Chaos is the precursor to...
Chaos is the precursor to...
Chaos is the precursor to...
Chaos is the precursor to.
The Sydney summer was about to set in, you could feel that, but it was pissing down with rain on this particular weekend. Possibly an omen? Who knows, but definitely a shortcut to a reclusive weekend.
The letter came in the form of a surprise, as if a piece of junk mail claiming you've won a million dollars materialised and inside sat the million dollars in cold, hard cash. Only this wasn't a million dollars, this was a summons for cash, for an absurd amount. And mid-way through a conversation his jaw dropped and completely losing interest, but being obliged to stay and listen when all he wanted to do was read that letter. Money is only money, but fuck. Maybe the showing was bad, who knows either way the receiving of this letter now and then was a crashing back into society of sorts.
So on this weekend, when he probably should have been out getting drunk after 3 social-interaction-less weeks, it was all to easy to melt into the couch and just read:
Chaos is the precursor to...
Chaos is the precursor to...
Chaos is the precursor to.
The Sydney summer was about to set in, you could feel that, but it was pissing down with rain on this particular weekend. Possibly an omen? Who knows, but definitely a shortcut to a reclusive weekend.
The letter came in the form of a surprise, as if a piece of junk mail claiming you've won a million dollars materialised and inside sat the million dollars in cold, hard cash. Only this wasn't a million dollars, this was a summons for cash, for an absurd amount. And mid-way through a conversation his jaw dropped and completely losing interest, but being obliged to stay and listen when all he wanted to do was read that letter. Money is only money, but fuck. Maybe the showing was bad, who knows either way the receiving of this letter now and then was a crashing back into society of sorts.
So on this weekend, when he probably should have been out getting drunk after 3 social-interaction-less weeks, it was all to easy to melt into the couch and just read:
Cruyff didn't talk about abstract space but about specific, detailed spatial relations on the field. Indeed the most abiding image of him as a player is not of him scoring or running or tackling. It is of Cruyff pointing. 'No, not there, back a little... forward two metres... four metres more to the left.' He seemed like a conductor directing a symphony orchestra. It was as if Cruyff was helping his colleagues to realise an approximate rendering on the field to match the sublime vision in his mind of how the space ought to be ordered.
The head space he was inhabiting was incredible. One of complete indifference to an outer world he'd been secretly yearning to see again. It was as if nothing meant anything now in comparison to one piece of art. He packed his things and headed back over to the suburbs for a nice few days with the mum and the dog. They were both pleased to see him. If there was a place to be indifferent and reclusive, maybe it was better to spend some quality time with the familia.
Still a confrontation was always necessary and inevitable. Something like Saul Williams said, out of chaos comes order, but will order come from this current chaos?
Still a confrontation was always necessary and inevitable. Something like Saul Williams said, out of chaos comes order, but will order come from this current chaos?
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