Thursday, August 11, 2005


In three pieces:

1. Without
2. Referral
3. External

1. WITHOUT (and beyond)

You age most on those days whiled away doing nothing. Time appears slow, creeping, then unmoving. Static, time has become you. You'll feel it first as a twinge of boredom: a listless glance through a smudgy window, that fourth cup of coffee, a book's cover opened then closed - a bored pacing. It's more senescence than aging, I suppose. More maturing than senescence. And certainly more fermenting than maturing. The fermentation process works best when all is still, undisturbed. And here's you, unstirring.


You slip into boredom easily. Like a comfortable pair of shoes, worn by a thousand miles. Like an old pair of jeans, fading just right in the knees - like your favourite shirt. You feel most comfortable in that little space between new experience and old. That little space between activity. That little space between. You slip into boredom easily. Enveloped, ensconced, you're a coin fallen between the cushions of a couch upholstered by the fabric of time.


You look at boredom as the perfect state. It exists outside of expectation in that nothing is expected to come of it. It exists outside of chronology in that there is no right or wrong time for it. It exists flawlessly, eternally, while failing to exist at all in that nothing is nothing, nothing can never be something, and nothing is perfect. You recognise each of these things, barely understanding them, and see yourself as a great explorer constantly on the verge of a great discovery. You stand proud at the bow of your ship, spyglass raised to your eye, scanning the ever-distant horizon. You wait. And wait. Nothing comes. In fact, it rushes right on by, fast, in the blink of an eye.

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