spectacles

F, after invigilating IELTS exams (a Saturday morning routine for him), went to some book discussion thing in the afternoon. He sends me a picture of the event. He finally bought me that Obscura magazine (journal?). It is nice to have someone around to buy you interesting things. It is also nice that the task of collecting books has been halved  – “I have that one already”. Two libraries are always better than one. Tee hee.

I have these scattered ideas for a novel, but one I am too lazy (or incapable) of actually executing. I tell myself I have to read more, but without actually commencing itself, nothing is actually being done. L gives me drafts of her Hafiz and Huda every now and then, always rewritten, refitted – takes place first in some desert/sea/oasis, then in Melbourne – I seem to wonder at how often she writes these things and perhaps take the time to actually write them. We students are never busy; I seem to eye skeptically at my friends in different parts of Australia posting pictures of staying at university labs until 3 am. The illusion of being occupied.

(Sometimes I wonder how much time a friend spends his time going to whatever festivals the city offers, and whether he feels at home being apart of a crowd gazing at a performance or two. Does he feel a sense of belonging to the city, to the crowd? Is it fun just being a voyeur of things? Perhaps these are just the things people like to attach themselves to in order not to be perceived as hollow. I build myself around these images.)

At the mention of hollow –

“We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with the straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningles
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

T.S.Eliot’s The Hollow Men

Perhaps I just prefer to do other things.

At Ueno Park in Japan, Maisarah wanders aimlessly from one performance to another, trying to understand whatever the spectacles that are happening. Tricks, magic, music, then the Pakistan bazaar. Bored, she buys a 200 yen shish kebab and sits at one of the tables. In front of her, is an Indonesian-Japanese man eating curry rice. Talk talk talk. He works with Toyota and has an American accent. Finishing her food, she then looks at the stage and see there is some sort of Bachelor contest going on. These men speak fluent Japanese. What a wonder.

I am the same, I am the same.