it still hurts

this time, hopefully

visits. departures.

there seems to be almost nothing left here now, and pamplona is closing slowly in on me. gently, because this city is gentle; but irrevocably.

visits.

pat came and pat left. he looked into the sun squinting when he got pensive. he twisted his head all the way around to get a better look at pure knowledge as it floated down to him. Once, in my kitchen, he dropped the word nomenclature into conversation like it was a clove of garlic. i wanted to offer him my firstborn.

departures.

from up there your tears fell towards me and i drank them straight. one fell into my eye, as if it were mine. we both hung over each other, we both sprawled under each other. let's just say, things got a little filmic there for a while.

we got to the bus stop and i realised things were speeding up. people were bording. and i started restating things we both knew, one by one. you, more knowing and serene, became taciturn. i couldn't shut up. we held each other and we let each other go. thank god we managed to get things back under control.

but despite having spent so long holding on, at least in part, we always knew that we would have to let go. i comfort myself with basque. in euskara, the word for freedom, askatasuna [as in, euskadi ta askatasuna - ETA], derives from the verb askatu, which means both to liberate, but also to let go. when i was writing my last uts assignment i really enjoyed that overlap for a national idea that sees itself torn between two occupying states, packed in tight. liberation necessarily involves a letting go. or, being let go. so i guess, if we can trust the astuteness of euskara* then there will be new freedoms in this letting go.

i am thankful for red wine, the cheapness of beer, and my bourgie [i.e. bourgeois] gin.

*and i think we can. i cite in evidence of euskara's superiority to all other known (to me) languages the existence of a single word term not only for today, tomorrow, and yesterday, but also for the day after tomorrow, the day before yesterday, and also, single terms for the-day-before-the-day-before-yesterday, and the-day-after-the-day-after-tomorrow.

posted by: joelistix at 12:24 | link | comments (3) |

gaztetxe martxa

been listening a lot to a cd that i bought in san sebastián last week: zebra, by anari. i saw her described on the net as a sort of basque pj harvey. and i think she probably does have a similar edginess, though she's hardly pj harvey translated into basque. the lyrics are all in euskara, which makes them largely incomprehensible to me, but i enjoy the way it is shaping my ear to the language a little more. hopefully i'm gonna see her live this weekend at a gig in a gaztetxe (squatted social centre), as part of the two week long campaign realised across the entire basque country for occupied social centres, in particular in pamplona/iruñea, where the social centre was evicted and destroyed nearly three years ago to make room for a carpark. imagine a two week long campaign in about twenty different towns across new south wales. and then stop laughing.

also been listening to negu gorriak (the red winters). an old basque hip hop/punk/reggae/ska/whatever group, who are completely fun, and have a song called denok gara malcolm x (we are all malcolm x). they are also helping tune my ear to this strange old language, as well as to angry gruff rap and retune it to wild punk cut-common drum-beats. hurrah!

the other discovery is the cd steph bought: sao paris, movimento. brasilian/french duo, which ups your continental artsy cool points by about 40 just by listening to it once.

posted by: joelistix at 12:04 | link | comments |

prescindible

just received a message from the father of the kids that i've been giving english classes to for the last six months:

Joel, soy el padre de J. Hemos decidido prescindir de tus servicios por la falta de resultados. Gracias por todo. Dale el bonobus a Dagny. Si crees que nos equivocamos, nos llamas.

[Joel, it's J.'s father. We've decided to dispense with your services due to the lack of results. Thanks for everything. Give the bus-card-thingy to Dagny. If you think we've made a mistake, call us.]

first of all, these guys are parents, who do all communication via sms. they once sent me an sms at about one in the morning the day before class to say 'tomorrow we're going to the village. don't come [negative fucking imperative].

now i always though i was a pretty shitty teacher, but really, it's not my fault that your kid hasn't got the results. could  there be something in what his teacher said explicitly that he never pays attention in class and also never does his homework? [he told me every single class that he had no homework].

the worst thing is that they're keeping on my friend dagny who gives german classes to the sister, V. of course she gets results with her, anyone could get results with her. she has a head for languages. she is dynamic and switched on and tries to find clever little ways to make phrases. she looks at you with mischief in her eye as she plots a turn of phrase and tries to figure it out for herself before resorting to outside help. for fuck's sake, the girl has a crayon drawn anarcho-feminist-squatters symbol stuck to her bedroom door and she's just turned thirteen! crayon!

well fuck you guys, i'll enjoy the extra time that leaves me with each week (and cut down on my spending).

*i just wish that bus card thingy still had money on it. i'd forgotten to get them to recharge it for a few weeks. i could have caught the bus again and again using 86 céntimos of credit every time. even though i hate catching the bus and it usually leaves me feeling sick. vomiting out the window thinking: fuckers, what's 5 times 86. ha!

posted by: joelistix at 11:11 | link | comments |

volver

last night i saw pedro almodóvar's latest film volver (return). it was fucking fantastic. it was genuinely hilarious. sometimes with bits of ridiculous slapstick sometimes moments of brutal dramatic irony. almodóvar can write a script with such sensitivity and attention to the characters that you don't even notice that the story doesn't have even one significant male character. the closest thing would be paco, but he gets his pretty early on. i suppose it's possible that the film wouldn't be as great if you don't understand spanish, but i would hope that the beauty would come through. my advice is, when it's in a cinema in your vicinity, see it.

also, how fantastic is the poster [gonna try and wrangle myself a copy]. the design for all that stuff (always really random in almodóvar flicks) is based on the outfits that penelope cruz wears. sidenote: i can't believe i had to try to convince my friend dilan the other day of penelope cruz's attractiveness.

complaint: the only real gripe i had with the film was that after the whole intricate plot starts to unravel piece by piece, and we see it all coming with wonderful anticipation, and finally we see the whole story reconstructed from front to back, we then get a scene just to explicitly explain every thing. but, everything. just to be absolutely certain that every last person in the cinema is left with no doubt as to exactly what has happened. after treating the audience with such respect to give them such a fantastic piece of art, he treats us like such fucking fools.

posted by: joelistix at 00:35 | link | comments (1) |

my body is a temple...

but i'm leaving the faith.

i'm sick of my body catching every fucking bug that passes it. the last few months have just been passing from shitty little illness to shitty little illness*. this afternoon though, the pharmacist gave me some kick ass drugs. they got everything. paracetemol, cafeine, vitamin c, stuff to stop the cough, all in one little packet of powder, that, mixed with half a glass of water, tastes like drinking dissolved speed with a hint of lemon.

so fuck you, body, i'm sick of your capricious mood-swings.

*i refuse to give any merit to the suggestion that these illnesses may have been provoked by weekends of going out all night and not sleeping and going out all night and not sleeping.

 

posted by: joelistix at 22:38 | link | comments |

a year on

i've decided to use asti's birthday as a point of reference to talk about the blog. it's been a strange little project this one. the excuse of being away for a year (and a half) let me start it, with no real modus operandi. i think the most accurate evaluation of the blog came talking to pat in bordeaux: it's had its moments. i think at times i've written some nice stuff on here because the form is so given to fleeting fragments, and i've always felt that as a writer that's what i do best. in fact i often think my writing is just ecstatic moments strung loosely and precariously with the surrounding, necessary meat. i think the blog has been worthwhile if only to keep me writing a little more than i may have otherwise.

now that i'm approaching the return home, i'm beginning to wonder what should/will become of this blog when i return. the existential crisis of the travel blog*. at home it has no framework by which to see itself. i think i would have to do a few things to keep it going. firstly, learn some html, because i find this template utterly repugnant. secondly, come up with some sort of purpose to the blog. resolve its crisis, so to speak.

*even more so for this blog, which has always been 'on the run' since it replaced an earlier, ill-fated, exposed blog.

posted by: joelistix at 10:57 | link | comments (5) |

john wayne gacy, jr. in my ears

the sufijan stevens song, that is. i'm not painting clowns and killing boys. happy birthday asti. on my 22nd i drank coopers in edinburgh. and so far, 22 has been quite a good year for me, so i hope it is for you too.

posted by: joelistix at 09:50 | link | comments (1) |