parotechnics

Living in a city is like taking an international flight, in which you have your own personal TV monitor - other people's windows. My interest isn't prurient. Something about the way a window frames a person creates automatic poraiture. In Bombay people maximise space and put things on their windows and it seems like an intimacy one can have, a tenderness one asks from the world, to reveal a bit of the self like that. My first film began with a sequence of chawl windows in central Bombay. While shooting a woman combing her hair, Manoj Nair, the cameraman, said "man, this is like Rear Window, except here the woman's husband will see us shoot and come and clobber me one." While he was saying this, the woman took the loose hair out of her comb, threw it onto the street and retreated into the unknowable dark of her one room house. If we wanted to know more, we would have had to wait till evening, when Bombay windows, tube-lit, reveal the second halves of days to the wo

Oh, so drunk that am publicly declarin g it though shocked that i am typing it. I fear tomorrow's headached and who knows whae t else. dood night sqweet prince.

Oh? You mean you'd have been able to choose? Really? And do y ou also love one of your children more than the other? Well, poor you, I guess.

Some people (don't know how and don't know why, but there's no absence of malice in the world) have been accusing me of going all nature. Possibly these are the same persons who instigated the writing of this horoscope for me today: Wednesday, April 11 CAPRICORN (Dec 22 - Jan 20) Scientists fear a new 'flu' pandemic may soon be upon us. Many believe a strain of it has already arrived. This disease is called Affluenza. The virus is spreading round the world: its symptoms include spending beyond our means, over-indulgence and coveting material possessions over people. If you wish to ensure immunity against this ailment, Venus suggests you carry an antidote. Read this twice a day: Don't have everything you want; want everything you have. To which, I say, like all my ancestors before me - Pshaw! And take that! I'd like to clarify that I am still me. Just because I appreciated some waves and birds and stuff don't mean that in my life there is any absence of :

...if human voices wake us, we will not drown. We won't, right?

I'd be pretty happy if life had this kind of post laundry neatness. Right down to the one missing sock, for piquancy. Because who knows where it went - into the great drier in the sky perhaps. To put it another, or rather the other way: "It's like when you put instant rice pudding mix in a bowl in the microwave and push the button and you take the cover off when it rings and there, you've got rice pudding. I mean what happens in between the time when you push the switch and when the microwave rings. You can't tell what's going on under the cover. Maybe the instant rice pudding mix turns into macaroni cheese when no one's looking and only then turns into rice pudding. We think it's natural to get rice pudding after we put rice pudding mix in the microwave and the bell rings, but to me that's just a presumption. I would be kind of relieved if every once in a while, after you put rice pudding mix in the microwave and it rang and then you opened the top

Cape Cod is famous for it's light, and artists and photographers have flocked to it for years. Famous things often seem like they will be cliches, and you anticipate, perhaps a clarity, perhaps flashily striated sunsets. But when you're here, the thing you notice most about the light is how it seems LARGE. You're struck too, by how specific it is, how well defined, concrete, how physical a thing, as if you could pick it up and fold it. Like a child's building set, it seems to rearange itself into new formations and densities each day. It's like a shadow companion that accompanies you everywhere you go, climbing onto your lap when you sit down to read on a chair, skidding in suddenly across a closet as you lean absently against the kitchen counter waiting for the coffee to percolate, spilling onto the counterpane when you're half awake in the mornings, watching you consideringly as you try to write at your desk. Most of all of course the sea is like the mood ring