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geva 20

geva 20

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Published by nasrin khosrowshahi

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Published by: nasrin khosrowshahi on Jun 09, 2009
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06/14/2009

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She is in front of her favourite computer in the north building, on the second floor,she shot two animations already, went to the market, twice, types away. In the morningshe was in this fitness studio place, pondering whether she should make a film aboutexactly that. Well, not exactly that, she would call her animation film OBSESSIVE. Whatwith all the constant weighing, the constant playing around with weights, all theobsessive motions that do not really have any tangible function, biking to nowhere,treadmilling to nowhere, like a hamster in a cage. All the numbers on the scale. She is inthis place 24/7, sees those people more than her own family. Obsessive. Ever since theOlympics she hangs out there. And the rest of the time she is somewhere on GranvilleIsland. She would like to hang out in the animation place, but she does not really knowhow to use the software. She knows how to type though, ever so slowly, this artschooladventure is so very Sisyphean, she met a fellow student from ubc, they talked aboutextremely interesting stuff. Now she is more confused what with all the philosophicalstuff. Theories that flow into each other taking her with her.At a basic level; she is more fascinated by tangible things, how to make things,how to film things, how to type words into the monitor, the computer. She likes buildingthings, writing something she can hold in her hands. She likes to have tangible results.Ideas are so very debatable. Then again she might write a book about theory, ideas, philosophical stuff. A book without using the word stuff even once, that kind of stuff. For now she likes to put the word stuff within her text, mimicking the physicality of exactlythat: stuff.It is 2:07 pm, THE door opens, closes. Outside on the floor there is noise, lockersare opened and slammed, someone makes some noise behind her, something that sounds39
 
like pushing too metally objects against each other. Door opens, closes, people come in,start talking in front of the paper cutter. She loves this place. It is crammed, hascomputers, the better ones, has paper cutters, staplers, scissors, has Xerox machines, printers. The epitome of potential. Where tomorrow's ideas are born, where yesterday'sideas are rehashed, door opens, closes. This room is not brightlighted like the other one, itis dim lit. Has an aura of cosy, is comfortable. It reminds her of the animation lab.She ponders how much more bullshit she can write. Her writing is non-eloquentthese days, forced, nonetheless she forces herself to come here each and every day, towrite, to write. So that in the end the words will flow into each other flawlessly, beautifully. You know, the inspiration-transpiration maxim still holds true.SHE LOOKS AT THE SIGN THAT SAYS SCANNER ADAPTERS.She has to produce some more sentences like parts of a chain. Her metaphors areslightly off, not knifing through meaninglessness. Writing does not come easily. Shewhines too much, far too much. This cannot be art, cannot be good. Coherence is so veryvery far away. From here, from her.She looks at the blue cables above her head, at the green trashcan, at the personwhose eyes she can see over the other monitor. In glasses. She wonders whether her textis serious or comical. She vies for seriousness, but evokes laughter. Her writing is so veryserious, but has other connotations. Or so she thinks. She ponders if she should go back to holding a paintbrush like so many years ago. If film, if writing is her calling. Wordsthat are much too vague, mush too abstract. So very non-tactile. So open to interpretation.So non-concrete.The page comes to an end. Finally. She has to print this out. And thus end it.40

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