It`s 0600 and I am waking up to see that nothing has changed from the morning before. Last night I went to sleep next to the aircondition robot, hoping to finally get some REM shut eye time. But no. like yesterday, the day before yesterday, and the day before the day before yesterday, I have again RESTED for some odd 5-6 hours. Today as I rolled over from left to right on my triple sandwich mat construction, I saw the in-house video-dj fumble some with some dvds over at the 30 m2 projection screen. The Korean madras establishment have all these fucked up ways of telling you that it`s time to get up, without using neither their throat muscles nor language abilities to say it to your face. I`m squeezing my toes around the wooden floor in a doomed to fail attempt to rip some of it off, just to get even, Steven. "Firewall" starring Harrison Ford was pumping on the stereo as I walked the two stairways up to the getyourselfwashedup floor with a hairdresser, in the shape of an old grumpy Korean who runs back and forth from his tiny shredding corner and the TV, which today showed a rather compelling show about fighting bulls in costumes. As I pass the mirror on the way out I notice that the blanket I wrapped my face in last night in an act of desperation to keep the stadium flood light out from the dorm floor, had made some rather ingenious imprints on my face during the wee hours of the night. I wonder if I won or lost that wrestle.
Why all this talk of recreational facilities, sleep and comfort in general you might ask ? Where is the art ? What can I say ? It is hard to focus on the art ( which by the way is indeed turning into a relational-survivor-big-brother-lost-in-translational- mumbo-what-did-you-mean-jumbo-let`s see where this is taking us we have nothing to lose we are the new frontier kind of work in progress ) when people around you constantly remarks on how shitty you look. Don`t take me wrong. I enjoy being a part of a work in progress, but with no sleep, which means no dreams and hope for tomorrow and the future, the days have turned into one long relational-Groundhog Day.
1 comment:
it is hard being an artists.
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