In the puddle near the bus stop, a wet January night, the reflection of a supermarket logo, that ubiquitous neon moon almost perfect but for the Cyrillic script reverse of the letters in reflection… Back home I used to notice those kinds of things, in the ever dwindling moments of idleness between work and sleep, when my mind was free to wander. I would latch on to those quirks, like a springboard to a new perspective. I’d go home, make some notes and sometimes ideas would illuminate the darkness like shooting stars, lifting the whole day from the gutter. Other times, increasingly often, there was just the void of dreamless sleep. The next day, the specific quality of the inspiration would be gone, all my conscious resources consumed once more by targets, tasks, deadlines.
I had the choice. But I didn’t have a choice. Technically, yes; really, no. Now the difference between what is really true and technically true can be measured specifically as the distance between Earth and Planet Nine. Sure, out here there are endless hours rather than dwindling moments of idleness… time to contemplate the almost perfect puddle near the bus stop, the image upon its surface almost an exact reflection of that supermarket logo. Almost.
The Castle Hotel
Monday 25th January 2016