May262014

La decima in bogota. Remind me what part of madrid you’re from mate?

April302014

Boggy

8PM

More of Bogotá. My student did not show up for his lesson

8PM

Football beer and sushi in bogota

April192014

nologernumb:

Yesterday was a great start to my Holliday. It’s fun to go on Holliday where I grew up, living in the city now.

It was so sunny as well :)

Phoebe’s!!!!

April152014

View from corporate bogota

8PM

Bogota

March192014

nologernumb:

13 years young :) still got it.

so regal

March12014

Reflections on the first week in Bogota

Only in travelling are you perpetually reminded of the transience and ultimate absurdity of existence. As I’m funnelled from one emptied out vestibule to the next the faces in each one shift and alter. From the first gate at London Heathrow where the faces are giddy with franchised coffee repealing the redness of their eyes to the Transmilenio in Bogota where I’m the twitchy one with tales of muggings and pick pockets targeting my gringo skin. For every face you pass by absurdity compounds on itself. It seems to me that as time progresses humanities Sisyphusian journey becomes more abstract, where once we toiled in Zola’s romantic mines we now fly internationally to discuss the price of coffee. Where we once shouted “Germinal!” we now shout “WiFi!” I’m jealous of Sisyphus for he could look at the mountain and say “I pushed that up there.”

Poets tend to have an inclination to relate their work to the forefathers. Heaney was guilty of this. In Dig he talks of how his pen rests in his hand like the spade did in his father. This is wish fulfilment. A poet wants to alter reality, for as Nietzsche said “we have art in order to not die of the truth.” Heaney’s father could alter reality, even in digging he could alter the landscape in which he walks. We are not permitted to do so anymore. I was reminded of this in the airports. If one thing is out of line it is realigned, if one person is in the wrong place an eerie voice requests they find the right place, if they don’t go people are sent.

The metaphor of travelling imitating life is a well-worn one. How we are born, carried and then arrive. The destination becomes a substitute for death. You can never be sure what person you will be when you arrive. The very fact I am writing this is proof of that fact.

I think we have a natural desire to be cocooned in these places. It reminds us of how we are separated from the phenomenal world. Also, thinking is usually initiated by a change of routine. The mind treads its path if it’s presented with the same input.

Anyway, I’m off to bed. Goodnight you poor unfortunate reading this.

December222013
The traditional giant tortoise in the nativity scene

The traditional giant tortoise in the nativity scene

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