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Necessary perspective. Traveling for life.

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A book shop. Possibly the grandest I’ve ever seen.

Last week I paid a visit to Saint Petersburg in Russia, with the intention that me and my girlfriend will be moving there later this year. I think it was the first time I’ve actually visited anywhere before committing to a move. As anyone who’s followed this blog before will know, I’ve already visited Russia a few times now so I more or less know what I’m letting myself in for and certainly won’t be encountering the same kind of culture shock I did last year in Beijing. Even so, it felt important for some reason (perhaps because this time I’m moving more as a life choice rather than because I’m chasing a job) that this year I not make the move cold, as it were.

So I spent a week in the city with my girlfriend. I’d love now to write about the city itself, with its grand, elaborate buildings, winding canals, vastly deep metro tunnels and homey, soviet style cafeterias, but I feel as though I’m unable to. Mostly because, although I noticed them, these are not the things I was paying attention to.

I think it would be fair to say that I’ve been “traveling” (read; taking jobs in obscure places) for three or four years now, and I can’t easily remember the last time I lived in one place for more than a year. I feel that because of this, perhaps unfortunately, the wonder of traveling has worn off slightly for me. Add to this the fact that our visit to Saint Petersburg was informed by the idea that we’ll soon be living there and my perception became a little different. This meant that I viewed the city through a very different lens than I would have done were I just visiting, and to how I think I will when I finally return, whenever my visa clears.

When seeing a new place with the intention of making a life there, your experience of it changes somewhat. Gazing down a wide, tranquil canal at the fantastically named Church of Our Savior on the Spilled Blood is wonderful, but the English bookshop just there on the left suddenly seems much more interesting. The hustle and bustle of Nevsky Prospect might be exciting but how is the local coffee and breakfast? I started looking out with excitement not for brilliant architecture but for shops selling boardgames and such tit-tat. I admired the many sculptures less for their own artistry but for how they might inspire me over the year or more to come.

I suppose it’s natural that in this circumstance my experience would be different to that of a tourist’s but it almost feels like a shame that my appreciation for such a historic, beautiful place was overshadowed by necessary and sometimes superficial considerations. Having said that, this was the whole reason for our visit and I can happily say that once I fully arrive there in the next month or so, I’m optimistic the city will lend me many much more interesting observations and stories.

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Church of Our Savior on the Spilled Blood

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Into the Siberian Hellscape…

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What do you think of when I ask you about Siberia?

There’s a book I’ve kind of been interested in reading recently. It’s some bizarro thing set in Siberia and if you read the reviews a lot of them start something like this; ‘In the frozen hell that is Siberia…‘ or ‘Set against the background of the Siberian hellscape…’. I’m sure you’ve come across similar things when and if you’ve ever heard anything mentioned about Siberia. I remember showing my girlfriend an episode of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D where they were looking for some sort of secret based hidden in the region (‘if you want to build remote, build Siberia’) and the team was shown struggling through the howling snow to infiltrate the base buried in the permafrost. I guess this view comes from the image of Siberia as it was rather than as it is now. In Crime and Punishment Raskolnikov’s newfound love Sofya shows her dedication and selflessness by exclaiming ‘I will follow you, I will follow you everywhere. Oh, my God! Oh, how miserable I am! […] I’ll follow you to Siberia!’ The most positive thing Chechov could bring himself to say about it was that ‘even in Siberia there is happiness.’

I’ve known for the past few years that, at some point, I’d be heading to Krasnoyasrk (Красноярск) the third largest city in Siberia. I’ve known this since I started seeing my girlfriend who just so happens to be from there. When I recently asked her if I should buy a new coat before going she answered with a curt ‘of course not’ in a tone that both amuses and terrifies at once. This confused me slightly, as I don’t own a coat at all. How was I to survive the frozen hell without one?

So, imagine my surprise when we land in the tiny Krasnoyarsk airport and continue to drive through the flat, green countryside which, believe it or not, reminded me of home. What surprised me more though were the next few days in which we were greeted by bright blue skies, temperatures up to 30 degrees and some of the most beautiful scenery I’ve seen in a while.

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My journey began in outskirts of the city itself. At first glance this area was almost the way I expected. Slightly rough around the edges. All cracked concrete and battered cars. Being a somewhat slight Englishman I couldn’t help feel intimidated at first, however once we moved towards the city centre this roughness began to seem almost charming. Lovely wooden buildings which range from quaint to impressive line the streets and wherever you go you can find wonderful bronze statues, all representing artists or individuals of particular importance to the city. There’s a sense of rugged pride to be found here.

IMG_20170731_164300I remember that during my trip to Moscow several years ago the thing I was the most impressed with were the sculptures and the same can be said for Krasnoyarsk, although the wooden houses are a close second here. In particular there is one sculpture that really set my imagination on fire. Called the ‘Rivers of Siberia’ it portrays the main river, Enisei (Енисей), which flows through the city. Enisei is portrayed as a huge, muscular man behind whom is Angara (Ангара), another (female) river. In legend there is a tragic love story between Enisei and Angara. On both sides of the sculpture stand six more rivers, each portrayed IMG_20170731_150535as gorgeous, ethereal Siberian women, which flow into Enisei. It’s a wonderful piece that, even though the water feature wasn’t working, set my mind racing. What’s better is that you can turn around and see Enisei right there in front of you, in all his glory. And he is glorious. A massive body of water which flows right through the city, big enough to house a few small islands, one of which has become a popular meeting place for families and young people. Here, at this time of year, people meet to skate, bike and walk among the comically tame wild gophers. It’s not technically a huge city park, but that is what it felt like.

In one place on the island there is a grand tree with an overhanging branch. Hanging from the branch is a sign that reads Лукоморье (Lukomorye: Blue Bay). It refers to the name of a fictional land in Russian folklore which Pushkin used in one of his fairytales. This tree is referencing a particular passage from his poem Ruslan and Ludmila.

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There’s a green oak-tree by the shores
Of the blue bay; on a gold chain,
The cat, learned in the fable stories,
Walks round the tree in ceaseless strain:
Moves to the right – a song it groans,
Moves to the left – it tells a tale.

I was also taken to visit my girlfriend’s family Dacha (дача). IMG_20170804_163858

A Dacha is basically a plot of land on which the family grows vegetables. There are also houses on the Dachas, some of which are like modern homes and others glorified sheds. On my girlfriend’s land there is a small wooden shack hand built by her great grand father during the Soviet era.

So that’s the city, now into the hellscape. Krasnoyarsk is one of those cities where an hour bus ride can take you right out into the surrounding nature. During our trip we went to visit a nature park which is home to Stolby (Столбы), large rock pillars that range from being big to absolutely huge. To put into perspective; we climbed up one of the more or less averagely sized ones to eat lunch and found ourselves looking down at the tops of the forest trees. They’re quite magnificent and the fact you can climb them without anyone shouting rules at you feels like a real adventure. Whilst up there, it felt as though we were on top of the world. Siberian forests seem to stretch on for eternity and standing on that rock, looking into the green-clad distance it’s impossible to grasp the scale of the place, especially for a Brit, whose entire county would fit into Siberia multiple times. We spent hours walking through the forest, carefree despite roadside signs informing us (only in Russian of course) what to do if we come across a bear. Fortunately, but also somehow disappointingly, we didn’t see any bears but there are also chipmunks who, like the gophers, are surprisingly tame, so that sort of makes up for it.IMG_20170803_160227

But Krasnoyarsk doesn’t only have trees, it also has water, and a lot of it. If you follow Enisei you’ll travel through the countryside and to a huge dam and hydroelectric station which apparently, a local told me, would drown the entire region in 15 minutes were it to stop functioning. Luckily it does function and by doing so it stops the river from freezing during winter and results in some bitterly cold, refreshingly clean tap water. On the other side of the dam is what I heard referred to as the ‘Krasnoyarsk sea’. A huge artificial lake (one of the largest in the world) surrounded by hills and mountains. Needless to say it more than earns its name.IMG_20170801_205701

I just spent a week in Krasnoyarsk and I could continue writing for hours. It’s a city that seems to keep on giving. There is beautiful and interesting architecture, a deep sense of history, mountains, lakes, trees, gophers and chipmunks. At once it’s industrial and rural, rough and elegant, harsh and welcoming. Throughout my entire time there I kept thinking it was like a fairy tale. Not that the city itself is particularly fairy tale like, but that there are so many elements to it that could be; the old wooden houses felt as if they had history laced into the grain; the Stolby looked like giant hands reaching up from the mountain when viewed from the city; the Rivers of Siberia and all the other brass sculptures dotted around the place seemed to have secret lives of their own.

It’s a place that has left me wanting more which is fortunate because at some point we will be venturing back so that I can experience the Siberian winter, which some of the locals claim is not actually that cold… Honestly, I’m not sure my delicate English body will agree.

One thing is for sure, I found it to be a tremendously inspiring city. After spending a year in Beijing which I have not, despite its many other merits, found an inspirational place I am returning from Krasnoyarsk, my mind racing and an outline forming for a new novel.

From Shuangjing to Mudanyuan

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I’m standing outside the metro station, in a queue of fifty or sixty people, waiting for the metal grate to scrape open, admitting the next group of us.

I live in Shuangjing (双井) which is in the South East of Beijing (北京市) and work in Mudanyuan (牡丹园) in the North West.

Each morning I follow the same routine: Join the queue, wait and then scramble towards the train doors. Usually it takes two or three trains before I can get on.

While I wait at the station doors I watch the train come in, my early-morning mind compiling a list of things I need to get done that day.

The train doors line up with the station’s and both open together. No one exits the train. I’m looking at a solid wall of flesh and cloth. Someone behind me scrambles forward and presses themselves into the wall, bumping and jostling so the doors might just be able to close. I watch as the person’s identity vanishes in front of me, as they are moulded and absorbed into the wall.

It’s just past eight, I’m not in such a hurry. I’ll wait. The train pulls away.

A few trains later it’s coming up to eight twenty and I can’t wait any longer.

The doors open, the wall stands strong and I tentatively take a step towards it. As if they’ve been waiting for my first step the queue behind me makes its move too. I am pressed from behind into the wall and I can’t concentrate any more. The world blurs into a kind of fleshy brown and I’m knocked and squeezed on all sides. I imagine it’s like the opposite of being born. Soon I come to a stop, one foot on the floor, my body off balance. The doors shut and we move on.

I can’t move, and I have a problem. The next stop is Guomao (国贸), a major transfer station. I am pinned somewhere between the door and the middle of the train entrance. Around me people are pushing and sliding past one another. I feel hands, and stomachs and backs press against me. My nose and mouth are pressed into a woman’s hair, I feel someone much taller than I looming behind me.

We arrive at Guomao and the door opens. I’m lucky. I’ve managed to grab hold of a metal bar in the centre of the entrance. People flood out past me, like liquid fleeing an overturned bottle. I’m caught in the flow and hold on for dear life. Shoulders and arms bang into me as people barge past as if I am an obstacle that can only be overcome by force. My feet are snatched off the ground and I feel like I’m being pulled from a starship’s airlock.

The flow abates and I find my feet. New passengers embark. But I’m okay now, able to push myself into the aisle where I’ll be a safe distance from the doors.

Here I settle in for the rest of the journey, about forty minutes or so.

I feel pressure all around me. Smell the scent of sweat and perfume and breath. I find my mind wandering and I can’t seem to focus on what I’m doing there and even who I am seems hazy and unsure. I feel a rhythmic pulsing in my mind and all thought seems to fall away. We are breathing together, creating great fleshy waves that press against the sides of the train. My body dissolves and I am soaked into the whole. We are a single organism, pulsating and rippling together. Falling, swirling and morphing. Settling into the long tube-like shape of the carriage. A great, stinking worm with a thousand mouths, all groaning and grunting and leaking hot, coffee and cigarette scented breath into the recycled air.

We are blood, clogged and clotted in one of the city’s grubby arteries.

Each time the doors open some of the lumpy, sick blood spills out into other parts of the body.

Slowly, as my station approaches the carriage thins out and I’m able to move independently again. When I disembark the train I feel, at first, a kind of loss. Like I’ve just let go of something. I feel slightly dazed, unaware of where I am and what I’m doing. But soon, sense and thought come back to me and I remember.

I am Jack Owen. I’m on my way to work. I live in the city but I am not a part of it. I am a single entity again, with my own life and experience.

I let go of a breath I’ve been holding for god-knows-how-long. Relief floods over me as I exit the station into air that I can’t call fresh, but is at least more spread out than that of the train.

The experience is vanishing from my mind and will soon be all but forgotten. In those last fleeting moments of consciousness I thank life itself that I’m off that train but dread, albeit with an odd sense of longing, tomorrow’s journey, when the cycle will repeat itself.

Thou shalt not doubt thyself. Also; blog.

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WeChat Image_20170706095042My last update on this blog was posted about three years ago. I stopped writing because I suffered a blow to my self-confidence.

Without going into too many details; a job loss, a broken heart and other not-so-little things hit me and my resolve faulted. The problem is that when such things occur I have a bad habit of trying to undo myself, something I will write more about at a later date. So, through teary-eyes and a hammering heart I deleted my personal acting and writing website, gave away my book and film collection and basically sought to remove myself from a life that had brought me pain. A little dramatic, I know. But I am an actor after all!

Throughout the past few years I thought about starting up my blog again but was always haunted by the thought that perhaps I didn’t actually have anything very interesting to say. Is my life even worth talking about? The problem has always been that although something cool might be happening I’ve had the lingering thought that it might all fall away the next week and I’ll again be stuck with nothing to say.

That was three years ago and since then I moved to Barcelona to spend two years performing in different towns and cities throughout Spain and Portugal, pretty much every day. I performed with a brass quintet. I did a tour in Moldova and Romania. I finished writing my first book and then followed it up with a second, and a third, and a forth. I rediscovered my heart and gave it to someone else and, as of writing, it remains whole and happily pumping along. Then I moved to China where I’ve been living in Beijing for a year teaching drama and directing my own shows. Soon I’m going to leave China to set off on another set of mini-adventures before trying to settle again in another country, I don’t know where yet.

So, I figured I might at least have some slightly interesting things to share and thought now is as good a time as any to get started again.

I don’t know why I’ve always worried about being uninteresting but I do realise that it has always stood in the way of owning my own achievements and experiences. In the past few years I’ve learnt that no one is uninteresting and every journey is unique. The only thing that ever says otherwise is our own self-doubt, which can be hard to overcome. But overcome it we must. And in an increasingly scary, divided world which sometimes seems geared towards discrediting the ‘average’ person, I think it’s important to share our thoughts and opinions; our stories and experiences of a life that can, and should, be celebrated.

So, I’ll start blogging again. Read if you fancy it.

Seven Social Classes

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I’m a little late to the game but the other day I stumbled on the Daily Mail Class Check system which allows you to check which of Britain’s seven (yes SEVEN) social classes you belong to. There’s also one of these on the BBC website and many others I’m sure.

The test can be found in this article here along with simplistic definitions of each class, a news paper page asking “SO WHICH ONE ARE YOU IN?” and a video of Mike Savage from the London School of Economics explaining in yet more simple terms how we define these new classes. The video is intercut with a famous comedy sketch from the 1960s featuring John Cleese and the Two Ronnies about social class.

It’s all made out to be a big ol’ game really: Have fun with social disparity! But actually I didn’t really find it all that much fun really. I felt that was all a bit meaningless…

Here’s why; The entire test takes about 10 seconds and is made up of 3 tabs; Economic, Social and Cultural. After selecting from a couple of options this system easily works out where in society you stand. So, a quick, uninterested test informed me that I am part of the Precariat class because at the moment I have very little income, I have a lot of friends and I enjoy hip-hop… Interestingly, I decided to come back to the test and adjust my hobbies a bit and found out that if I say that I go to the theatre occasionally I actually raise up a class in Great British Society to Emergent Service Sector without any change to my income or social tabs. I also found out that someone can raise from Precariat to Emergent Service Sector simply by listening to a bit of jazz and watching some sports.

So it seems that the difference between at least these two classes is based on our social leanings rather than any real economic value. On the other hand, some of the upper classes rely on money only and the fact you have no friends and never leave the house don’t have anything to do with it. So somebody could inherit a house, give up work, and exist only on pot noodles and World of Warcraft and they’re still considered part of the Traditional Working Class. Someone in the exact same situation who rents out a room or two and so has a yearly income of roughly £25 – 50k jumps all the way up to Technical Middle Class skipping one class altogether, again without ever having to speak to another human being.

So I’m thinking the system here is kind of broken. I understand what it’s trying to do by saying that people from a poorer area are more likely to game and listen to hip hop than in richer areas where everyone goes out to ballet and listens to classical music, but frankly, I think that’s bullshit.

No matter how you look at it the class system is purely based on economic value, so at least one of these classes (Emergent Service Sector) is already redundant. But the reason I wanted to write this isn’t just to pull apart the Daily Mail’s little game, I’d actually like to make a comment on the whole idea of our seven class systems as a whole.

I’m open to the idea that there may have been a time where having distinct social classes had some practical application, but right now it seems to serve no purpose other than to drive divides between people. The reason I think the above system is broken is because class systems are like a sort of self fulfilling prophecy. The fact that there are now seven classes which are kind of hard to tell apart at times shows that there isn’t actually that much of a difference between people and that the classes are becoming more diverse and vague. But the fact that we have these classes creates this difference. As I said, there is no practical application to this any more, it’s not as if I can walk into a benefits office, show them a card stating that I’m Emergent Service Sector and they can instantly tell me why I’m entitled to less than the Precariat guy two booths over.

Instead, things like benefits, jobseekers allowance, etc, are all dealt with now on a case by case basis according to an individuals unique income and assets, and of course this is exactly the way it should be. It’s also completely likely that nowadays somebody could rise from a low class to a high one easily, such as landing a good job or inheriting some money/a house. It’s got much less to do with our upbringing now, although of course that is still a big factor for a lot of people.

All this begs the question then why we would continue to divide ourselves into these different groups.


Now the money side of things; as I said, I’m well educated and have worked all my life. The reason my income is so low and sporadic is that companies seem so reluctant to hire new people at the moment. Every job I’ve worked in for the last few years have been on zero hour contracts which often vanish with no warning. I’ve also been to several interviews and induction days (especially in London) for jobs which are either 100% commission based or almost 100% with a base rate way way lower than the national minimum wage. In fact the job I’m working now is the first full time, reasonably paid, stable work I’ve had for years and I had to move to Spain for it!

I’ve never once been asked about my education or social leanings when at an interview so I can only assume that these factors don’t actually affect my class level or employability. It’s also damn hard to make money as a contemporary artist right now with many arts council funding cuts, and other concerns (which I suppose is ironic as it seems the audience for the arts are better respected than the people producing it).

But whatever the reasoning, the simple fact is; I make very little money and the fact I might like theatre and jazz doesn’t change that. It definitely doesn’t make me better than the guy next door and the fact he likes games and hip hop doesn’t make him worse than me. We really are in the same boat and should respect each other as such.

The worst thing about pretending that social class has anything to do with our hobbies or whatever is that it splits people into the respectable and unrespectable poor. For the upper classes it doesn’t matter a lick what music, sports or social activities they undergo, they are still rich regardless, and the poor are still poor. 

Another reason the social and cultural tabs are completely useless are because they sort of ellude to a different world to the one in which we live. Nowadays, in the internet age, the fact that someone doesn’t go out much can mean very little. Someone who spends 8-12 hours a day on the internet could well be watching youtube vids, or they might be planning a social revolution, or both.

As an artist I myself know that the contemporary art scene extends much further than the theatres and galleries you visit nowadays. I watch the work of various theatre companies from all over the world, communicate with them and even devise my own material with a few companies, all through Facebook and other social media. I think this test has a dated, or at least simplistic view of the internet, society and ‘culture’ in general.

The worst thing about having all these different classes is that it just gives us more ways to label and judge people, and I think that is something we really don’t need in the UK right now as we’re all having quite a hard time getting along as it is. It basically just comes down to being able to look at someone and feel superior to them. I feel better than this guy because I am cultured and he is not. We both spend our evening going through the dumpsters outside tescos, but at least he doesn’t know who Dostoyewski was.

What’s also funny is that if we look at the accumulated debt of individuals I’m actually a hell of a lot richer than some working professionals who own their own homes but who are also £120,000 in debt, so surely I should be in a higher class than them?

Obviously its all very, very complicated, there’s a lot of opinion and subjectivity involved so I’m not going to carry on too much, but the point is I wholeheartedly believe that unless this information is used to improve the living circumstances of people and to even out the massive social disparity in this country (which I also wholeheartedly believe it will not be) then splitting us again into more social groups does nothing but hinder us and breed unacceptence and even hate, as is being proved by the horrendous way our lower classes are being publicly shamed, and the way the upper classes are so despised on street level.

Perfectly Useless – The Uselesquare

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There is an age old debate raging over the usefulness of art in society.  It is one of those timeless and endless questions.

Some people propose that art is absolutely integral to a community and that a society without art quickly grows stagnant. There are a great many practitioners who have proved the importance of art in the fields of politics, religion and human expression. Others however, believe that art is completely useless offering nothing but frivolous time wasting. More people still believe that art’s use extends no further than giving a moments joy or interest, and that to interrogate it further is against the spirit of art.

I can’t even begin to answer this question and I wouldn’t ever want to try. I do however have something which may (or may not) add to the argument.

What I have done, is created a perfectly useless piece of art, which I am rather proud of.

I present to you; the ‘Uselesquare’.

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One side of the Uselesquare

Now, I don’t know where inspiration for this came from. Perhaps from my sleep addled mind, perhaps though boredom or perhaps it was divine inspiration. But whatever the reason I have been tasked with presenting this piece of crap to the world.

The Uselesquare is made out of approximately 1.5 inches of gaffa tape ripped into 4 shreds and stuck into the exact configuration which ensures it is without any possible use.

Firstly, the Uselesquare is not ingenious, beautiful or even skilfully crafted. In fact, it is so unremarkable that anyone who is not the artist will forget about it almost instantly. The artist however, becomes completely obsessed with trying to find some sort of use or justification for its existence.

Two sides of the square are sticky on one side, the other two are sticky on the reverse. This means that the Uselesquare cannot be displayed easily, if at all. It can’t be stuck to a wall as only one half of it is sticky. It cannot be hung up in a space as the sticky sides will only collect dust. In fact, the idea of displaying the Uselesquare is simply inconvenient. The only way I can see to display it would be to frame it on both sides with glass, or inside a glass box and suspended it from the ceiling, but this is so much work and is so time consuming that it is not at all worth doing for this piece of shit.

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The reverse side of the Uselesquare

Even transporting the Uselesquare from Poland (where I made it) back to England was far more hassle than it was worth. I had to use probably 4 times as much gaffa tape than it took to make it in the first place, so that I could protect the sticky sides of the square from getting stuck to anything else. 
 

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A piece of folded gaffa has to cover each of the sticky sides

By creating the Uselesquare I think I have opened a great many questions for myself, but true to the Uselesquare, none of these can be answered.

Interestingly, I made this last week whilst I was in Poland taking part in a theatre festival in Gardzienice. For anyone who doesn’t know, Gardzienice is a small village in the south of Poland which hosts the largest centre for theatre arts in Europe. It’s basically a whole village of theatre and art. So, I wonder if the fact that such a useless, lazy, crappy creation which really shouldn’t be called art came out of such a creative environment carries any significance?

I’d like to say that with this piece I was making a comment on the uselessness of art, but firstly, I don’t believe that art is useless myself, and secondly, because the damn thing is impossible to display no one will ever see it meaning it even fails at this.

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Trying to display the Uselesquare

Simply there is just nothing good about this thing no matter how hard I try. Yet for some inexplicable reason I love it. I am simultaneously ashamed and proud of the Uselesquare and I just don’t know why…

In fact, now I don’t even know why I’m writing this post…what I’m trying to say with it…in fact I wish I had never begun.

And perhaps that in itself is the genius of the Uselesquare . The fact that…

you know what…

Forget it.

Leaving for Poland – Part 2 of 2

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It is roughly 8.50am and I am rising steeply and quickly into the sky.

The air outside my window is foggy and as we take off the land becomes almost completely invisible in a matter of seconds. Instead of the land then, I focus on the wings of our craft. Its simply incredible that these flimsy pieces of metal can lift and then hold us miles above the ground as they do. Watching them move and retract in that mechanical, robot-like way, I can’t help but visualise a Gundam model kit that I’ve been working on at home. It’s that sort of high-tech/lo-tech aesthetic. Something that came from the future but looks a hundred years old.

After a few minutes of grey wind and turbulence the sky suddenly brightens and the air clears. Blue sky reflects off of the wings and sun beams through the windows. I peer down out of the window and all I can see is an impenetrable ocean of cloud, a sheet so dense it looks as if you could walk on it. Above us, there are yet more aircrafts flying even higher than us, leaving a trail of visible air behind them.

I love flying. I don’t think I could ever grow tired of looking down at the clouds and feeling as though I’m a part of another world previously forbidden to humans. Or looking through the occasional breaks in the cloud cover at our land, which looks like a strange collage from way up here. A patchwork blanket of field, woodland, city and lake. I always sort of imagine myself, at this point, dissolving through my chair and the plane floor and tumbling back down to Earth. Through cold, wet, tangible cloud, cushioned by the speeding air and brought down, in free fall, to the soft ground. In my head this is a calming, meditative and almost enlightening experience, I suppose in actuality it would be kind of weird, then terrifying and ultimately very messy…

Just now I saw a wind farm in the distance. Obscured by cloud and mist I couldn’t see the land or sea that they emerged from, only what seemed like hundreds of tall, majestic structures, barely visible, spinning rhythmically miles and miles below.

I have been on the flight for about an hour now and have no idea where I am in the world. Ryanair doesn’t have one of those computer screens to show you what county you’re passing over and I couldn’t begin to guess.
So for now, I think I will sit back, close my eyes and just enjoy the strange sensation of levitating.