The constant return of the body

I needed to be 54 years old to get hit by this simple assessment : whatever we think or however we evolve, we constantly have to deal with our own body: its desires, its needs, its limitations, its changes, its… priorities

The metaphor I have is the “constant conversation” we have to do, between our own mind, and the tool we use : the body.

We’re hungry, or tired, or cold, or we get sick, we hav some “aches”. The body says nothing, but as it’s our vehicle, it is very powerful! The brain wants, but the body does. Or does NOT.

Or the contrary: Does the head want to sleep and get some rest, or the body?

In the time of Internet, we are used to read and talk and think, we do things without the body, apart from moving the mouse and typing on a keyboard.

And a little “bio-break” at times, to eat/pee/sleep.

When I watch my own hand on the table, it can be a little shock. It’s like “something” next to me, it’s mine, it’s… me. And it can be scary : it gets old and change, it can… stop.

Humans found strategies to feel their bodies : sports is one of them.

Etc : One could play with this conversation for a long time. But this lead, to me, to the concept of GESTURE.

Gestures of the hand, with a phone, a cigarette or spectacles. Feet, ways of walking, gestures of babies, of theater, of orchestra directors, dancing, writing, art making. Military gestures, lovers gestures, vintage gestures. To try, to hate, to mock, to be proud, or elegant.

Each subject is an article. This could be an entire blog… “Gestures”, les gestes, in French…

Sometimes, memories are gestures memories, right?

Thanks for reading!

JP

Photo : _bodylanguage_

Soccer Games (in shorts) (in the mud) (good grief)

When you’re not really interesting in soccer, you just watch and see two dozens of guys in shorts running after a ball. After all, we all need to be kept busy and to manage our time. Therefore, why not? Let’s take oneself in hand, and run after a ball, in a team! (important : in shorts).

I always have a bunch of naive questions I ask to my soccer lovers friends.

  • Why don’t these guys play with women? Co-ed football?
  • Why the hell is the team of “your” city the best? Imagine we do the same with movies or writers… Why don’t you watch all styles all teams and choose the one you love the most? No, OK, it’s your city, they’re the best. OK OK. OK.
  • Why don’t you all handle two balls at the time? It’d be funnier!

 

Introverts and other guys with glasses will try to find a philosophy here. Camus said he liked to play the goal keeper, where he learned a good lesson :

“The ball never comes from where you expected her to come”.

Like problems and betrayals in life?

(pardon my French)

 

When I was a teenager, my spectacled friend Jean-Marc and I (there are always two guys with glasses in a classroom, right?) we had to play soccer, and we hated it. Œuf Corse.

It’s November, it’s cold, drizzling. I want quiet, an easy chair and a fire and a cat and a book. Not to run in the dirt with idiots!

Bahhhh I loved that bunch of screaming guys : they were running like lemmings after the ball. It’s cute. Look at’em all! YAHHHHH.

Needless to say that the two poor shivering Jean-Marc and Jean-Pascal, in shorts and drizzled eyeglasses, were not in the group clucking like headless hens, because having found one or two functioning neurons in our bored head, we were, on the playground, waiting, a little bit outside of the circle of fools.

Re-needless to say that, oh fuque, inescapably, the ball ALWAYS suddenly spouted out of the group towards JM (or JP). Shit, shit and shit. What do I do now?? Mired for good.

With a good dose of audacity, I tried then to do the thing : running in cold November, in shorts, with a ball in the middle of my legs! Obviously, with a horde of yelling pimpled teenagers locked on to me…

When then reach me – if they don’t, I fall (because of the mess ball/legs) – in a panic gesture, I hit the ball. PAF. Anywhere. PAF! Go get it, you fools! Let the fetchers fetch.

Sigh… My hands on my knees, trying to catch back my breath, pfeeww, spitting my lungs, listening distractedly to the reproaches of Mr Sports Teacher, I’m thinking about next month’s soccer game. Oô December, “when mud on the ground is frozen in uncomfortable excrescences”.

I hear a crow. Croak! He mocks me. OK, let’s focus. Where’s the horde? I stand up and deep breathe. You go girl.

Happily, today I didn’t fell full length in the mud…

 

Thanks for reading! Have a great sunday!

 

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Reading Kundera in a crowded football stadium

I had a friend who was a teacher. She was a book lover, a quiet person you could meet in an art gallery or in a library.

She was in love with a guy who loved soccer. She was intrigued and decided to go watch a match.

I suggest you go on YouTube to 4’00” and listen to it loud…

She went there with a book, a Kundera book. She was not interested in the game, but in the festive atmosphere. 

At one moment, the whole stadium stood up (because of a point, of course). Screams! The guy next to her, then, excited and yelling, said to the reading lady : “Sorryyyyy”.

She smiled.

Listened.

Kept reading…

 

Have a nice day!

Bollaert is the RC Lens Stadium, North of France. Well…

BooksTeaCat, SportsBeerDog & their Social Interactions Necessities – #INTJ

ONE

Introverts. We’re all a tribe.

There are labels we tend to like to read about us. INTJ, Empaths, Introverts, Thinkers…

We read memes about us with a smile.

Responsibilities and social interactions needs cursors at the minimum : we prefer to think alone, in front of beautiful nature, or with our saint trilogy (a book a tea a cat), under a blanket, watching the rain by the window. We love conversations… one to one.

TWO

And then, the other side. Extroverts, Go-ahead people, Fast people, Managers, people who like groups, parties, responsibilities, goals, etc…

THREE

When an introvert is bored, it’s sort of OK. She (I call her a she in this article, OK?) dreams, she opens a book, goes for a walk – or opens a bottle of French wine before writing a poem.

When an extrovert is bored, he’s (I call him a he, OK?) depressed. Something’s wrong. Routine is not OK at all. He becomes grey, and looks for “things to do” – which are often displacing his body (hunting, running, biking, driving, whatever) or finding goals (or anything that can bring a sense of success).

FOUR

But in the end, we all need social interactions. All this is pretty well told by the Hedgehog’s Dilemma :

The hedgehog’s dilemma, or sometimes the porcupine dilemma, is a metaphor about the challenges of human intimacy. It describes a situation in which a group of hedgehogs seek to move close to one another to share heat during cold weather. They must remain apart, however, as they cannot avoid hurting one another with their sharp spines. Though they all share the intention of a close reciprocal relationship, this may not occur, for reasons they cannot avoid.

The hedgehog’s dilemma suggests that despite goodwill, human intimacy cannot occur without substantial mutual harm, and what results is cautious behavior and weak relationships. The hedgehog’s dilemma is used to explain introversion and isolationism.

(Wikipedia)

FIVE

A new job, a project, a success. We met new people, we’ve been in groups, yeyyy!

The Extrovert got oxygen. He feels happy, and alive. Grey’s gone, he’s like a clean engine in the sun! He goes running with his dog! He smiles back and his wife is proud.

The Introvert got oxygen too. She feels happy… to be back home. She has new ideas of musics and books, seeds for conversations. Look at her, now : she’s reading, petting her cat’s head. Both are purring…

Her husband cuddles her, smiling, or… runs with the dogs. Depends of the type!

 

Thanks for reading!

 

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Instagram : alessandramannelli

 

 

 

Hey, How do YOU keep yourself together?

The title was tricky to find. I wrote, in my French way, “How do you keep standing up”, but it’s not very very good, right? “How do you keep yourself from falling apart” is better, but, hem, a bit dramatic, no?

So I ask you, readers ! How do you keep yourself together?

So many answers! You can cuddle like a cat, under the warm blanket of your family.

You can drink or use another substance (food? drugs?) to get a little rid of reality.

Sex?

You can do sports, of course, it works for many people! Run, just run. Buy the good clothes before you run, you need’em. Run after something, or after nothing, it works too. Move heavy rocks. That’s good. Be a fan.

You can try to entertain : be a tourist, watch a movie, listen to some music, cook, read a book, appreciate some form of Art. Be creative, if you can. That’s pretty noble, dear!

Oh, I forgot : work! I’m pretty sure that all workaholics are just big-worried people who run all day to forget they will die… or just the boredom seriousdom of their choices. Be a little solemn with your work. You’ll feel important. It’s VERY good.

You can also spend time with a good friend who, that’s so coincidental, tries also to keep herhimself from falling apart. Then, you both look like two wounded guys in the WWI standing up holding each other walking in the mud.

You can do like me, overthinking your shit, find pattern and structures, inventing rarely effective tools to… keep yourself together, and blog this shit out just to purge your congested head. Color it your way : University-ish, Sarcasm, Humor, Crafty. Guess what I chose today!…

Religion! Your local God fixes everything.

Help others

BUT

(because, of course, what is interesting here is that does not work, and, blah, you will fall apart, eventually)

In family paradise you slowly realize you’re drowning in your own sugar, juices and secretions. You boil to get out!

Drugs leads to oblivion, but also to stupidity and mistakes. Sports to accidents. Entertain to emptiness. Creativity to the white page. Work means time burning AND money, which can provide “some” happiness, as you know (buying is good do keep yourself together for an hour, and it also works the economy of your nation).

Friends, as human beings, stay a good solution, and they can help you to find (and do together, why not) other ways of escaping keeping  yourself together. Problem is they fall in love with a Prince/Princess, and then you look like nothing in loop.

Religion is good, because it’s mainly following some damn rules. You don’t have to think much. If you feel churchy, the main problem comes from the moment you realize there’s no God (or if it exists, it doesn’t care at all). Then, you fall apart, bim.

Tool :

No tool here. Breathe. Life is short. Find your own way. Dance with all of them. Ask about others. Be kind. We all struggle, right? Don’t fall. Not today. Not today.

 

Thanks for reading!

#songforaguy

Local Gods

OK I’m french. My english is a frenglish, it’s rusty and wobbly, et voilà. Try me, though. I’ll do my best. I promise. If sometimes it’s too bad, just laugh at me or roll you eyes.

If we talk literature – et j’adore la littérature américaine – I think we all agree to say that we try to find the best writers… according to our tastes, opinions, style, and so on. Criterias.

Well, I love to read Faulkner and Jünger. I was amazed by Giono and Bouvier, and Chekhov makes me cry. Etc.

I think we live our tastes the same way. Painters. Architects. Photographs. Musicians,  whatever. I love Royksopp and Blonde Redhead because of their sound, and the way they compose music. I am fascinated by Puccini and Brahms. And I know exactly why.

I noticed that for sports, it’s different. In baseball, or football, people don’t like teams according to criterias, like style, energy or intelligence, or strategy.

People like the LOCAL team.

If you live in Boston, you support the Red Sox. I you live in Lille, like me, you support Le Losc, which is the local football team.

And I don’t understand why.

Lalo is a composer born in Lille. I should love his music, maybe, then ? Nope, sorry. I prefer Prokofiev.

I supppose that if I watched football I would watch closely the way they play, and THEN choose (criterias !) my best choice, the team I love, and I’ll buy tee-shirts, and flags to put here and there. Voilà !

Evidently, I suppose, in this case, that there’s another element. We like the local sports teams because… Efff… I don’t know. To make friends ? Nope. OK, I give up.

What about religion ?

There are many Gods to love, and many different specific religions. This is a bit complicated. But mainly, people act like in sports. They pray the local one. Why ? Wouldn’t it be more…

OK, I stop. Cheers !

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The Augmented Reality – when you go nowhere with fun

OK I’m french. My english is a frenglish, it’s rusty and wobbly, et voilà. Try me, though. I’ll do my best. I promise. If sometimes it’s too bad, just laugh at me or roll you eyes.

Augmented Reality is a real-time view of the physical world, with new elements (mostly graphic) added by computer, etc – thanks wikipedia – et voilà !

Now consider your reality as already augmentée. The game is now simple : bend over every human activity and flatten it to “just what it is”. De-augment it. Diminish it to its reality. C’est le contraire !

Then you can categorize things.

Leasures which are just dragging-moving people from A to B (climbing mountains, running in stadiums, Tour de France), or worse, from A to A and every activity “moving in circles” (racing cars, haha). In fact, every sport seems suddenly a bit stupid, and you don’t understand why some guys are throwing balls and run around – in baseball or football. Whatever. If you kitesurf or swim in a ABABABA trajectory you suddenly stop, realising the nonsensicall of doing “this” (jumping around on the beach or moving your arms and legs in the water to go nowhere). Etc

The kitsch loses immediatly all funny taste, it’s becoming what it is : an ugly boring old snap reality. Religion becomes strange words and activities (all the ritual things) towards a silent “God” (does he talk to you ?). Every picture you’ll see for advertising, with a top-model, will have the taste of what it is : fake smiles and words trying to sale you bouleshite. Etc.

You got it, I know : just flatten things, kill the augmented reality, look at what it is. Tout simplement.

Consequences : No movies any more. There is no Braveheart, just an Australian actor running in the grass. No novels either, because you now feel the writer “inventing” little stories to distract you.

Tool : Well it’s just a gaaaaame. If you do this all the time you’ll become like Shopenhauer or Cioran. Don’t do this. Use it when necessary. You’ll suddenly find time to do really simple things you can not de-augment, like eating un bon cassoulet or caressing your girlfriend’s legs. What ?

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