Saturday, April 15, 2006

Sublime

I’m taking this week away from work because Boris has gone to visit his brother Ruth in Prague. Ruth used to have bit parts in Hammer house films when he was younger.

I have this pile of books that I’ve started but not completed. Each book has a marker, their shaking pile like a switchboard of calls on hold. It’s a mindless way to read but I have a sniper of an attention span, my analog Internet. I’m going to read them this week.

The Young woman called Mandy that visited me with my friend Helium a week or so ago? I mentioned her URL in my last post regarding a Mr. J Meister. I’d posted it with the possibility in mind that she might by chance be the same girl whose phone number he’d lost. It turns out that One and another one somewhere else connected by a common factor makes Two. I checked out her blog and she sounded a bit pissed that I’d mentioned it. I think that the net makes us more vulnerable to nodes of indeterminacy in an acceleration of mans evolution. It’s like sticking our heads outside the eye and into the storm and these things happen more and more frequently in the wind. Sorry Mandy.

In her latest post she mentions a gift that she had gotten for her mother. She’d found this curious doll maker called The Softest Person. Naturally I checked out the dolls and had one sent to me. It arrived the next day. Newt Sublime is special and another kind of serendipity. The dolls are like balms for ailments, alchemical morphologies, signs for divination, texts for resolution. Newt Sublime is like a synaptic bridge. This effigy from The Softest Person has allowed me to find some kind of closure. When I was about fourteen a friend and I, Star Wars fans found two Newts in the garden pond. We called them Chewbacca and Yoda. We put them both into a shallow, water filled, orange plastic cat litter, with little rocks, weed from the pond and a little netting over the top to keep them in. Later, after a day digging holes in the garden I returned and found one dead, dehydrated and bound in fluff on the carpet of my attic bedroom. I had always thought that perhaps the cat had disturbed them, that he’d got one whilst the other had got away, at least I never found the other but it was a long way back to the pond through unfriendly territory. One thing that was certain was that I was responsible. It was an ill memory that pinched, a little past that swayed restless and ghosting. The doll is a mirror in to which I can slowly mouth resolve. Thank you TSP and god bless Meister and Mandy.

1 Comments:

At 5:35 pm, Blogger Jez said...

Hey Brim!! Just wanted to let you know its all going really well for Meister and Mandy - except her real name is Toni, it turns out (think she was trying to be a bit cool and enigmatic when she met you - bless!). Anyway, we've talked, we've texted, we're going to meet - so thanks mate! Maybe you could come join us on my narrow boat sometime - you never know, it might just perk you up a bit

 

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