Their heads bent, their leg just touching, they ride like one eager person through the town the asphalt zig zagging where the fennel grows and... The wind so strong that they have to fight their way through, rocking like old drunkards- Katherine Mansfield, from 'The Wind Blows'
Held upright but propelled back. So strong that actually, I am motionless. Stiff. Stuck in the wind. Alive with the weight and energy of the wind as it hits me. Through me. Around me. King of the world. Queen of the Windy City. Watching the lights flickering on the other side of the bay, through half opened eyes. I am moving nowhere but I am moving fast. I'm a big hunk of steel held in the air. Roaring with noise. Roaring through the wind. The wind roaring through me. Ripping through time and space. Clouds sucked past and left for dead. Held by nothing. Surely you can't put a human in the sky! I am on this piece of stone. I am in the air. I am travelling, through. Back. To the same place I was before. But where is this sunny place I just woke up? Time is a mystery, everyone must stand alone. I hear you call my name. But this isn't home. I'm in Dorothy's tornado and this isn't Kansas anymore. But the people don't look so different. And there's Coca Cola all around. Welcome to the Windy City and despite appearances... My feet are on the ground.
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Notes From Far AwayOne holiday. Two artists. Three theatre festivals. Eight cities. Provocations. Reflections. Journeys. Art. Archives
October 2013
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