I was sitting at the big table working on the poem; I had the television on to MCM, the local music video channel, which I rarely look up at. It happens at the edge of awareness. Some song came on with a lightly Arabic string loop; someone started to rhyme in French, and I kept working on my own French song. At some point I realized that I may actually have liked the track, and looked up to check on it; a French-African face, not Solaar. He half-whispered “insh’Allah” and the clip was suddenly over, no tag. Now 10 days after the London bombings, one day after talking to Mike about current French hip-hop, the oddity of all these happening now, at the periphery of the zone, as where it is hard to decipher the city from the suburbs, where data shifts through the space of flows. The jetsam that accrues in the whorls and eddies, and the whorls and eddies themselves, and the spinning force beneath them. All these, the objects and the motions, the almostness of comprehension, as being consciousness. About things taking place “behind the back of consciousness,” I don’t know.
Posted by jane at July 17, 2005 10:46 AM | TrackBack