You Ain’t Goin’ No Where July 30, 2011Posted by The Typist in 504, cryptical envelopment, Dancing Bear, New Orleans, Toulouse Street.
Some days after a long week of herding feral cats through a labyrinth of financial and software process controls you make a frozen pizza, wash it down with a Vitamin Water energy drin and stay up late eating Vienna Fingers (the cookies you called streetcars as a child), watching most of Season Four of the Wire.
And then suddenly: it’s Saturday.
The clouds are rolling in and its gray, with just enough intermittent breeze to stir the hangers on the temple bells but not to ring them. You watch the squawking wild parrots in some indeterminate weedy tree next door, the one with roots choked in another vague3 shrub and its crown choked in cat;s claw, that one hanging perilously over the house on the street behind you and you wonder when it will finally fall, what is the rated load in parrots of this particular situation? Perhaps you just want something to happen. The sky is blank, calm and ominous and something is bound to happen, and you would rather in happen nearby.
Today’s accomplishments so far:
- Drink half a a pot of coffee.
- Boot up the laptop, ignoring the book you meant to read when you woke up.
- Go to the bathroom. Wash face after.
- Re-read two blog posts several times, then wrte an email explaining why you are stuck on your contribution.
- Drink other half of pot of coffee
- Determine your son is alive (he’s been sick all week so I was letting him sleep as late as he wished).
- Make more coffee.
- Offer your son breakfast: we have eggs and bacon, bagels and Honey Nut Cherios. (Omar’s breakfast of choice). (He declines). (My son, not Omar. Omar would eat the Cherios).
- Open a new pack of cigarettes.
- Read a post and all comments on HTML Giant, and suddenly understand why you never saw professors in the coffee shop at college.
- Try to decide if you’ve had enough coffee
- Read an interview between a sort-of anonymous The Rumpus interviewer (you know which one lives in Ann Arbor) and Megan Boyle, in which they discuss web pages selected by Google’s I’m Feeling Lucky button. You are not feeling lucky. You should have waited for the movie, except Tao Lin will be in it.
- Watch parrots from the back yard smoking your newly opened cigarettes.
- Read last sentence again and decide to leave it that way for the hell of it. Insert your own while. (This is explained below).
It is almost three o’clock in the afternoon and you have reached a point. Not a metaphorical point (time to shower, time to get moving, time to make more coffee) but an actual point, a unidemensional non-space in which there is no narrative arc, no impetus to shower or get going, no impulse to resume watching The Wire or pick up the book you opened last night in bed and decided to start in the morning, such possibilities requiring four dimensions and you are stuck in one. You have mislaid the while from the sentence above. Trajectory is not a possibility in one dimension but there seems to be a simmering here somewhere, the recipe for a singularity, a point in non-space and non-time in which time is the burning fuse and out of which something is certain to exploded.
Perhaps it will be the trunk of the tree. Or the coffee pot carafe left unattended on the burner.
Possible things to do today:
- Read Julio Cortazar’s The Observatory. (That book again, sitting insistently on the other side of the bed like that load of laundry you should get to if only because in one pocket is a $50 bill).
- Make lunch
- Watch the rest of The Wire disks
- Decide about dinner.
- Decide to watch the DVDs after dinner
- Finish Cortazar while my son plays video games.
- Make dinner
- Drink a beer and smoke a cigarette or two on the back deck. (The parrots are gone. The tree remains).
- Watch The Wire.
Saturday is named after Saturn. In astrology Saturn is the planet associated with practicality, achievement and conformity. Perhaps that is why I can hear the whine of lawn equipment in the distance and would never dare to venture for errands into the ants nest of cars on Veterans Boulevard today. It is the year of my second Saturn return: 54 years, two orbits. I should be busy at something: determining my next career step, starting some great new undertaking (om shri ganeshaya namah), realigning my life for the next 27 years should I be so lucky. (My family often makes it into their 80s in spite of lifestyle. It could happen). (I did one practical thing this morning, but we will omit that for now as it would be ill luck to speak of it.) For now I am typing random thoughts into a window and wondering which is the planet associated with lethargy, too much coffee and indecision.
I think I’ll go make some more coffee, smoke a cigarette and think about it, reawakening the horizontal and vertical, the possibility of pitch and yaw, put into motion at least possibility in contemplation of one or more possible futures. Saturn will be back before you know it. I had best get busy.