Syndicate: purpose, future, and smelly socks

["Sally Jane Norman" <norman@wanadoo.fr>]

Kia ora

Is('nt) this list just telling its own story ? It? the first list I?e felt
so intimately and integrally a part of, and for which I feel a rare kind of
tolerance. Perplexing, given my habitual impatience. A half-decent shrink
would sort this one out faster than you can wink: the instinct's no doubt
maternal and/or just plain narcissistic... Naive hopes and beliefs perhaps
that something as alive as this bunch of people will keep managing to
communicate forms and contents not encountered elsewhere. Perhaps also the
occasional exhilaration of physical meetings of people whose words have
moved me, huge logs logging in amidst the pile of flotsam driftwood,
crashing into each other within the white spray white noise - back as usual
to Te Parata, the ocean-bottom monster whose deep breathing moves and
engenders the tides. Reins in the moon. These not-quite-chance crossings
where a signature becomes a face and a voice and an outstretched hand and
more. Perhaps a hidden longing for parts and cultures of the world I?e
never been to but that are hugely determinant features of my mindscapes.
Including those terrains Syndicate first rallied, the eastern part of the
continent for we Western Europeans that always looked like a westward
journey for we South Pacific drifters? The land of the black Malevich
square, then the white one. The land of the Krasnoyarsk observatory with its
first autonomous living system back in pre-biotope sixties. A few weeks ago
a meeting with an Armenian artist who? planning a film to conjure up the
arid mountain landscape her astronomer physicist father inhabited in virtual
isolation for years, intent on pursuing the stars. Stalker time again. Why
for me did this feel like a Marko Peljhan installation, why like Melentie?
historical back-tracking and remapping of still-torn territory, why like so
many snatches and figments of worlds gleaned from this list ? Things become
vivid, vivacious when one disposes of an optical array to view them best.
Syndicate? a part of that array for me (well shit, I mean, Kepler saw
double and that changed history for most of us?).

Just another bit of south-west French rambling from stormy grey skies,
salutations to Igor and others posing these devastatingly existentialist
questions about purpose and future (which give me a fair few sleepless
knights also). Not happy not unhappy. The PubliXTheaterCaravan is weaving
its way into the story too. Stinking socks and Pogo the dog. Hope they all
get out OK. A ship of fools in the Trojan horse that got grounded in or out
of Genoa. Kinship dammit. Kneading to know. As long as Syndicate feels close
enough to smell the socks I think we?e doing OK.

love to all

sjn

saintes

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