post RESIDENCE @ APEXART WITHADAM BURTHOM

2011-06-12T12:21:00.000-07:00

location ireland

cast iron nuggets

subject to the object

the matter in charge

whip of the backbone

teetering on the edge

how can one let go?

everything has an inner beauty

beauty

even in dying

and death

it is to be lived

alive among the decaying

time capsule

stillness surrounds

dripping memories

post-surgical stress

metal implants

relics remain

erratic features

impregnated terrain

organs scattered

discarded limbs

order

chaos

larger schemes

2011-05-11T15:46:00.001-07:00

central park lungs of the city

here one can imagine nature taking back

the physical architecture - the processes of commerce

transforming the life of the city into a communion

with organic flows outside of productivity and performance

a simple enhancement of daily practice

where the trees are equals of intelligence we have yet to grasp

(we creeping vines that strangle through all-conquering desire)

a symbiosis of animal and plant cells engaging with mineral structures

oxygentank for natural charge

unkempt - unruly

wild entropy - ecstatic growth

life cycles of organic soup bubbling

fermenting amid the NY elite microwave

"they should be treating us like royalty"

here in this fantasy garden

a cultured wilderness maintained for the few

decorated horses pull carriages day-in day-out

unthankful burden of self important parades

animal rights protestors jeer and wave

disapproval at the equine lot

you...

look the other way

hide your frosty breath in fur and camel hair collars

make up will hide that fake regret

spray-on station maintains this life to be led

If only one would wake from one's walking sleep

raise the consciousness and live one's living dream

this could be an harmonic scene but the truth is;

it masks the monstro-city of that which lubricates the wheels of power

a pleasant screen field where we almost rub shoulders with that which we cannot

touch

valentine rejection subway 33

arms raised high

come gift crashing down

smashed smithereens skating

on time trodden tiles

black sharded shockwave

epicentre anguished youth

no consolation

at the inopportune moment

of no consent

to love lost in loss

a public performance

of the tragic hero

we cannot intervene

from the other side of the tracks

witnessing from within

personal bubbles of thought

2011-04-12T02:13:00.000-07:00

corona park

we have overpassed the future

rarified gaseous envelope

of sun and other stars

made visible during solar eclipse

silver glowing dark moon disc

illuminated trace of energy release

space

race

mega relics

present overpassed

speak of

past futures

mass enthusiasm

of childhood dreams

appropriated surpassed

beautiful winter desolation

the aura of a future promise

all boarded up - broken glass

dripped stained - concrete flake

cracked - frayed edge entropy

of old brave new worlds

jetsons park benches

ancient curves

do not invite

respite

deep

ice-age thaw

is this how we are going to live

at this point in someone else's future

no more rain on skin

no more sun in eyes

our honeycomb skies

a membrane limit

on our capacity to survive

undercover

in geodesic ark

shelter shield

from poisoned winds

2011-03-19T04:50:00.000-07:00

the graveyard shift

starts before it begins

subway doowop gospel quartet

one dollar bonus ride

donkey jacket knuckle five

keeps a smile on your face

keeps your forehead wrinkle free

keeps your hair from being messed up

"Thanks everyone,

you just bought us

three packets

of oreo." ha ha

"By the end of the day,

we are goin' to be flyin'!"

subterranean high speed

whistle stop jammin

sweeping through

collecting loose

dollar

I am saved

rockin on down

under 25th

the graveyard shift:

the one who patrolled

the cemetery at night

to listen for the cries

of the resurrected

coma-people

buried before their time

to draw attention to

the re-awakened

state of death

please pull

a string tied

to your former deceased finger

passed through a hole in the casket

connected to a bell or flag

dead ringer saved by the bell

images:

sub-way

pyramid saves remains

wave to liberty

2011-03-10T04:35:00.000-08:00

Chapel of Sweet Dreams

Turn-Up, Tune-In, Turn-On, Echo-Echo

@ Avery Chapel, Columbia University

2011-03-05T04:08:00.000-08:00

Coney Iceland

Coney Island is an isle not an island

a Russian enclave in the heart of US

ice and snow cover the sandy beach

countless, dormant seagulls squat

surf scavenging snowballs

the Brave put the brave face into weather vein

forever strolling on the boardwalk planks’ pain

puffed up quilted skydiving promenade

tears torn from too tender eyes

jaw face numbed to ice blasted skin

rides moan mournful - dirges to desolation

once bright - peeling paint - candy cannot lift

un - peopled, un - moving empty sensations

seafront saloons gone wild west ghost town

dodge city deserted SHOOT THE FREAK fun

abandoned, decaying, corroded, uncared-for

waiting for spring clean new investment to come

finding shelter reminds me of past days spent

at so many seaside towns of youth

seeking respite amid silent out of season concrete

hands shaking blue intensely to construct

gratefully received bites of brutish food

accepting grainy crunches of seasoning sand

with a hunger greater than hygene

or sophistication

Seagulls dance closer

performing for scraps

no time here for loitering

savouring the meal

whisk all back into the bag

dash off to find

the warmth of a cup of coffee

Walk down Brighton beach to the Russian zone, where the inhabitants live in the same giant apartment blocks as can be found in soviet monumental ‘new city’ housing projects.

Occasional old folk occupy benches

white knuckled hands hold

pocket radios to ears

catch scratch crackled chattering ether

Russian tin can broadcast

through white noise wind

no day to be at the beach

no expectancy in the crude and rude amusements

shut-down shuttering resigned to knowing

there will be no punters today

nothing to animate the inanimate

except flapping plastic bags

clinging to lightbulbs and lampposts

spectral sand shapes whisking about

expansive vacant shores

in vain searches

only to fall away...

Chilled to the bone head emptied

eyes wet made red make for train

without even desire for souveneir

Passing monumental tribute

to world hotdog eating championships

reflecting the level popular culture has attained here

2011-02-23T13:59:00.000-08:00

Coffee Bar in Bay Ridge

Here is a slice of down-home-town americana

no trendy types here

ex-servicemen and their wives

fried breakfasts

talking 'bout the movies

eggs and sausages sizzle...

"never saw Sam that man."

"Sammy?"

"They caught him in the act."

"This is not an asylum."

"Are you sure?"

"They're gonna give you a number

You gotta write the number down."

"Sad about Tommy wasn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Y'know, he used to come in here three or so times a week,

have his omelete, read the newspaper..."

"Yeah?"

"In fact he always sat just where you are sitting."

"I'd better move then."

"Ha ha!"

"No, you're ok. It doesn't matter where you're sittin'.

When your time is up, you gonna go."

"He he"

"Yeah"

2011-02-23T13:56:00.000-08:00

SoundWave @ Death By Audio

Space run as feminist collective. Living accomodation and adjacent performance venue in post industrial landscape (could miss the doorway hidden as it is among many doors of the same appearance). They maintain a full calendar of events including poetry readings, theatre, live music productions and art events almost every night of the week.

Inside, the walls are covered with bright coloured murals cartoon aesthetic and photocopy posterizing, flying angel mice with heart shaped faces play harps, while gruesome slime beasts smile appealingly. Painterly conversion into psychedelic grotto cake sale, zine/information stand beer stall art intervention. The venue is organised and manned by a dedicated new wave of young feminist activists of all genders seeking to continue the work of previous generations. Who, from their own experiences percieve that much still needs to be done to overcome prejudice and abuse.

Poets are up first exhibiting different styles; one speaks of failed relationships and victim abuse – highly personal accounts of pillowtalk and acts you may not be aware of; the second delivers hard hitting blows conscious experience of being both abused and abuser, appealing to our sense that the world changes with an awareness and ability to change oneself.

Live bands featured include a ukulele playing songstress and a well rehearsed poppy combo. The highlight for this participant was noon:30; a young black female three piece outfit who begin amongst sparse guitar and fluctuating frequency feedback modulations, incoming deep fuzz bass drives simple rhythm space chimes then from nowhere an angelic voice seeps into and over the sound and lifts the drone into another dimension. Sharp sonic blasts of cut and stitched tv radio broadcasts pierce ears carried by enduring trance state. The tempo is up and we are dancing and out comes the megaphone and she’s screaming her passion, commitment, defiance jumping into the audience this is now rockin drum driven guitar chandeliers.

A great night, and more power.

Images: Poster graffiti, Bedford Avenue

SoundWave activity @ Death by Audio

noon:30 megaphone and noon:30 Space Call

2011-02-17T05:26:00.000-08:00

Dim Sum &

The Chinese New Year of The Rabbit

Meeting with friends at the House of The Golden Unicorn, I have to squeeze my way through crowded hallway all heaving with chatter and anticipation. Chinatown ways, we hold our number 25 and listen for the call to Dim Sum. When our turn arrives we ascend the stairs and enter in a large banqueting room filled with round tables where groups are talking over steaming plates. We are ushered by men in suits to a table which we share with others. Chinese women with trolleys in constant circulation offer and distribute tea and dumplings, noodles and black mushrooms, bock choi and rice communal portions lively chopstick rituals start a golden day.

Interestingly the parade in Chinatown begins with Americana spectacle of 1940's glamour girls riding in tow of open top car. They are dressed in bright coloured military uniforms kitsch nostalgic theatrical throwback a gloss red lipstick liberating force. As the main procession approaches from in the distance thousands wait popping occasional firecrackers launching confetti into the sky ringing the ears and myriad paper strips curl twist in winter sunlight street plumes glittering clouds sign the parade's progress

speak sparks of gold red black

fur lined silver threaded

writhing turning loop careering

martial art movements

balance lift hold

snaking dragons

lingering lions

elate the crowd in tinsel showers

popping and sparking

firework cracking

gold coin rain

parachuting prayers

gifts of good fortune

children jump to catch

other out-stretched hands

in silent camera clicking

intermittent interruption

in the flow of our perception

The colour proceeds against a backdrop that is China. Happy wishes. The year of the Rabbit has meaning for rabbits and we rabbits, we'll look for the positives. Walking back through the milling spectators side streets deep with purple and pink confetti not yet trodden and grim. Amongst the debris I find a red ribbon prayer good luck of a blessing retrieved and received. Just like me finding good fortune among the lost and discarded.

2011-02-13T06:58:00.000-08:00

Vietnam War Memorial:

Carved out of the land in triangular cut, following downward gradient flat polished black marble panels begin slightly the slow descent, one chiseled name becomes two, becomes three, five, eight, thirteen, twenty-one, thirty-four in exponential growth hundreds, thousands and still increasing. The black marble extends down further into the earth until soon countless columns of names reach over head height and we are down in the ground with the dead, grappling with an incalculable multitude of the fallen. Dizzy with dread looking ahead at the too slowly rising incline longing to escape, footsteps, confusion weary, slowly strain for emergence from an insufficient realisation of the scale of unimaginable suffering and loss. Dull shock affected and gasping for some air of understanding as deceased numbers decrease, one is left with bitter sensations and difficult questions of what has been done with the sacrifice of these so many gone souls?

And what of the opposing dead? What of the civilian men, women and children? Can we quantify the measure of the wake of human anguish and grief?

Small groups of visitors photograph names of lost kin; paper roses, stars and stripes, silent in the symbol of sufferings we may hope never even to imagine.

Squirrels scour and flip dry leaves and Washington memorial pierces the sky.

Images: Peace Vigil @ The Whitehouse

Washington Memorial

2011-02-13T06:01:00.000-08:00

Excerpts from Washington DC

Overheard telephone conversations on the street:

“He treated me like one of his students.”

“I can’t really get along with her.”

Office politics and backroom consultations full volume confidential conducted at brisk walking pace on the way to the next public display of perfect manners and restraint

Meanwhile at the National Mall try to guess which of the joggers passing through the manicured scene are military or security, who are executive, diplomatic, secretarial. Atheletic administration in hardcourt prep for upcoming face offs

On a triangle of astro-turf sprouting between avenues, specimen canines and their well groomed owners socialise and pick-up-after in their collective taking of the air sporting around their railing enclosure golf course aesthetic polite collective hygene keeps sidewalks clean

Images: WATCHOVERYA DC

Knowledge is POWER! 'educational' slogan, DC

2011-02-10T08:33:00.000-08:00

Bronx Stroll On &

A Jazz Education

An evening walking the streets of the Bronx. High rise apartment blocks, community gardens, shops, delis, under the bridge industrial landscape. There is a smell of petroleum hanging and clinging in the throat, and the toxic perfumed vapours of laundry detergent that permeate the air, wafted by the constant roaring rush of traffic down the Concourse. Medical centres on every street corner built in to housing complexes signal high population density, low incomes and a polluted environment? The winter evening darkness, racing car-tyres slashing slush, piles of blackened snow and ice-entombed garbage accentuate the scene; I imagine spring is more pleasant with children playing in blossoming parks watched over by older generations and a beautiful sun.
Overriding impression today is of being the only white stranger among the many sidewalk inhabitants and commuters. Different languages at every turn, Cuban flags, car body shops, Chinese food, Halal shop live animals wander inside neon glare.
The young woman at the College tells me “Folk from Manhattan don't come here much...”, I guess they don't like traveling abroad, so near yet so far, a city divided.

I moved on down to Harlem later and had coffee in a small deli bar that has pictures of Che, Mandela and other advocates of freedom framed on the walls while water hot dripping leak spatters from the ceiling, “Yeah, we have to get that fixed”.

At the Harlem Jazz Museum we are treated to an up close and intimate performance by Jonathon Baptiste and his band opening up the audience with a hand clapping chorus of chants to “FREE - YOUR - MIND, FREE YOUR MIND, EV’RYBODY!” We are IN the groove. Segued numbers subtle transitions leading through phases, paces and moods. Youth now carrying the past into tomorrow making it their own. Strong talents, strong voices address issues of today urban gospel salvation for the metropolitan faithful. Wandering in and out of abstraction, to outer space and back again, breaking down the sound; rhythm section holding the groove down, brass harmony and piano melody in confident improvisation, playing one off one another adding style and colour, leading the assembled through patterns of sound. It was an education and a pleasure for us all to have learned so much about jazz and how to listen, follow, understand... the classical music of New York.

Images: Jonathon Baptiste and his Band @ The Harlem Jazz Museum 02/02/11

2011-02-07T18:20:00.000-08:00

An hour to hang in the corridors of justice

Halls scattered with small ethnic groups talking different languages. Intense discussions, negotiations, calculations, speculations. Lawyers lurk making notes, planning tactics with clients in descending elevators. Game-plans echoing, reverberate at low pitch in over-engineered 1930's opulence; heavy brass, rich wood, smooth marble, in slow methodical curves and long straight runs. Airport style security installations intrude on the architecture, scratched glass dull aluminium, black rubber radar screening, conveyor belts empty contents of pockets confiscating digital devices.

Waiting for the part, waiting for the room, the whiteboard says misdemeanour the charge.

The little kiosk selling coffee and snacks in the foyer stocks a multitude of colourful painkillers and sedatives in plain evidence of the stress. Quick fix measures to get through the day, numb the anxiety, stop the flu cough, keep on top, ease the strain. I purchase a cup of coffee and on closer inspection of the disposable paper cup I am shocked by the subtle irony of the printed graphic: "Walter B. Laws' Law Coffee", wait for it... "Java For Your Journey"(!) Is that in or out? One lump or two? Black or white?

"EXCUSE ME!", "Yes sir?".

Silence returns to chatter. School yard for hard knock days revisited. A man in ragged jeans is traipsing the corridors clutching a tough leather belt looped in his large rough hand, vaguely threatening, oblivious, he passes us all by paying heed to no one. This place is almost verging on an asylum. People here suffering from their station, from their disadvantage, their social background (Theirs? or ours? and who are they? and who are we?). Surely personal pain may never be healed by incarceration? Maybe this is all just in this one hall? Maybe there are other halls with different types of offenders where the scene is less ruined and the people get off easier?

The EXIT sign says "Run, run... run to the light". The doorway beckons "Run to the light... but, forever run. On the run. Forever light. See the light. SEE, the light".

Image: restroom gaffiti, 'Harlem One'

2011-02-05T19:41:00.000-08:00

SHARE audio/visual jam @ ISSUE project room

ongoing assemblage of vital elements in progress

checking setting up everything operating

small random group

participants emerging

distant points in space slowly converging

in time and technology

foot-pedals arrayed

channels tested

computers booted

hot blasted cool heated

organically growing atmosphere

electronic distortion voice articulation

sea of frequency aqueous undulating rhythm

dolphin signals deep pressure tank immersion

sub-sonic congregation flows in waves

soft psychic rock formation punctuating ether

meeting of minds expressed combined

sound emulsions surface in a new light

2011-02-05T19:13:00.000-08:00

artists & fleas

An indoor market with stalls selling artist, designer, vintage and vintage inspired jewelry, clothing, artifacts, antiques and collectibles.

Open every weekend in Williamsburg

images: Fredy Churoncalla and jewelry

'Rad TV', Leeds Electric

Vintage stall detail

2011-02-02T09:45:00.000-08:00

Shim Sham @ The Kitchen

Roxanne 'Butterfly' eyes wide open and spellbinding feet

tip tap click clack she's stampin' and hoofin'

sounding the origins of the broadway boogie beat

coded history in staccato rhythms

telling motion and emotion

keeping alive the story of the street

each has their own hard won step up to the stage

high speedin' slow slidin' scrapin' sweepin' and drawin'

rippin' heart and soul

writing in sound

a foot flying archive

shoe shine boy roots

a living oracle to pass on down

a youthful future to carry

generations unite in the shim sham shimmy

the foot stomping congregation

blown away by the revelation

Jazz sews the threads

of a true multi-culture

the transaction is love

the story is told

Shim Sham at The Kitchen 29th January

2011-01-31T07:48:00.000-08:00

chelsea art ghetto promenade

"is a memorial allowed to be cosy?"*

through snow trenches we are shuffling

recognising the types

why else would we be here in this run down place?

body shop bricks car parking dirty bridges

we are on the fringes we enter our fridges

tombs to creativity morgue for dead art

awaiting final resting places on walls of stellar pads

the latest talent will hang

by fur coats in halls art trophy from the hunt

negotiated for a snip "did you see anything good?"

pass the word who's fair game? pack animals emerge

from luxury lairs scout for a move

and pounce

in white cube concrete aesthetic terrain

fashion art home decor-plan/lifestyle choice

trash to treasure swipe that card

strike that pose convey that serious aura

the knowing nod nothing happening here today

gallery makeover for the next new thing

distance between box and street only a pane of security glass

preventing grime getting in

hermetic sealed air leaking

outside

torn dayglo posters patch broken brown shutters

small herds of strutting creatures tawny and crisp

alert sedated eyeing seeking

calculating following

we are one

we are artworld

a few gems I have to admit

my caution my aversion my neck hairs prickling

(brooklyn radar...? chelsea radar here!)

*stolen line from show at Anton Kern Gallery

images:

1. dustbin at Anton Kern Gallery

2. work on show at Cueto Projects

3. gallery poster & art outside ZieherSmith

4. floor of Paula Cooper (I think)

5. lobby of Kim Foster

2011-01-29T04:55:00.000-08:00

The Really, Really Free Market

no money changes hands

no direct swap

take

what you need

give

what you don't

exit consumer world

an open invitation

enter a field

positive social relations

object transmissions

transcending stations

human interactions

conversations

a smile

a gift

a laugh

a line

a word

a lift

a self-helping hand

Judson Memorial Church, Washington Square - Really, Really Free Market

3pm -7pm last Sunday of every month

image: sculpture, Washington Square

2011-01-29T03:17:00.000-08:00

Took a trip up MomA PS1. Some works of note:

Phil Collins' excellent 'Free Fotolab', 2009 in which the artist asked people to send him their undeveloped rolls of film which he would then process and send a set of prints back to the participants on condition that they surrender all rights to the images. The result is a 9 minute slide sequence of selected shots providing candid portraits and representations; out-takes of the unexpected and the personal. The photos are derived from broadly Eastern European locations and provide a fascinating, touching and unfamiliar yet strangely familiar collective impression of people caught on camera.

Hannah Wilke, 'The Intra-Venus Tapes', 1990-93. Hard going and compelling document of the last years of the artists life.

Gracielle Carnevale, 'Encierro y Escape' (Entrapment and Escape), 1968. Funny.

Shizuko Yokomizo, 'Stranger 6', 1999. The artist left notes to occupants of ground floor dwellings and apartments asking them if they wished to pose in their living rooms for ten minutes at an appointed hour, at some point during which time they would be photographed. This one of the resulting, simultaneously intimate and distant portraits.

Stephen Willats, 'Cybernetic Still Life' 2010, 'The Multi-Channel Messenger' 2008 and 'The World As It Is And The World As It Should Be' 2006. Diagram as artwork and social mapping device.

What is interesting and apparent when viewing works in the environment of PS1, is the uniform consistency and universal aesthetic of the scene of engagement with art, where the presentation of the work does not so much reveal the circumstances of the works creation but rather heightens consciousness of the circumstances of its display.

Art in the streets all photographed within 100 yards of PS1.

2011-01-27T08:58:00.000-08:00

At the Skyscraper Museum near Battery Park there are proposals for the green integration of skyscrapers into the urban fabric of New York as high rise production platforms. Since the flight of global capital to markets elsewhere, the idea of various forms of productivity utilising existing structures has remerged. The exhibition charts the evolution of this form of industrial processing from the early vertical cotton mills of the eighteen hundreds through to the likes of the FIAT factory in Turin with it's rooftop test track and utopian designs such as the cotton processing geodesic dome developed by Buckminster Fuller and his students. This is seen as a way of reinvigorating the vacant vertical spaces of New York, providing employment and income.

As a further note, check out www.planetaryone.com for some very interesting ideas about how the future city might be 'designed'. It features ingenious and creative solutions as to how large concentrations of people could live in a more symbiotic relationship with the natural environment.

The only thing I would question is: What are these populations co-existing to serve through the functioning of the city? Is this re-design simply a mutation of the technology that is already engaged in the constant reproduction of the machine which entraps the human organism in the cycle of consumption? Will it be for the perpetuation of the hegemonic global capital system? Or is it possible to re-imagine these solutions as part of the progressive evolution of the human project of enlightenment? Can happiness be achieved through these means?

2011-01-25T07:19:00.000-08:00

residential jazz stroll up to the stone

spinning blur of musical threads

new york city rapid fire fed fluid sequences

highly orchestrated slalom skids

through street collage of street beats

fog-horn crescendos flood rivers of passion

serpentine dizziness captures en-trances

intoxicating rhythm of life on the level

Tony Malaby - Novela, Live @ the Stone January 22nd 2011

2011-01-24T06:36:00.000-08:00

New York Public Library

Exhibition THR33 Faiths:

ancient and modern

illuminated texts form

Islamic, Jewish and Christian signs

calligraphic ornamented emblematic

gold leaf

natural pigments

common threads

horned Moses

no photos

use your eyes

use your mind

Broadway Through Times Square:

media blitz

heavy police presence

hawkers beggars and advertising

looking for your money

refuse the photo-op

no free ads in your album

externalised interior nature of corporate fantasy/mind

perfect image re-production

social sculpture for gains

profit and power and accumulation

moulding collective consciousness

Like flocks of sea birds

nesting in crevices

of neon cliffs

eating and excreting

money and goods

trading values and economies

beyond any reasonable limit

excess of production:

TOTAL

absorption into

dangerous material intelligence

virtual life suspends the natural law

at a price beyond conception

meanwhile...

a green Latin leprechaun

face freezing stiff on ice-wind-blast street corner

ill fitting garb and a dejected aura

high class shoppers spend plastic wads

homeless shadows mill and scour

Grand Central Zone:

women in furs

men in rags

horned traffic

walk/don't walk

ghosts apparitions shades souls

moving within

momentarily visible

stray flows

on singular missions

free radicals pick up

the small change

of an indifferent form of illusion

multiple dimensions shifting proximity

superimposed

between and within

choosing to see... or not

acknowledge... or not

2011-01-22T05:58:00.000-08:00

Circle line

The subway riff - Obediently herded by by unseen voices of instruction people particles negotiate trajectories following signs, instincts and routines and to the left a stompimg country blues outfit of time-served keepers of the thrumming rhythm bass shifting the crowd along.

Circle line tour of the river shows the skyscraper views of the Manhattan Mountain range steel gold glass concrete copper gold turquoise black silver and shiny reaching and stamping marks of financial market returns. Liberty powdered blue static gesture in cold wind off the river surge. We hear of famous residents and the prices they paid for their pads in the sky with personal lifts from car to apartment no photos please. but we are click happy in the freezing cold shaking to catch the view random shots grids and blocks layering of architectural gestures constant sedimentation of successive power proclamations one upon another juxtaposition of historical moments of economic conquest and dominion.

On the Brooklyn side non-places now spaces await their return to becoming places once again. The narrator gives us the low down on affordable housing and the lack: Living competing with Economy for Life.

2011-01-21T05:52:00.000-08:00

metro-politick observations around the fastline

Security checked I entered the US where the border begins in Dublin airport. A redrawing of the political map of the world establishing a new frontier within another territory. The Atlantic journey of adventure just another domestic trip.

In flight floating people journey as one disconnected, united only by direction of travel - objects falling through space together alone obedient passive trajectory with screen magnets for the mind.

Taxi to the apartment and I get the story that this is the land of opportunity for a man with a family to feed and clothing to move when not at the wheel. Schwarzenneger is the quoted paragon of rags to riches, immigrant to pillar of society and I am a bit surprised by this coming from a hard working Ghanian (My thought was of James Brown's rise from shoe-shine to superstar). First surprise of many. My ignorance is broad and long. We always look to an opposite pole.

Union Square Farmers Market. Fresh produce in the thick of the hustle, wooden money for food stamps, emerging economies of inter/in-dependence.

Two onions for 45c my best deal. Living parsley and basil on the cold and snow-pile littered streets. A woman closing in on mortality treated by paramedics and concerned passersby. Strangers' compassion erasing difference and separation. Oxygen face mask and frosty breath on the hard street life of the elderly.

Julia shows me the ropes of the place and a rooftop view of Union Square. A great welcome to set me on the way.

Jetlagged and tranquilised nodded through the The Encyclopedia Of New York book launch, a 'wealth' of information, a massive and yet still selective chronicle of some of the histories of the City. And what of the unwritten... unremembered... unknown.

Street furniture seen only in movies now surrounds in a virtual movie of actuality. Ambulances, police cars, fire engines, taxis, street crossings, sounds of voices, accents, moods, advertising, prices in dollars, faces you feel you could have seen before, tube steel, red leatherette, chrome plated, plastic coated, ensembles of transportation, concentrations of people, all in constant motion.

The subway, jammed, crammed, hot, sweat, close and enclosed we are all navigating the catacombs of the Metropolis, underground graffiti, culture of the creative scrubbing of grime, personalise, territorialise, exteriorise/externalise, marking to signify.