There are only alternate universes to be imagined. I can't name that which is. Unnamed, therefore unknown. Unknown, therefore deeply feared. Or at least minutely feared.
Summer has come to Texas and brought with a sense of ennui, a sense of foreboding that nothing that has ever been promised or asked for, or hinted at will ever happen. Wars will not end, the waters will not abate and my mind will not still. Dissertations will not be written.Much as I scurry to insert some order into existence and its haphazard-ities, things will peep out of place.
Today's shopping list:
(1) A filing cabinet
(2) A bedside table
(3) A television trolley
(4) Hanging files and file folders and coloured tabs
(6) A water bottle
All I know are right angles and clean lines. Everything that defies order defies my poor imagination. It has already been stretched taut as it were.
Tomorrow, I will:
On other fronts, I finished Hari Kunzru's "My Revolutions" over the last week. It's quite lovely. It's quite poignant. And uncomfortable. A lot of the themes struck home; the loss of faith, the madness of belief, the utter impossibility of reconciling self with the world.
Tomorrow, I will also find some new music.