Going and coming

I disappeared for a while from here, which if you noticed probably warrants an explanation.

Living alone, and being alone most of the day, means that your thoughts are your own, and with no-one there to distract you with this or that, they certainly can take a wander. There is a lot I have done recently which I feel I should apologise for, not that apologising any more will make things any better, in fact it may well make everything worse. The trouble is that knowing what you deserve will make you fear what is to come. All the time, every moment between the seconds you are being reassured that things are ok. This can make you a little highly strung. I felt that this feeling was spreading onto this place. So I stopped.

Tonight, I took a wrong-turn when walking from work and got to thinking. Our thoughts being all we have, it is no wonder we cling to them so. Every moment is spent trying to make our thoughts 'be' something, a play, a song, a book, an article, a building, a painting, a photograph. All in the hope that the thought won't perish with, if not before, us. In making these things, however, we do not acheive our aim. We do not crystalise our thought into anything at all. All we do is make something new. Decartes would tell that all these newr things instantly become tricks. Illusions of our intepretation. It is true that after some time we look back at a photograph and feel a vague warm feeling of familiarity. But it is probably a familiarity with the picture. We are no longer there and those thoughts are gone. Funny how we always think we will remember but are forever forgetting.

So I guess this is why this place has been put back, because it is a special thing in it's own right. These are not thoughts but words, they will mean something else at some other time, but they are still necessary.

Watching as the clock face changes

I've been staying up too late and getting up too early of late. There is, as ever, an endless fear of time running out, but sometimes it's more apparent than others. Now is one of those apparent times (in more ways than one i suppose). When you say that, if someone (specific) met you now, they wouldn't be attracted to you in the way they were when they did happen to come across you, it's hard to know what is meant. Perhaps it's that the past is always far away, and hence blurred to give the appearance of romanticism. Perhaps you are just older and less (attractive) than you once were. Whatever it means, it's probably not great.

Timely then, that when watching the above video, i received an entirely unprovoked message from a new (but good) friend that read 'I know we will. I really enjoy working with you. If you love neil wait. Follow your heart. It is hard, but time passes quickly'. I don't know what all of it meant, but it certainly meant something.

Indeed it does pass quickly, and the leaves all around us are serving as (not such) a constant (but a) reminder.

things you don't know, teapots, and finally...the point

I've not really seen anyone for a couple of days, which has provided plenty of time to have a think about things (and to try to do some work).

Thoughts have come back to things that are not known. I only recently found out, having spent a good few years with the same letter, that he was in a film that I've watched many times, with many people. Weird.

Of course you only get a chance to realise how strange it is that you didn't know, once you do.

I realised too, that I actually harbour quite strong feelings about teapots, courtesy of same letter.

Potty

And finally the point - I am (currently) working in research. I have to think about the things I don't know. How in the name of < insert deity > do you do that?!

P.s. I also now know, having written this, that writing things in triangular brackets makes them disappear. I also realise that I don't know what these are really called. I also realise I am a bit special.

Slow down for that cyclist

You know me well yes you do. I’m the one who’s edging past, squeezing through. That perpetual irritation, that’s in your way, and wasting your time. Why am I in the middle of your path
Going too slowly.

Tell me, those pennies you’ve been spending. They are ours. And how much farther will they get you? Here I am. My head surrounded to protect me from your kind. I am shining like a fluorescent light bulb. It was your idea to get further and go faster and all for free. And where will it get you? Not to point B.
A total waste.

My fuel is me. And maybe I don’t want to inhale the festering fumes, which you exude, whilst I fly. And tell me why do I have to dress like a clown, just so you cannot refuse to see me? And still you do, don’t you? Still you will not see that you’re movement is not free. You keep proclaiming that you cannot. But I say yes you can, you just don’t want to. And I say it as I pass you by, in your dirty queues, day after day, round and round. So please, do not park in my path. When I am going so fast,
In the right direction.