wine gums for crack addicts
I went to bed last night with that in my head. Wine gums for crack addicts. A troubling smattering of words, wrenched out of context. I thought I would shake the words free in my sleep. But I woke up with them and they mooched around at the back of my head all day, persistent and dogged as all pointless things are.
I have been in a very unbloglike frame of mind of late. I would say something mutteringly or mincingly by way of excuse, make hollow but grand gestures hinting at some kind of penance for being drab and slow-of-the-pulse. But really, who the fuck cares, either way.
You do or you don’t. The world checks in or it passes by. You make scones in readiness for unforseen onslaughts and the world just goes right ahead and passes by. It’s quiet as anything. Tumbleweed and television. The scones turn to rockcakes under your best starched teatowel and the unclotted cream clots.
Then you skip scones and the proverbial skies open. Suddenly you are the centre of your own storm-in-a-teacup universe. Today is the day, the world says. So you make a brave face, attempt to feed 500 (or thereabouts) on a sackful of bird-destined crusts and weak tea, each teabag shared 10 ways. You say things in a soft voice like what doesn’t kill you, stuff about chaos and variety and serendipity and providence and shit happens.
Or you give wine gums to crack addicts, whatever that means.
I majorly digress. And I also made another scribbly drawing, exhibit A, above.
I have been thinking about the hourglass thing at length. Mostly because I have been shuffling some words together for work about The Hourglass Syndrome. I’m not going to talk about it here (much). Something tells me I could talk about it forever. Not just about this particular syndrome but about everything it all adds up to, this modern age stuff – oh god. Stop. Okay, I’ve stopped. Not here, not now, not like this. I will section my life off and leave this as my pet bugbear for work hours only.
On the subject, though, before I move on, I bravely packed up my copy of Milan Kundera’s Slowness. It’s like the thing I always go back to. Working in the spinny old pinstriped world of technology and all.
“Speed is the form of ecstasy the technical revolution has bestowed on man. As opposed to a motorcyclist, the runner is always present in his body, forever required to think about his blisters, his exhaustion; when he runs he feels his weight, his age, more conscious than ever of himself and of his time of life. This all changes when man delegates the faculty of speed to a machine: from then on, his own body is outside the process, and he gives over to a speed that is noncorporeal, nonmaterial, pure speed, speed itself, ecstasy speed.”
Okay, maybe that’s a little bit heavy for right here and now, on a casual Tuesday night.
He kind of also more digestibly summed it up in Book of Laughter and Forgetting comme ca:
“The degree of slowness is directionally proportional to the intensity of memory. The degree of speed is directionally proportional to the intensity of forgetting.”
I have a lot more to say on the subject. But I will exercise some restraint, for once. Think about it, though. What’s all the rush/fuss for? What might we be missing out on by throwing ourselves so unrepentently into all the lights and the flurry?
I also thought about the hourglass in a different sort of way last night (around the same time as I was contemplating chewy sweets and drug fiends). I was standing in the dark in front of the bathroom mirror in a bit of a daze just before bed. For no particular reason the Days of Our Lives voice came into my head (you know, like sands through the hourglass, these are the days of our lives). I was a couple of wines in, and it was late. I don’t remember much, just that I *bookmarked* the thought.
If I don’t stop now I will never stop. Form your own conclusion, because I don’t have one.
Filed under: daytoday, digitalia, modern life, mortality, slowness, technology | 4 Comments
Tags: diary, dreams, hourglass syndrome, overthinking