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insp/ire. a cathartic series.
...
inspire: latin <in> : into + <spirare> : to breathe. to
affect guide or arouse divine influence. to be the cause or source of
ire: from indo-european root <eis> in words denoting passion.
derivatives include <irate> , <hierarchy> , <iron>. anger ,
wrath
...
[ insp/ire 1 : advert for mariah/rainbow glued all over the tube.
arrrrggghhh. take it away from me. a visceral reaction to a grotesque piece of
air-brush pornography. every time my eyes fall upon it i feel vaguely sick.
surely i should be able to sue somebody for the emotional trauma ? how about a
class action ? anybody up for it ? or maybe we can put it to creative use. if
somebody is really really bad. really bad. then we could put them in a room
wallpapered with the poster and play the cd repeatedly to them. nah. too cruel ]
much better now
the accidental oxford st christmas experience : i/we forgot about it
being almost christmas. easy to do in n16. so we got on a bus which went very
slowly. eventually we realized, but it was too late by then, and anyway the
journey had acquired a rhythm and a life of it's own and the delay was necessary
for the conversation to unfold. but that's another tale
later, on oxford st, amidst the throngs of <happy shoppers> i stood in
a queue for a cashpoint. a little rock, one of some stepping stones, across a
river of people. i saw sitting on the floor next to the queue a man wrapped in a
small, damp and filthy quilt. he puffed desperately on a cigarette, trying to
extract every last fragment of nourishment or pleasure from it's smoldering
butt. judging him entirely by my visual impression, he wasn't the sort of man i
would be comfortable in the company of. he looked rough and dangerous. he had
india-ink tattoos on his knuckles, and his hands were lined with grime. he
picked at his nails some, and occasionally looked up to dispiritedly ask a
passer-by for some spare change
we arrived at the front of the queue, and heidi got out some money, and gave me
a hundred pounds. as we turned to leave, i looked down again and saw the man
still there, wrapped up in his own world far away from the cash spun dreams on
the tide of people. on impulse i reached into my wallet and took out five pounds
and held it out before him. something registered in his eyes, but he stared for
a moment at the note in my hand, not quite recognizing it. emotion flickered
across his face, disbelief, wonder. as he reached out to take the note he looked
up and our eyes met for a few moments. his gaze touched my soul with a simple
message of what i can only describe as love. he stuttered some thanks and i some
acknowledgements, but the words were just a formality, he spoke with his eyes. i
walked off, slowly, and a few yards away began to cry, and heidi hugged me
i cried for several reasons. with happiness, because that magic look is all the
christmas presents i will ever need. with sadness because what is so little to
me is so much to another. with happiness because of the gulf i perceived between
us crossed. with sadness because it seemed that this is a rare occurrence.
by craig mcmillan |
