(on) the origin of rhymes, songs and sayings (in defence of an unfashionable theory)

in the pedestrian subway we found one of the former olympic mascots - confused and distressed
(photo by max 'crow' reeves).

the reconfiguration of the city continues and has moved on into the imagination (always already its true home).

the greenwich foot tunnel appeared first as a submarine (horsemouth has often said this), but reality (in its tunnel-ness) kept intruding. the sonar pinged, the international youth cleaned, engineered and passed messages, the locals - the male on the north shore, the female on the south became ‘local characters’ the tunnel sundering their love.

then it was a video game (no - find a younger term - like a game you might have on your phone) the audience were rendered active - turned into the walls of the tunnel facing away from the action forbidden from turning round to see what was happening. others back to back walking crabwise (the famous sidewalk) attempted to use the tunnel (obeying the keep left signs) while avoiding the demon cyclists in the dark (with ones the red lights on their heads). those struck by the cyclists had to join the walls - but this was not so much an experiential plea for safe cycling (cycling being an activity banned in the tunnel - as it is on pavements and more observed in the breach) as a frank admission of the joys of dangerous cycling and dodging and the city, a joy that made the very walls themselves want to turn round to watch (but this was forbidden and yet they did nevertheless).

it could have been a beckettian dialogue between two characters tied together awaiting the attack of the demon cyclists (flan o’ brien/ bruno shultz even) but the youth want things reconfigured as interactive, as games. the role of cyclists could have been played by the audience with a debrief afterwards ‘and how did you feel?’ ‘it was fun’. this was not an ethnomethodological breaking of the rules to see what they really are but a post-structuralist play of the joys of disobedience. but the reconfiguration is flawed it does not rise above an escape into fantasy, a wish to run and play. isn’t it a fair reaction to a city rapidly turning from a place mad, bad and dangerous to know into an airport departure lounge, it is difficult to respond strongly to a city that has already become a serviced area.

tuesday night horsemouth witnessed an unscripted cycling/ pavement user disagreement ‘fucking bastard! idiot!’ yelled the smaller man, ‘come on then. right now.’ said the bigger one. the smaller one wanted it but the sensible bit of his brain knew he had to walk away.

over at st. dunstan (st.dunstan in the west presumably - maybe not) two with recent birthdays were declared the red or the white king or queen - battle commenced between their followers for red or white balloons - just one balloon would have created a game of violence (murderball anyone?) but many balloons created much joyous squeaking. there was (as there always is now) a video - a video of warfare - but no one was watching. they were having too much fun.

over at leadenhall shrouded women silently rehung meat on hooks in some re-enactment of history surrounded by diners, over at kensal rise cemetery the dead rose up and talked (thornton wilder?). we were given monopoly money and invited to circle the edge on the silver mandala that centered upon a clock - people complained that the market was no longer a real market, that it just offered shallow consumerism, that places were being turned into non-places. but isn’t the real sin of capitalism not that it is boring but that it is busy re-impoverishing us to make up for its own crash and that it will do so again and again for as long as we let it.

over at chelsea the gilded youth had celebrated the end of dia de muertos, they had rocketed tate britain, the casualized culture workers walked in across the scorched parade ground. the gilded youth had had a firework display but for nine grand a year they weren’t going to come the next day and clear up after themselves.

in the library horsemouth found a copy of jean harrowven’s origin of rhymes, songs and sayings - oranges and lemons say the bells of st. clements, shoreditch has grown rich. as a child horsemouth once witnessed a game of oranges and lemons in a nursery playground in llansamlet - but even by then (early 70ies?) the children were only doing it because horsemouth had asked.