LXXII - starlight

song of the week: johnny cash, sunday morning coming down
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HBWFJ85n_w0

writing sure is funny when you're on holiday. sure, there are things to talk about. but they're mostly all details: things you see, foods you eat, places you visit, people you meet, and the random things you think about off the top of your head, i.e. without much rumination. and as much as i'd like to be writing about things to help me remember (and therefore to cherish) them, i don't think that's the way i write. at any rate, i don't think that's the way i'd like to be writing. i think, create, improvise from ideas, from feelings, from themes, things that i think about in places where i go to do my thinking, sorta like as a groundswell of thematic ideas. and then the details matter, the details catch me at moments, and shimmer through to my mind's eye. and not before, i think, not the other way around. life is full of details that flash by because we're not paying attention, because our mind isn't in the right place, receptive to the right thing. and all the things we see are just details, all the things we don't see are just periphery. but when something pops by at the right time and in the right place, it fits into the mind like a piece of an impressionary jigsaw puzzle. and a detail like that becomes an emblem, a motif, a signet.

and going on about my writing process, something i don't think i've ever done (blissfully ignoring the most part of it as being simply "inspiration"), i like to fix my mind on a strong idea or feeling that i have, something which usually is allowed to drift in my subconscious for awhile (the idea of permitting subconscious thought being perhaps illogical), and something i sort of test for worthiness before being mindfully engaged (i.e. whether the idea is genuine, sound and valid, isn't selfish or foolish, etc.). i then tend to think about it at length in a preferred place, i.e. during/ after exercise, on a bus, out my window, or at my desk. if a chance jigsaw detail or two fits in, i put some story angles and subplots together, arrange them in order as if it were a full story, and off i go. and i realise that i tend to write in threes, and i like to use fitting adjectives and apter synonyms. i try not to say more that i have to, but i also try to catch the feeling of my thoughts, spirit and letter. i like my themes to resonate from start to end.

my aim in writing is to read the things i've written and hopefully manage to re-live the same sort of feelings that were felt at that point. and then, if all goes well, i want to judge that my writing is mature and sound. and i do want to feel that i'm writing something that will always be good enough for my own reading. that's it. and i try not to edit, or to re-arrange stuff, to preserve the initial thinking chronology.

anyway, the funny thing for me is that i'm not homesick anymore (i was before leaving). it might be back later, but right now, i really like this country. it's pretty flat all round, doing okay economically, really cheery sort of place, almost fully english speaking, and nicer than i think south africa was. i'm even starting to hear things with an aussie accent, which is pretty funny. the stars are beautiful too, this bed is comfy too, the dog is really great too. see, all just details. somewhere stage left, life is churning out all these little details, and somewhere stage right, life is just laughing them off.

you know, last night i was looking at the stars, and i've probably not seen them like that before. and i thought, not at all sadly, no, i thought, rather seriously, and i don't know if i'm dreaming, but i meant it, i meant it, i thought, girl, if you were here, i'd try to kiss you.

LXXI - the wind up bird makes its sound

today i saw a girl who was so cute that i had to write about her.

and i'm not going to defend myself, generally or particularly. but to tell the truth, i don't usually like to look at girls - because if i see them on the street then they'll never be there again, because if they're someone i just see around from time to time i don't want to think about them too often, and if they're someone i know i'm usually wary of appearing to be interested. i'm single, but also single-minded to a t (the literal meaning applies). so the fact is that i almost always look away. i'm almost always better off disinterested, or so i believe.

and to me it's certainly very amateurish to have a crush on someone you don't know. but i think i'll give the circumstances a quick once over. why, why, might you ask. and i almost actually don't know. if the closest path between two objects is a straight line, then in a similarly direct fashion, perhaps a brief supposition that i'd been noticed by a cute girl is idiosyncratically gratifying. hiding behind big words, oh, for shame! but there's another wrinkle, i think. and that is that there is always life, beautiful and random, after every thing has been said and done; after every heart has done it's searching, after every sigh has been exhaled, and after every wistful feeling has been safely kept away. and when i say random i don't actually mean random, only metaphorically random. but today i had the feeling that life would not pass me by.

and it went something like this. right, so i spotted her a short distance away. and then i turn my head in another direction, eyebrows raised, clearly thinking, my gosh she's cute. and of course i notice, not looking directly at her, that she smoothed her hair across her brow and behind her ear, with a slight smile coming around on her lips and her eyes. i sometimes wonder whether girls do that subconsciously. anyway i hesitate to walk past her, look around, and then decide to do so, because it was the way i wanted to go. i looked her right in the eyes. and there was a look in there. and that was it. eight points, nine seconds. and i thought, golly, she's so cute, she should be in a picture. as in, colloquial for "movie". i don't remember much else about her, partly because i didn't look at her that hard. partly also because who can remember after awhile, right.

i'd gone swimming earlier today in the afternoon. i actually did quite well. after that i'd hung on the side of the pool to gently and carefully think about things, allowing my thoughts to swell and subside, much like the physically wallowey feeling of water in a pool. and i wasn't emo, of course. mild physical exertion (and a corresponding slight accomplishment) often puts me in a zennish mood. and i thought about how this window was closing, and the way in which it was closing (or so i surmised) seemed unhesitant. was i ready to accept that? i knew that i was close to the brink, but i didn't know where (or whether) i'd shifted across that tangent. i wondered if i had. and i saw that it was indeed like the last one, although maybe with less finality. but i knew better than to guess at the future; i'd done enough guessing for two, as it were.

and after that i cautiously felt as if i'd stepped out of a cold place into a place with soft, warm sunlight. i felt like rubbing my hands and looking carefully at them, and more than carefully.

and later, for that brief, strangely captivating moment, i caught a fleeting impression that life would not pass me by.

LXX - not winding my spring

song of the week: deep purple, child in time
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OorZcOzNcgE
if there ever was any doubt why i love purple. but no.
i would give a month of my holidays to watch them play live.

ah, the great seventy. i wonder, i really wonder, what it feels like to be a man at that age. i mean, at that point, i guess most would feel as if there's nothing left that can physically be achieved. maybe this feeling will come earlier. well i hope i won't feel as if there's nothing otherwise left that can be achieved. but what would it feel like? to feel that there would only be a few years of time left to do something meaningful for those you love, to at least be a model of aged satisfaction. to feel that all past grievances might as well be relinquished, all regrets might as well be forgotten, any wish for one more achievement might as well be extinguished... what would it feel like, to live without wanting more life, or more of life. what would it feel like to be waiting for the end of life? i don't know if it would be a feeling of unmotivation, or of purposelessness and disconnectedness. but i suspect it would feel like never having to wind your own spring, day by day, day after day. and if you stop and think about it, perhaps when you're old you might never need or want to get going again. but just as easily, we could stop and think, just right now. for who knows, who knows tomorrow, right.

i once had this sort of feeling, for six weeks. in truth, i was at sispec, expecting to move on to ocs. of course, that never happened. but i got the feeling that i was only there for the time being, and being in that frame of mind, i realised that i stayed disconnected. i felt like i was in a temporary place, and ended up being a totally  (and to me, weirdly) nice person on the outside. it was very strange. if i didn't think the people around me would matter in six weeks time, i never thought worse of them or judged them or measured them. but neither did i accept them. and that is something i will never do again. i don't care how nice i seem, and that often goes without having to be said. but i always try to accept somebody. and i guess that's the key, isn't it? time is nothing, next to compassion, next to empathy, next to love.

now. the past three weeks of the holidays have turned out exactly as i didn't care to foresee, that is, uneventfully. of course, i watched the playoffs, one of the first times in my life i've ever been able to enjoy some moments of them. but to be honest, i've been spending my days trying to fill them up, day in and night out. ever since this tactical patience, oh i'm so sick of it, though...

and i'm not afraid yet but i'm afraid of the insidiousness of it. i'm afraid of the slippery hands of time, i'm afraid of... i'm afraid that... and i can't change anything. i'm afraid that it's going to be hopeless, and only more and more so. i'm afraid that i'm waiting on a loss. i'm afraid it'll be like it was with joanne.

sweet child in time, you'll see the line
the line that's drawn between, the good and the bad
see the blind man, shooting at the world
bullets flying, taking toll
if you've been bad, lord, i bet you have
and you've not been hit by flying lead
you'd better close your eyes,
oh, bow your head
wait for the ricochet

ah, fuck it. i'm not afraid of shit. i'll live a man. i challenge you, loneliness, and you, despair, and you, rejection. i challenge all of you.