22 August 2011

Finding Dr Livingstone


My body speaks to me, not in words but in sudden limitations.
I am weaker than I feel, tiring easily and long before I think I should.
Every journey must be planned with its return in mind, I cannot travel too far out for fear of being unable to come home.
Even if I make it there, there is no guarantee that I can stay, the joy of arrival soon eclipsed by the urgent necessity of departure.

Small journeys feel like finding Dr Livingstone.
Smithfield Saturday night for a gig; Hawk Cliff on Sunday as friends arc through afternoon glare into green-grey depths; chasing phantom Libyans through the midnight streets of Portobello, always one block behind their jubilant horns.
The triumph of doing cut short each time, the sharp stab of normal service being resumed.

Home again to watch, not to do.

Image: Installation at MIS-SPENT YOUTH exhibition by Solus, August 2011

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