Often, you just sit still.
You let the world flow in from everywhere. The sounds, of water flowing through copper pipes, of the periodic hum of the air-vents. Of the unknown taps that come from the ceiling, the ground below and the rooms around. A sudden scurrying of feet, or a sudden series of footfalls on the floor ringing out in the hollow corridor as the sound grows and falls. Somebody has just gone by!
A key turns, a sudden shuffling of air, it is a suggestion of motion, of action of hundreds of muscles contracting and expanding in a living organism as the initiated action ruffles the clothes that cover the body, push the air that surrounds the body and the presence is felt. For that moment the whole existence seems to collapse into that single yet diverse dance of sounds and actions that tell the brain "Attention! There is somebody behind you."
Words float down the air, from afar? from near? Who knows? Words spoken by someone meant for someone but heard by another like a spy, an eavesdropper, an intruder in the exquisite and complex social exchange of information. Perhaps the speaker knows what is said is heard by many and what has to be said is not often what should be said aloud. But what conspiracy of walls and surfaces brings that strain of pressure variations to another ear and what neurons fire that what is heard is what was said (or maybe what was meant to be heard)?
Then there is the incessant slow groan of the elevator. That eternal slave who must swallow humans and then vomit them out as it incessantly goes up and down like some modern Sisyphus albeit a Sisyphus that exist everywhere. Perhaps there is an abstract space of existence where this monster has a mind and suffers the eternal torture to always swallow but never devour, to always be near satiation but never get that desire fulfilled - an animation of the lovers on the Keatsian urn.
Sounds so many of them!
You let the world flow in from everywhere. The sounds, of water flowing through copper pipes, of the periodic hum of the air-vents. Of the unknown taps that come from the ceiling, the ground below and the rooms around. A sudden scurrying of feet, or a sudden series of footfalls on the floor ringing out in the hollow corridor as the sound grows and falls. Somebody has just gone by!
A key turns, a sudden shuffling of air, it is a suggestion of motion, of action of hundreds of muscles contracting and expanding in a living organism as the initiated action ruffles the clothes that cover the body, push the air that surrounds the body and the presence is felt. For that moment the whole existence seems to collapse into that single yet diverse dance of sounds and actions that tell the brain "Attention! There is somebody behind you."
Words float down the air, from afar? from near? Who knows? Words spoken by someone meant for someone but heard by another like a spy, an eavesdropper, an intruder in the exquisite and complex social exchange of information. Perhaps the speaker knows what is said is heard by many and what has to be said is not often what should be said aloud. But what conspiracy of walls and surfaces brings that strain of pressure variations to another ear and what neurons fire that what is heard is what was said (or maybe what was meant to be heard)?
Then there is the incessant slow groan of the elevator. That eternal slave who must swallow humans and then vomit them out as it incessantly goes up and down like some modern Sisyphus albeit a Sisyphus that exist everywhere. Perhaps there is an abstract space of existence where this monster has a mind and suffers the eternal torture to always swallow but never devour, to always be near satiation but never get that desire fulfilled - an animation of the lovers on the Keatsian urn.
Sounds so many of them!
No comments:
Post a Comment