The silent minority
Today is a slow day in Dotdecay. It’s gray and windy and rainy and all those other adjectives too. But it’s alright. I’ve got pink flowers in the window. Besides I’m a slow person myself. I read slowly, I think slowly, I speak slowly. In the morning I wake up slowly, real slowly, slowly as in sometimes not at all.
Today I didn’t wake up. I sleep-rose, sleep-dressed, sleep-ate, and then sleep-bussed to work. I felt like a Lilliput marooned in a world of giants. I was at the slow end of relativity. Whenever someone stroke a match at the office, I saw an entire tree go up in flames. No wonder I didn’t get much work done.
It is now 20:48 GMT +1 here in Denmark. It’s been almost an hour since I sat down to write this entry. Words don’t come easily today. I feel like the narrator in a novel by Samuel Beckett, constantly arguing with himself whether he should go on or not. I can’t go on, I must go on, I can’t go, I will go on.
I’m probably not gonna do much else today than write these words. Did you notice how often I write today in this entry? The italicized one was already the fifth. Wonder what this obsession with the present is all about? How good it feels to pose such a question. Utterly bereft of meaning or purpose. Utterly unanswerable. Utterly free.
It’s official now. I handed in my resignation at the office today. Six, and counting. Soon I’ll be jobless and pennyless once again. Surrounded by friends, and free to gibber. A real pain in the ass to all the fast and the furious running this country. But what can I do? I’m a slow person. I was born slow, I grew up slow. Not lazy, though. There’s a difference. Slow not lazy. Go Count Basie. Wouldn’t you believe it? Got him playing Pennies from Heaven just now. Pure background. Almost ambient.
So what’ll I do with my life? If you’ve been reading this blog since the monasterical days you should have some idea. If not, just wait and read. Did you know that I’m my own most avid reader? Always on the lookout for some little clue left behind by my subconscious. It really does that. Promise.
Oh, by the way, one thing of some importance. I watched the eleven 9/11 pieces the other day. Eleven films eleven minutes long by eleven different directors from eleven different countries. Usual stuff. All hopes and fears, and no solutions. Though I really liked Iranian director Makhmalbaf’s piece about exiled Afghan school kids in Iran trying to grasp the importance of two towers collapsing half a world away.
In the end their teacher forces them to stand besides a big chimney of sorts and observe one minute of silence. A little boy asks what to do if he got something to say. Then you just bite your lip, the teacher tells him. And bite it, he does. Just like I’m gonna bit mine now. Auch!
