Deeply in love with alabaster stone, bird song and the continuity of street singers. The green in all of it is reassuring. There is much knowledge that was forgotten but it's stored away in between stones and teeth. Some of it is buried underground, some of it brushes your ear in the morning. But you're not attuned, you're not sensitive to this because the discomfort of your body is so absorbing that you barely notice me standing there, or another. I sigh, I try to deal with it, but I also get a bit retarded by this and it's gonna be annoying in a few days. I sigh again.
We've been walking places a lot, trying to tackle the infinity of the world. It's ever expanding, chaotic and also so the same. People buy the same shit being thousands kilometres apart, paying with different money, exchanging different -thank you-s and -sorry-s but still swallowing the same, peeing out the same, laughing with the same cackle. Perhaps we are closer to each other than we've ever been.
I hear in some podcast recently that globalisation had the positive effect of reminding people about the value of locality. I had to wonder how to read that, to what extent this is also a hopeful stretch. Cause maybe there are simply some who've always stayed local, who never diverted much from going by what's around, underneath or next, in proximity but only now they're pointed at because they pollute and consume so little. As a local you have shorter arms and slimmer bellies and much less oily imprint in the soil. Locality is a service, a transaction of sorts, an ancient one. And then there are those who have left locality far far deep in their arse, and maybe they feel at home everyone or they feel like everywhere is their home. They think of the planet as their locality, and that is already narrow enough in this expansive space of universe. That's already specific, no need to pick crumbs apart. So how does the reminding happen? What space of conviviality can receive the local and global together, simultaneously? Are they not insular in themselves? Either here and everywhere else?
Remember that you like dancing and pleasure is important for you, like the embrace of pleasure, not pleasure that comes out of your class context or sense of entitlement or for worse, sense of shame. Remember that you value simple lives and simple smiles and that's where you usually find most complexity. Remember how wonderful it is to walk into a pile of dust just because your gaze has wondered off tracings birds and the colours of facades in this new new place. Remember that you have interesting observations and that you're funny and invested in the knowing of another. Remember that you like people and that people like you too.
One offline hour in the morning, one offline hour in the evening. Movement. Breath. Dreams.
I fell in love entirely. In this version of the story I drive up to Zicatela. We part, and I ponder walking the beach but then the beach is dark and unknown and once I'm amongst the crowd it's easy to catch a ride with others, sharing a direction, sharing laughters and congratulations. (I never knew what the celebration is about until I was this [] close to partake in it. Now I'm gonna be hungry all year round.) It's important to celebrate being alive. It's important to breathe deeply, to gaze far ahead, to dream. And it's a miracle to witness other lives, other lifestyles. How free and how trapped a place can be. I wanna be joy, be the honey you lick off when you need something sweet or sticky. I want to be sticky, to stick around, to bond and extend arms, far across nationhood. Show me the way you live. The drive is fast and loud. There is light all around, but also thick dark air, pressing against the many intertwined skins. I notice and enjoy the intensity of it, the shared purpose lined with mystery; I guess it's the in-betweens of the moment that unlocks it, the extensive possibility and passibility, although that's not a word, is it? I want to write it differently. People hold each other here. I want to use other words than 'chaotic', 'communal', 'wild.' It's definitely not wild, it's free? Connected and motivated and working, churning - the questions are in the actions. One asks by doing. Context is everything. Essentially what matters is people and making. People matter a lot. I want to embrace that. More and more. After I wave goodbye to my cab-sharers, I stroll forward through the street that runs perpendicular to the beach. It's lively, music's pumped into my veins with every step. I know I can have company but I'm enjoying the solitude for the moment. After all there is very little feelings of being alone in this moment of time. I look at people passing, we smile at each other. I cheer with those standing by. It's happy but aggressive, safe and exciting. Next to the ocean everyone feels less frightening. I decide to go into a club with the festival that's been advertising all around the area. I know it's ticketed but I can't spot anyone keeping entrance so I just walk into the wave of music and sweat. The sneaking in feels good, undercover, not much expectation. I quickly find my hips bouncing rhytmically, I feel good in the sound. I feel alive. It's just the way they said it: you can turn all that negative energy into positive energy; you can reflect it, do a spin, work from the moment of breath, when it's okay. I don't want to forgive myself, I might live with this regret for the rest of my life, but maybe it will take me places. Regret doesn't have to be a stifling force. I lose track of time a bit. I move across the club, the different stages and connect in dance, bodies come close and face away. Eventually I get to a bar and ask for some water and a mescal. I take a moment to message a friend, ask where they are, knowing they're around. It's nice to have someone to connect with, to cross paths with, especially in a new place but also in a known place. There is something very comfortable about 'meeting someone there' - a real crossing of paths. It signals 'hey, i see you, you're in my path, we can join each other' - it feels kind and unforced. Like 'you can find me here, catching waves.' or 'you can find me here, selling books.' Mezcal's great and so is the water. I decide to go out for a bit, see the beach, listen to the waves. My friend messages back. They're three blocks up, also in a club, dancing. I let them know I'll join them soon. Taking the time to walk my path. Something tricky about relations and being with people: spending time with oneself. It's somehow equally about being around different people as it us about being alone. Also being alone in public spaces. Taking time to notice your legs carry you forward. Like you don't need much more. Than that. Your legs. Meeting the ocean is different from meeting the sea. It feels more like an edge than a big lake. It's infinite in front of you and also like a big mouth filled with millions of tiny tongues. The ocean folds time very slowly, looking at it makes you feel like you're looking 50 years back or 12 years to the front. When you're in the water observing waves, floating on a board, you notice that the waves are the oceans breath. Sliding on it fills you with a lot of courage and a lot of respect. I wave to my friend from afar, I see their smile. They're surrounded by friends, chatting and laughing, holding drinks. It's a very simple and obvious situation. At times I'd call it banal. Time is showing me that I care a lot for those moments actually. There moments of fun, of laughter, being silly. I've been frowning my brows so much. We chat and I order a drink and I meet everyone. The words we exchange have been spoken so many times before and I don't care; actually, I like the ease of it, I embrace the banality. It's okay that our only purpose is to be happy, jolly together. It really is enough.