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is obsolete, your ambitions, not enough to interest this slightly older,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
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