#scurf178: Hierarchy of Pleasures
Veering into known and unknown quarters of the internet
This week I did a little bit of internet overhaul - swore off X, swore off existing search engines and browsers and replaced them with DuckDuckGo. In addition to this, I also got fully into the Substack app, which if Substack lore is to be believed, is proving to be a lot like Tumblr and a lot like what X used to be a dozen or so years ago. While I’m wary of committing to such quick analysis, I do agree that there’s a certain kind of slowness that has come to define my experience in being online.
In a time when we are being forced to rush to no one knows where, this kind of cutting back and looking askance at slow searches and slower, more accurate results has been blissful. With the recent changes in Life, the incessant heatwaves in Delhi and then other things that percolate into my hours, I’ve been away from writing. Last week I also started the Conversations series on my substack where I plan to interview peers in the fields of photography, music, writing, mapmaking, etc. When I can and have access, I will also interview writers, urbanists, musicians I admire and aspire to emulate the careers of.
I’ve forever been interested in reading about the backalley negotiations that we writers, artists, painters have to make to be able to finally make and put out some work. This is also the thought behind the Conversation series. To this end, Lousiana Channel has been one of my most frequented spaces on YouTube. I think I discovered the channel five years ago and have since then found it to be a constant companion for me.
From among the writers’ interviewed on the channel, I’ve found myself going back to those of Claire Louise Benett, Rachel Cusk and most importantly Sally Rooney. Urbanist Jan Gehl’s conversation and architect Balkrishna Doshi’s interview have given me immesne fodder to think, write and read. In my sweet desire as a fan, I’ve also written to the channel requesting them to record interviews with Karl Ove, Darran Anderson, Jhumpa Lahiri and Deborah Levy. So when recently they did share their interview with Levy it felt like something truly connected, clicked in place.
Through the channel, I’ve discoverd writers and photographers that I wouldn’t otherwise have come to know. One of them is — Pola Oloixarac, Argentine writer, journalist and translator. In the interview Oloixarac shares that she works on various prpjects simultaneously, storing her thoughts on various files on her computer. This struck a chord with me, as I’ve always found it hard to have the kind of time to focus on just one piece of work. I like to work on various ideas at the same time as I believe they all speak to different aspects of me, and in turn help sharpen the critical angle with which I tend to handle any writing.
Seiichi Hayashi: Japanese mangaka, illustrator and animator
The other day, I was researching for a writing assignment online, and ended up at a stack of illustrations made by Seiichi Hayashi, Japanese mangaka, illustrator and animator. The comfort and relaxation in these illustrations stayed with me, making me ponder about the vagaries of life and how we’re missing on an essential element of slowness in our Delhi-Mumbai-Bangalore ways of being.
A cat curled up on the cushion beside you as you work out in the evening, all by yourself, possibly on a weekend, in an empty house full of very little furniture, some plants and basics. Isn’t that what the ideal way of looking at anything should be?
Leaving for an evening out, dressed up in a halter neck dress, stubbing out that last drag of cigarrette, as your black (void) cat stares at something in the distance. A half-read magazine buried underneath the duvet lurks in the background, a bag of gorceries sitting at the dinner table, waiting to be put out. There is so much to do, but we take our time, we’re in no rush, we know where we have to go.
She’s pretend sleeping, waiting for her friend to arrive so they can both leave for a Friday night out. To keep her company, she made a cup of tea, and satiated her senses by staring at the moving (or immobile in this case) handles of her wrist watch. Again, a slowness to wander back to in this time of unthinking fastness.
This Saturday evening, I sit back legs perched on the cofffee table in my living room, the lights turned off, the fan whirring noisily at full speed as the kids outside scream each other’s names and play tag on their bicycles. My water bottle sits close by, as does my ancient iPad that drowsily plays an episode of The Office.
Michale, Pam and Ryan have moved to the ground floor into a smaller office that is almost the size of a closet. They are also taking it slow, pausing to understand and soak in the rhythms of their work, the cadences of living in a new cramped space and restructuring their personal equations. Everything takes time, and sometimes, at any given moment in time, we should give that kind of time to our living. This kind of sobering reminder is needed each day, and I am already submitting my solitary self to it.
Reading
Elisa Gabbert’s Paris Review Daily essay Second Selves
Death by Sea a diary entry like essay about some inward adventures during a themed dinner party
The secret history of the red book of Hamlet