheesy rock guitars and those magic 80's synth noises in this, the Turtle Cafe. The mascots stare silent, they are giant brown tortuses of 2 dimensions who swim through the painted white stone walls. At the far end, a gold Islamic pattern decorates a wall where a black trumpet-man makes a distorted blowing-too-hard face.

My senses are delighted by a deep golden fruity tubor beer and an overfilled hot sandwish. I listen vaguely to a couple who talk on the other side of a stone pillar. In english they discuss their future directions being different, a little more intimately than I suppose they'd care for me to overhear.

But it is hard not to listen, I cannot help but follow the drama, the gentle sadness on the edge of their voices. They talk of studying in different cities, but under their unanswered invitations is the sure possibility of long farewells.

For me, life is the other way around! I am someone somewhere where they know no-one, so each conversation I enjoy is the opposite, even the ordering of a beer is alive with fire of possibly. This is a nice way to live, to feel the unkown happily peeking through to your life. So maybe it's because I know nothing, but I'd like to take this sensation back with me.

Maybe such analysis is not fair on my boring couple's conversation of the dull technicalities of living in different places. Is it not to stand on false premises: aren't people spending a pleasant evening together? The dull turn in their conversation does not matter, because they are enjoying being around each other... aren't they?

Any for me, is it not the same? am I not really just enjoying the humanity of being around people, of sharing space. Of sharing eyes... yes, eyes is are something I love about this city. The people here are never scared to meet eyes, indeed they seek them out, they invite them, and they shower them with happy human smiles. Old people who have made it their habit still smile like it was the first time, the middle aged smile with confidence and self assurance, the younger ones smile conspiratorially, and young children, whose ignorance gives them liberty all over the world, still smile into the passer's eyes. Even the turtles in this cafe look and smile. hmmmm what lovely beer smiling at me... I smile back and drink it.

Cornflake tangos

2006-10-04T08:41:00.000-04:00

11:45 pm, Tuesday night, I'm eating what seems to be an early prototype for corn-flakes. They are made of corn, flake-like, orange, and I've poured milk over them. But they are not quite the same as the cornflakes I know. I never loved cornflakes, but I do indulge in them sometimes.

Anyway, I'm just back from dancing tango - the Danish version of Edinburgh's la otra Milonga :-P but it is called Bailongo! Friendly dancer's enjoy a rather quiet Milonga (no more than 10 couples) on a large dance floor in a rather far away venue. It has a very relaxed atmosphere and getting dances by eye contact worked, although I did resort to asking a couple of times. There is a mix of ages, and experience from one year to many. There were also several of Copenhagen's tango teachers there. The balance of women to men is 50-50, and while I'm pondering their dance, it is mostly in an open embrase, but some were able to dance close as well. A final note on dancing here was that the Milonga finished at 11, in time for me to get home and get to bed for work.

I accidentally bought some milk-like gloop that I think must be a yogurt derivative. It has a cow on the front, but does not go well in tea. Still no batteries for Camera :( More cornflakes... my little orange bowl only fits a few at a time.

Copenhagen is a word I find lovely

2006-10-01T10:10:00.000-04:00

Copenhagen is a word I find lovely. I arrive an ignorant man making up with smiles and enthusiastic nodding.

It seems a city occupied by armies of one parent and their child. I took a long walk though the descending twilight. The people here are tall and strongly built. I feel small. A mother carries her children on a bicycle with two front wheels that support a large dark square metal box. It is in this box that two blond toddlers have a universe of red and blue plastic toys. Behind them, their fair but quite blond mother leans on heavy pedals, letting her children's world fly onward.

Tiredness falls on my stomach and huger pulls with sharp hooks. I hate not even being able to ask people if they speak English. I'm forced to presume that which I do not know. But no one seems to notice. It is only when I try to knot my tongue to make Danish words that people seem to share some of my embarrassed confusion. So, at least in English, my guilt remains a secret, hidden behind a façade of shyness.

The heart of my belly guides me to a basement Japanese restaurant. It sits by one of the many large rivers which lounge around the city like giant sunbathing snakes. Lovely light clean food! Then, too much green tea later, it becomes now. Back home for along sleep!