Of Concrete and Wires

Waiting. It is an art.

One looks at the shadows cast by buildings and scrambles to stand in the remaining spot of sunshine. Even this does little to curb the chill of the wind blowing through concrete tunnels.

Maybe this is why people walk fast. To keep warm.

There is a trace of something else here. A faint memory of another cold, another wait. That time to watch. This time to act.

As always, a Japanese studio can't be faulted. Pearl drums. Zildjan cymbals. Marshall JCM800. Wood to cover slabs of concrete. Bleeding hands and dripping sweat restore warmth to the fading day.

But all days eventually bring further waiting in the dark. A clockwork of trains offset by a spate of suicides. Plastic seats on wind-swept platforms. Vending machines with heated cans of coffee. Boss. Fire. Blendy. For people who "try their best." The dictionary doesn't quite mange to provide a translation for the most over-used and abused verb in the Japanese language.




You used to think you didn't hold any values, but you've proven yourself wrong. Even if the values are not absolute ones, what is interesting though is your perverse admiration of those with contrary values.

Concrete can be beautiful. So can wires. But you say this from a position of privilege; you have an escape route on the train carriage, not below it, as a "human-body-accident."

You aren't really here and one of the main reason s that you are here is precisely that - culturally-codified and protected outsider status. "Outside-human." It's in the official documentation. It's in the recurring compliments - "you use chopsticks so well." It's in the recurring questions - "can you eat sushi?" It's disturbingly almost scripted. But it is not malicious. It is not incessant.

It is what it is and hopefully you aren't telling yourself otherwise.