rush, rush

an empty canvass.
a blank page.
a powerful vacuum.
not altogether stress free.

when it's not raining

the sky is blue, with a little cloud formation.

oyster, space

What Ekoto says is true. Players are mostly motivated by money. Players come and go, but the team stays, go into administration or disband altogether. A player’s career is short-lived. Forty is not that old yet most athletes retire in their thirties whilst professional golfers do not even retire at 50. After golf's main Tour there’s the Senior Tour. What’s next after retirement? Well, retirement per se. Hibernation. For other athletes, just not going through the Antoine Walker route would be a start.

I’m intrigued with the Oyster Card reference. In the Tube or any where else, my celebrity radar is very poor. I might be standing next to Ricky Gervais in Hampstead, I wouldn’t even know or bother. Or I could be sitting next to Ian McKellen in the Tube and still wouldn’t be able to detect it. You have your space, I have mine, it doesn’t really matter whether you were Gandalf in Lord of the Rings or Magneto in X-Men. I wouldn’t be able to decipher it’s you. I could bump into Gwyneth Paltrow dashing out of Starbuck’s while I'm rushing to go home after a hard day’s work and I would be oblivious to the Hollywood air of Mrs. Martin. The nice thing about living in London is the space. Every one has their thing, no one bothers with the buzz, even those included in the inner circle.

ideas1

There is more to the daily routine than drifting off to dreamland. I felt rejuvenated after a calming sojourn to the bookstore. The temperatures aren’t exactly in the twenties since that bit of sun last week but it’s summer and one couldn’t tell the difference between three pm and six pm. I tried inhaling the scents of words and poetry. I didn’t particularly buy anything substantial, merely brushing my fingers on the works of the existentialists; Nietzsche, Kafka, Jean Paul-Sartre. I wouldn’t have the time at the moment to delve deeper into Dostoyevsky or Simone de Beauvoir. I changed my mind in picking up a copy of Proust’s In Search of Lost Time. I barely have the time to engage in my diurnal itinerary which sometimes doesn’t include reading fiction. All around cleaning and folding clothes overpower the literary pursuits, including blogging my heart out which barely resembles anything savvy or erudite. One day I’ll finish the tome I’m reading at hand. It’s just not going to be with this week.

can't read

getting up to speed with lady gaga and her music is a lot of hard work. as my musical vocabulary is quite sparse, i was thinking of tuning into the MTV channels, but their telecasts were mostly reality shows. i opted for the resident ipod's potions, i knew there might be some sort of lady gaga there somewhere, i was in luck, her debut album, the fame was part of the list. i only wanted to listen to poker face, prepping up for an interpretation in glee. the song is not matter of fact, very much a double entendre. it took a while to register. very silly.

beside lady gaga, i dip my fingers in the pop goodness of little boots, la roux, florence and the machine, jay-z's rap music. in the next few days i will try to listen to Plan B with his second album, the defamation of strickland banks.

setting

coins

looking at the exchange rate, the weak pound, the economy, the state of personal finances is still in the doldrums. it's even worse than a year ago. it shatters the notion of grand vacations, niche purchases, feeding the entire neighborhood. to subsist on very little is not a new concept, it has always been the focal point of those who toil and toil hard.