Exploration Spastic Inevitable présente une contemplation hasardeuse de la vie avec une toile de fond musicale par Richard Heasman et son processus de pensée cosmique (uniquement en anglais).
All I fancy girl, is a moment with you.
Quite frankly, if I was a girl and I had such marvellous haircuts perusing me down the high street, I’d no doubt feel a little threatened. But, I cannot deny my envious feelings towards these females that allure us with their quirky little twists and smiles. I’m a fool for it, the little things you know, how graceful they are, how they sit by you without a slight indent on the sofa. Blokes are heavy man; they sit by you and if you are not first engaged in a wrestle for open barn doors leg room, then you are adjusting yourself as though sat on the edge of a cliff, due to the heavy incline your friend has now created in the sofa cushion you both share. And that’s if they are friends! A male stranger is even worse, although slightly tamed by social etiquette, the testosterone fuelled tribalism that courses through his veins (not mine, I have long hair), now means he will be slightly aggressive in his territory acquisition. But girls! They will sit by you, automatically taking up absolutely no room what so ever, as they fit perfectly around your already established posture. Tucking her legs up under her chin, she will now sit with such animated features that a smile and laugh will be enough. You will notice, as the corner lamp amplifies her jaw line and dark eyes, that she is fucking beautiful. Gorgeous, you will by this point not have taken your eyes off her, and you have not even realised what you are doing. Until somebody points this out, you are in fact staring, but in your head, the Bee Gees are playing to love somebody while rotating like planets around the sun, her face. Your universe has become a testament to this wondrous perfection that has come gracefully skipping into your life. And now everything is obsolete, your ambitions, not enough to interest this slightly older, slightly more independent better grounded human being. No longer does that rock star persona exist because this girl has seen it all before. She already knows your moves, what’s worse is she enjoys them, because it is the set schedule of an innocent young man who has just fallen in love. And she loves that, it reminds her of a time that no longer exists in her world, yet you are a key to it. Maybe even, you will re-unlock it. Perhaps not.
You had me at hello. Rather you had me at “what”, as I try to mumble “hello” to you while drinking heavily from my pint. “Hello” she says back, looking at you as she herself finally takes notice of you. “How are you?” “Fine thanks”. Of course you are fine, you are too fucking beautiful too know of sadness. “How are you?” she says back. “Very well, enjoying your evening?” By this point you know you have just taken conversation entirely to its most boring and no doubt ending point. But she is merciful, she will go along. “My evening is fine; I’ve not really seen you around, who are you friends with?” Now this is awkward, I’m a friend of a friend of a friend, I could perhaps impersonate a rugged party crasher who has simply been attracted by the atrocious music and very few lights, or I could admit to my mere aquatance.. I go for the latter, I am neither rugged nor an explorer.. yet. “I’m friends with the people, the ones over there.” I generally point to the horde of people in the front room. “Oh really? That’s nice, what you drinking?” “The usual, whiskey with a bit of coke.” She laughs, “Steady there, rock n roller.” And that was that. I am now swimming against an aggressive current, being tossed around and drowning in a sea of self obsession. I have now fallen in love, I think. Let there be love, JPS Experience.
Accepting your existence is one of the hardest things to do in a world that is obsessed with proving you do not belong. Every day is a sensual bombardment of cool air and bright lights. You can’t help but feel alone when night begins to set in, long roads heading out of town, away from the bustle of being one with the organism. Sitting alone at a bus stop after work, the light thunder of an illuminated recycle plant ads to the eery scene as I sit and wait for the two lights that will take me home, I am tired, but not yet done. El Alma Y El Cuerpo, Bomba Estereo. The perfect setting for such a track, as the bus pulls up and the doors open. A smile spreads across my face as she sings her story, of her existence. Existing is simply accepting that we all exist, in one way or another.
Staring out of the window, her face is occupying my thoughts again. I spent the night with her, obsessing over our lives issues and downturns. She is ranting with glowing eyes, framed with smudged mascara and again, a little lamp lets her skin glow. Pretty in Black, The Raveonettes plays in the background, as we put the world to rights. “What do you mean you hate tradition, I can’t walk through a door without you holding it open for me!” She has me there. “Respect for someone you care about is different” “So you respect I can’t open the door myself?” Fuck you feminism. She smiles, but she is sad. She is leaving tomorrow to start a new life in a different city, with different faces and new experiences. I try to encourage her with an insight for adventure, but she is sad that she may be saying goodbye for the last time to her closest friends. For her, people have passed through her life with such speed that when one stops to say hello, she can’t help but feel vulnerable. The Voices, Goodbye.
I enter now into the never zone, where the air is smoky and tinted orange from street lights. Beautiful cones pertrued from their sad heads, as they stand and watch the world change slowly around them. The paths are clear and wavy, snaking their long bodies between the houses and shops, concrete rivers in a land of steel and brick. You can stand alone for hours past 1am and stare blankly at your surroundings, invisible to you in the loud day, yet so alive in the quiet of the night. It’s cold and the senses are heightened for the shadows scare you, no shadows in an electric city. Few stars pierce the orange blanket, glittering reminders of how small and far away we are from anything other than what we know. Our universe exists only to facilitate our existence. Love, anger, lust and loathing. Passion, pity shame and conscience. Slowdive, Rutti.
Life needs a soundtrack, I’ve always thought how a moment can be glorified with the perfect track, how a walk to your friends house by a river in the dark can suddenly seem like an adventure when Dead Skeletons, Get on the Train comes roaring into your ears. It helps to be a little pissed, too.
by Richard Heasman