memory jogger

Bookshelf

Unable to speak the language
for a mind
that is frozen

I return, finally,
to my old musty pals
who never, ever,
fail me.

dear Eva;(your hair is beautiful- wow-ho-tonight)

As in the hand a match glows, swiftly white
before it bursts in flame and to all sides
licks its quivering tongues:
within the ring of spectators
her wheeling dance is bright,
nimble, and fervid, twitches and grows wide.

And suddenly is made of pure fire.

Now her glances kindle the dark hair;
she twirls the floating skirt
with daring art into a whirlwind
of consuming flame,
from which her naked arms alertly strike,
clattering like fearful rattlesnakes.

Then, as the fire presses her too closely,
imperiously she clutches it and throws it
with haughty gestures to the floor and watches
it rage and leap with flames
that will not die - until, victorious,
surely, with a sweet greeting smile,
and holding her head high,
she tramples it to death with small,
firm feet.



Rainer Maria RILKE-The Spanish Dancer

you must wake-up now

'remember that not getting

what you want is sometimes

a wonderful stroke of luck'.

Dalai Lama.

tagg

Here are the rules:
* Mention the rules on your blog.
* Tell six quirky yet boring, unspectacular details about yourself.
* Tag six other
* Go to each person’s blog and leave a comment that lets them know they are tagged.

T h e I n c u b a t o r

Incubate .v. 1 develop (something, especially an infectious disease) slowly without outward or perceptible signs.

Incubator .n.2 an enclosed apparatus providing a controlled and protective environment for the care of premature babies.


I was born skinless, with a double-dose of sensitivity
and my heart, big as the sky - fragile as a paper plane.

Growing up, I experienced deep and meaningful one-on-one friendships.
I realise now with hindsight, they where love affairs.
By fifteen and already three times broken hearted - my stylus wearing thin
and constantly covered in ooze, the only thing I could do was to fall asleep;
even in the middle of the day.

Like honey is the sleep of the just.1

After six weeks, I emerged from my great depression and slumber,
bought a racer and a Walkman and rode until my batteries went flat.
It appeared that everything had changed.
Then after getting soaked in the rain several times, I came to realise
that everything was the same, but - I had changed.

What am I looking at?

'Thus, the visible produces faith
in the reality of the invisible and
provokes the development of an inner eye
which retains and assembles,
and arranges,
as if in an interior,
as if what has been seen
may be forever partly protected
against the ambush of space,
which is absent.' (Berger)



At the time these computed tomographic scans where taken,
I did not know what lurk within.

The CT scans exposed the existence of
my teratoma tumour;
it's physical presence
inside my internal structure
- inhabiting my inner space.
Embedded in the confines of my
inner fleshiness, pressing against
my heart, my teratoma existed,
purely and simply, because
I exist.



The discovery of my teratoma initiated
a surgical process
of removal and in doing so,
a going beyond the surface,
was
inevitable.

What had previously been unknown
became known and what was present
soon became absent.

Blending mind and body and attempting
to go beyond the surface,
I discover myself looking
at history by looking at
the present.

Themes of absence, loss,
separation, death,
reoccur and this repitition
engenders memory, my memory,
thaT is intrinsically
connected to notions of separation,
separateness
and a curiosity in discovery
of
the other.



These photographs echo memento mori.

The embodiment of an experience
from which memories
have surfaced, I find
myself paradoxically pushing
in beyond the surface.
By looking at the photographs
I am looking at a relationship
between love and loss,
presence and absence,
life and death.