Sunday, September 25, 2011

V for

Varanasi.I haven't been there and I'm reading a book about it by Geoff Dyer. I can't stop talking about whatever it is that I'm currently reading since it extends amoeba-esque pseudopodia enveloping my whole life. Dyer writes about Venice and Varanasi, places I've idealised forever and am dying to visit. His perspectives on Varanasi, Hinduism, India and Ginsberg are electrifying (this is it. The only word that fit). I feel like a voyeur into my own nation. Ever picked up a Lonely Planet to nowhere? I have and that's why I think Dyer is such a good travel writer.


In the school library, a lifetime ago, I'd read Philip's Pullman's pan-dimensional Dark Material's trilogy. In his chaotic, Dust-ridden universe, there were infinite worlds that existed with each other and there were people who could rip the fabric of their world and travel to any other. They lived happy fulfilling lives in these new worlds, they found themselves, loved, gained power and greatness. And yet, no matter how happy they were, the tug of their old worlds was great. They were simply,physically incapable of staying too long. Their hearts faltered and eventually they had to go back to where they came from or die in their new worlds. It was crushing to read about these people who yearned to stay and yearned to leave.


Over the last two weeks, I've watched a football game at The Swamp, seen Gods of Carnage at the Hippodrome, painted, been freaked out at Halloween horror nights and written the most important letter of my life to someone I love and worry about (the pen and paper kind. Where have they gone?)