duration

im back in sydney. the holiday is well & truly over. The contrast in time, in pace, is profound.

on the boat there was little point in keeping time. Days passed, not hours, and when they did there was little point in keeping track. each day was like the last, perhaps not in substance but rather in quality. there was relaxation, there was a calm rocking, a adventure with out the adrenalin. time is nothing within the space of duration. it is like when we say we "wait for the second to pass" we induce a paradox of time for time. Time as this is only ever a perversion, a disavowed reality, a induced fantasia.

the second i leave the boat, time enacts its return. i am dated, i count by the minute - 'give me a minute. ill be there in 5, in 10, in 20'. mardi gras i s a season of dating..not just fucking. we make our must see lists & hesitate at double bookings. i live life or does it live me? its an uneasy truce, or a make shift alliance where movement is the compression of duration.