Muscle Memory
Tuesday July 29th 2003, 11:40 am
Filed under: TPT the First Tags:

I fenced tonight, for the first time in almost 10 years. Strange, how the body remembers, and yet the memories are faint. The sheer level of responsiveness I had trained my body to is long gone, now. Yet echoes in my legs and brain were louder than I had expected.

I didn’t push very hard – just went through the ‘intermediate’ class with a group of, well, intermediates. never my scene never my level. And yet I broke a sweat but fast, felt the ache and burn – all too familiar, given how frighteningly out of shape I am.

Not sure what I’m seeking in picking this up, picking up this thing I left in a room in Berkeley in the summer of 1994, boots and a broken blade and bloodied hands and sweat and tears. And a journal entry, agonizing about it all, the process of thought as I let go, gone, as I moved to Oxford. And now back….

Comments still broken, as the ISP is still messing with me. ‘Manual labour…



HelLA
Saturday July 05th 2003, 12:28 am
Filed under: TPT the First Tags:

A town of facades. Fronting faking forcing it. Forced to accompany family members to the mall this afternoon, the beautiful people out in droves. Sunshine and yet still there are fake tans. Ritzy glitzy cars and money dripping off accessories in disgusting bangles. I loathe this town. Some 8 or 10 million people, trapped in a soulless void of preposterous proportions, making each other feel important.



Displaced
Wednesday July 02nd 2003, 7:03 pm
Filed under: TPT the First Tags:


I’m off to Los Angeles tomorrow evening, for the weekend. As if I’d even vaguely settled in here. Peripatetic, again. In a way that I really haven’t been since I last lived here: in Oxford, my ever-moving self of Berkeley years was left behind: I was reluctant to move flats, to change spaces. As against the 20-odd places I’ve lived in around the Bay Area. And now, sleeping on a couch, thinking about looking for a flat, my belongings packed and mid-Atlantic, I seem to be falling into a mobility that I had wanted to give up, grow up, grow past.

But perhaps moving, mobility, almost a kind of permeation, is not the retrograde step I fear. Perhaps it’s staying still in a space that might not stay still.