Thursday, November 17, 2011

100 Minutes with Sarah Brousseau

So as I said in class, I went for a round about walk to the Station Building and after arriving the Station Building I realized I rushed to get there, and didn't care or pay attention to how I got there. I realized that I worry too much about getting to a specific place, and getting there as quickly as possible. So I retraced my steps, from Station to Main, and paid attention, seeing things in my environment. And here is my little poem about what I saw and thought:

I have to consciously tell myself to slow down.

Even slow my thoughts down.

Time shouldn’t matter.

Waiting to cross North Ave. the wind whips my face,

it’s so raw against my skin.

I see red roses, they remind me of Jan.

I see an uprooted plant, laying over on its side.

I notice the houses, but don’t think much of them.

I think I see coffee grounds in someones garden.

I touch them, I smell them.

I still can’t tell.

I see a rotted out tree with a plant growing inside.

It’s the earth living in the earth.

I wish I could record my thoughts.

They travel so quickly, I can’t capture them.

My fingers are frozen, gripping my journal.

I see a road behind Main.

It looks scary, but I go anyways.

I try to walk on the sidewalk, but it has trees and telephone poles taking up the space.

I guess it’s simply a space between a wall and a road.

I see people walking through my path.

People carrying giant triangles and singing.

I have a red hand to cross the street, I go anyways.

I don’t stop for cars, and they don’t stop for me.

It’s like an unforgiving relationship, we both hate each other.

A guy just put a cigar in the cigarette butt trash,

it’s still smoldering.

Everyone is in Decker... I don’t want to be near them.

I’m having fun by myself.

The cigar guy is in front of me and he smells like smoke.

Where is there an empty?

Writing this I still feel rushed.

And here are some photos from today! Enjoy :)

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