Nadaism is not dead

Do you want to know if a person who passes all the time doing nothing would be able to live a normal and happy life?

... I will not work, I will not engage any activity in the long or even in the medium term - but I'll need help! Please check out the nadaist contract at the bottom of the page

... and there's other pointless investigations ongoing, just take a look to the bar on the right hand side

Sunday, December 10, 2006

The sausage machine

It does not sound well in English, "the sausage machine". Not even in Spanish, but at least there is the expression "there are more days than sausages", and from there you can more or less guess it. I imagine a very big sausage machine in which the pigs enter alive falling from the trunk into a door on top, and then on the right side the sausages come out in a chain. The core mechanism of the device is quite complicated, not only mechanic but it also involves electronics, and there's regulators and bottons that look old fashioned like the ones on the chest of Darth Vader.

Well I could try to draw it, maybe it would make a motive for a nice Buddisht tanka. But I'm kind of busy you know in this tropical beach, attending to yoga classes in the morning, writing a bit, and I hardly have time to go for a swim before sunset... if anybody is reading, and bored enough to do it and send it, I would be very happy to post it in the blog. Besides I could show it to some indian artisans-for-tourism and maybe they like the design, and start selling tankas like sausages.

Anyway the point of the sausage machine is not the tanka. Some months ago I was talking about some "funny" characters in a neurotic mind like mine, such us the croupier or the thing, so that nothing never seemed to be really in peace. Even if I was emptying my days, my days were not becoming empty, etc.

These times I'm by far more relaxed; (probably because relaxation is a matter of practice also). When I thought about it, I was expecting that the croupier would leave me alone so that I could spend more time with the thing. But no no no. The croupier is indeed sleeping in his shinny shirt with his head over the green kind of carpet of the gambling table. But the thing is not closer or further away, and my mind has become a machine of sausages.

You know sausages coming one after the other look similar, but if you look more closely they are all somewhat different in shape, length... (I guess it depends on how precise the machine is). Anyhow that's the feeling, it's what's coming out in my head, all the time, the soft noise of the machine, the smell of the raw meat, always in the background.

Definitively, it is an improvement!.

1 comment:

Ginger Ekselman said...

whenever my old manager was getting frustrated he would start to talk about sausage factories.'it's just a sausage factory,' he would say in his northern engish accent. sometimes i would feel sorry for him - his lifetime of cynicism weighing him down, and i would try to think of ways in which it wasn't just a sausage factory. sometimes i would fee a bit offended that he would call my work a sausage factory. sometimes i would try to predict the moment he would say it and try and say it is unison. i never got it right though.