Archive for August, 2017

The existentialism of the here and now.

The time spent chasing shadows of the past can be overwhelming. Labyrinth like we get lost in musing. That’s the thing about psychogeography it has a claustrophobia that, at times, encloses and suffocates. Hometowns have a hegemony all of their own and can constrain. You find yourself living up to a set of rules that no longer apply to the way in which you live your life today. Paul Weller once wrote: ‘ the world is your oyster but your future’s a clam, it’s got you in its grip before you’re born’ and in a way that can be community. A script is written for you. When I took my first tentative steps into third-level education I signed up for a year long course. I remember we were given a talk and they said that friends/family/ partners may not understand why you want to pursue this path and that they could resent you for a time. Notions. They say that in Ireland sometimes when you try to improve yourself: ‘S/he has notions’ they mean notions above themselves. You can be many things but don’t get notions. Don’t think you are above…sure wasn’t it far from art and literature you were born?

Tendrils grabbing. Pulling you back down. You see I wasn’t born that far from art and literature. I used my local library, I talked to my parents and family, I had my music and I had that space in my head that was me. I couldn’t march to the soldiers song and I make no apology for that, it wasn’t my life and I wasn’t made to conform. I love where I am from, my previous post deals with that, but I remember two things my first teacher taught me: ‘Never be afraid to speak your mind, never be afraid to be yourself and never let anyone think they are better than you’ and secondly: ‘ You can’t live in the past, you can’t mourn what has gone.’ How wise my teacher was and how hard it has been trying to live up to all that. Yet, our teachers pass on knowledge in an attempt to equip us with the tools to survive. Of course my first teacher was my mother so she knew what was out there waiting. She slipped into the ghosts of our town and I escaped. We are more than place, more than community, more than a script. The existential dreams of the self and in doing so creates a new ¬†self. I am me and I apologise to no one.

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