Chernobl has deviated production of chlorophyll

Saturday the 15th of July, 2006

The direction of the path was out. From St. David, Portuguese Foundation, Canterbury quad. The noise sent people quicker in their destination. The buzzing in the sky swept the open spaces clear of the students and visitors under the trees they went and in through the doors..
Helicopters appeared, looking rectangular and cardboard. They flew making right-angles until they were in position. A group formation with a purpose. Uniformed figures approached from behind distant buildings.
A ladder hung toward the earth.
I went inside. I passed heavy red curtains into an annexe with a couple of sofettes in an L against the corner on the right. I pulled the opposite one, so that a triangle space could accommodate, but this was not a hiding place. It was not a hiding time. The guard came in and flicked a finger at me - tallying the collateral of his purview.
I walked into the seated assembly of others in the foyer.
There was a smell of premature stale sweat, of fear that was swirling in currents of minimizing and encouraging. No one knew what was going on. No one wanted to provoke a scenario that was inevitable. No one wanted to venture a query, to presume and be wrong.
It was cold. My heart beat. To stop my eyes from getting small, I thought ahead. I saw the lieutenant.
"Did you come in the helicopters?" He smiled because I could be killed now or later.
"Are they yours?" "Yes. I am captain."
"They are awe-inspiring." "They are far beyond anything that came before. There is nothing to touch them."
"The noise they make, that knocks everything out, how can they make that effect?" "We can go everywhere."
I didn't suggest anything more, and watched to see it unfold.

At times I feel like a witness to the trials of those in a routine and indignity that each urban morning wakes them up to. And what use am I?

Monday the third of July, 2006

I could be otherwise engaged.
As if I should be doing something else.
With the time. With my skills.
To my potential.
As per instructions. For a higher cause. In case I was mistaken. If my efforts were futile.
If my efforts were inconsequential because I had missed, misinterpreted or forgone the pertinent signals.
A fear that by every step I invalidated myself
- rephrase -
A possibility entertained in all spheres of my activity that I invalidated the conditions upon which I was understood previously.
As if I was consigned to make and remake the doorway through which I entered to start my whole life.
As if my life was excluded - by my own actions, my own lack of a grasp, a tentative grasp, on the codes of relevance - from wholeness.
As if I raked into a farfelu semblance, the approach to wholeness.

Then I think, grow up, this is where you are and you're enjoying the rich stability
the stimulus
the opportunity
the perpetuum mobile
of this era.

And part of me wonders how long to give it, or to pick up and move on.
But what it am I thinking of?
There is no it, except the wonderful, opportune opportunity that happens in the course of my travels, where I'm supposed to be absorbed in immersion and discovery.

It's a stay/go consideration.
And dealing with the things I find.
Dealing with what's there when it's there.