I confess an almost giddy excitement in sitting down to write this particuarly entry. It is an excitement provoked mainly in choosing the right words, and recollecting the impossibility of the circumstances that they evoke. Not impossibility (clearly) but an extreme, unforeseen unlikelihood.
There was a conversation at Niagara, another surprisingly trip, years ago. A few dozen hours following the first of two meetings with Johnson and the quick trip up to a wedding with an unlikely date. Musing aloud over pints, about the curse of the drink and the reasons why, soberly, you remained attracted to its ancient spell. The spontaneity. The irrationality. The non-boredom. Even though it may expose the experimenter to situations dangerous or uncomfortable. Or, maybe, because it does.
I had not recorded that back-and-forth, so fortunately the mind has well preserved the memories of the Ritz and the walk behind the wall of water and the photo not purchased. Somewhat a shame, as 8 years later it would be amusing to read, but just as well to have the musings of the nights before instead. The enthusiasm for Pirates of Penzance, the blame left in advance for DJ Phil before the inevitable unfolding. And the comments afterward. The thoughts focused on making minor, positive changes amidst the dreams of horizons and the importance of randomness.
I sped down, sorting out confidentiality language en route. Conference calls and Crown Royal Apple. Wine and an assortment of other beverages with dinner, and on into the night. Vague, distant memories of the right whale. Awakening, speculating, enjoying, gathering, eyeing up the keyhole, and heeding a farewell word - "run".
Hiding the next day. Replenished by lunch, and then an avoidance of powerful conversations and other tedium, in preparation for the evening. A brief stroll, awaiting admonishments that never came, tolerating embarrassment and discomfort due to the lack of memories and the inability to read and know the minds of others. Before slipping back away to the sanctuary of the room.
Not even one dance? Ah, such a combination of four words. No, at least not immediately. But thoughts linger, leading all the way to the ferry boat and a side journey to watch the sun set behind another country. You wonder. Such randomness, and how to understand it, explain it, accept it. Lengthen it? Improve upon it?
I thought it worth waiting. Consequences are not always readily apparent, but do come. So a few days, then. Even as you start to play around with words of your own that will suggest much yet offer nothing. Only to return from this morning's meeting and some of the first patio beers of summer, to find an envelope, marked personal, on the chair. But what inside? A receipt for the excess, with the slogan at the bottom. "Exactly like nothing else." And nothing more. Whatever to read into that.
It is 3:45PM. Norwich have beaten Middlesborough and are headed back to the Premier league. I will wait another hour and go buy some wine and steak for the evening, stopping at the library en route, then sit out and listen to records and let the time drift softly by, never to return. And, at some point during this process, craft and send a brief, open-ended response. To close a loop.
Impossible to say, what might take place next, exactly. For some reason the words of Christy Moore come to mind... I was halfway between Puckane and Nenagh. I was looking for the Shannon but ended up in a mushroom field near Corta Lacha. I stumbled into a Faerie ring and Jeezuz I couldn’t get out. I saw an old man walking down the road and said to him, “give us a hand to get out of this Faerie ring.” When he got me out I asked, “Where ya going?” He said, “I don’t know.” I said, “I’ll go there too.”
Heh. Just as you thought the above was all deleted, here it is back again. Now to hit publish and preserve it for later. So you can return, and laugh. At everything. And remember the loving extent of your irredeemable foolishness.
