Wednesday, 2 September 2009

My eyes hurt

It's windy. No sun . Just a level brightness. That changes remotely by degrees shifting up or down a gear but never creates those simultaneous contrasts of light and dark. No shadow. My eyes hurt. They are small slits against which this white wash crashes down. Beats its way through in to far off capillaries. Angles a way through in which I have no say. It's cruel. And the traffic is cutting up from behind. Riding on the end of that glare. Everyone is a little bit mad today. I can not look at anything directly today. Because if I do,  it burns out and turns to white. There's a chemical reaction going on. And rubbing my eyes doesn't help. It just gets further in and when I look again with red smarting eyes everything either bends out impossibly or inwards into an intensity like the pip of a transparent grape. So there is no problem reaching people. I am reeling from one to another, tripping on the flatness of the paving stones that I suppose to be curving up or down. Level ground has never been so dangerous. There is no stalling. No gripping. No traction. Just a slipping through.
I seem to slip through bodies. Things that would phase me- Cars, looks, certain postures, don't. I simply slide by. I am I think getting faster and faster. It's a way to catch up with the light. To out-run it. Or at east to play against it like a wind-surfer. Because crashing into it, swerving against it, creates that missing traction. My body becomes the blotting paper to that streaming white light.

Because I can not look directly into the bulk of bodies, I am noticing the tiny peripheral manoevres. The swaying, tilting of the arms or head. The torsion of the trunk. But it is not seperated out into these parts as the words suggest. It is simply a levering away from a mid-line that is always happening. That is human play. I'm in love with it. The little adjustements that are made. And I  manage my approach to coincide with these evolving and strange bodily yearnings that I equally follow.  It is a forest where this constant growth towards the light is percievable. Suddenly the speed itself jumps into this filter of minute to minute slowed-down formation. It is like a slow yawn. The shopping trolleys, the moving pedestrains, the vegetables, the bodies. That person, that person. The stillness of the girl looking back. The man behind the counter, weighing the vegetable that fall out and mix back through one another. We are moving in this subteranean under-water life. We can not jump the distance with any kind of sensory device. We have to wait until we are up against one another, in this melee. Falling and catching so that neither entirely happens. Suddenly distance is anticipated and closed and proximity is dotted with holes, spread out and dissipated. Everything happens in good time. People move closer whilst not seeming to.

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