Saturday, February 06, 2010

dials

As soon as you wake up. You were thinking -it must have been the intervention of so and so, it is so clear. But one second after you don't remember what the intervention was about or on which or which was the agent of that intervention that was so necessary. You drift back into sleep and look for the answer, which you can find if you find the right tuning in the sleek black machine like a bedside clock or a cd player, with a blue led display, the numbers in which have clearly a significance but you do not know how to read, but twiddle the dials, see the numbers change and hope they will come up with the right answer.

In the meantime, there is also the drip-drip from the hole in the ceiling. Or indeed the roof; there is no ceiling in this room. This is supposed to be my room, I'm coming back to it after many years and it is at the same time familiar and strange. My things are all here but I don't recognise them. Is this thing with blue led dials supposed to be my computer? Where is my guitar? But I know my guitar is back in London, can it exist in two places at the same time? I know it is supposed to be here somewhere.

The rain outside, washing down leaves that end up blocking the drain. Splashes of brown and green and wet. Splash, splash, green, wet.

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