Some time has passed since I have returned from abroad. I had grown accustomed to it there; it was familiar to be in a strange place not knowing exactly where I am. I would wander in an ambiguous blur of smog, strangers, overwhelming landscapes and curious social activity.
It was hypnotising. Almost paralysing. For the most part, I just simply drifted along with it all, like a salesman drifts on his way to a routine day at the office, his head swaying and bumping along with the rhythm of the train as he stares out the window, staring at the world flickering by, but really seeing nothing at all.
And, so as to not allow the ‘drift’ to drag my mind through the blur I would purposely stop and force myself to recognise how pleasantly absurd it all was. I’d find myself consciously trying to form a memory. I would squint my eyes and pan through the surroundings, inhale and absorb all I could then delicately tattoo it onto my memory, more or less, the way I wanted to remember it. I loved these moments and would try to create them as often as I remembered to. I found that music is a good facilitator for this activity; a melody or phrase acting as the ink in my tattoo gun.
Sometimes if I’m lucky I’d get a little bonus occurrence in my memory-making moment. Like a high flying bird, apparently flying in slow motion; or a train with an endless amount of carriages speeding past some godforsaken backdrop, as if through a photograph. It made goose bumps, it made me smile and made everything better.
I sat on a grassy cliff top one time, below me roared the sea, sharing my field of vision with the overcast sky and far behind me a small deserted fishing village. The setup was almost perfect.
I had just started to feel very pleased with myself, pretending this part of the world was my own. No sooner had I made this declaration than I spotted a head appearing in the distance where the cliffs mellowed out into scalable rocks. It was a girl or perhaps a young woman; it was hard to tell from this distance. Her whole body suddenly emerged. She was carrying two suitcases and wearing a beret. She stopped and looked around while slowly spinning. She made two full rotations and sat down. I wasn’t sure if she had noticed me.
I whistled along to some vibraphone melody. It sounded a bit silly and a touch too sweet but suited the mood nicely. We shared the view for over an hour. She was so far away but it felt like we were sitting together.
It was hypnotising. Almost paralysing. For the most part, I just simply drifted along with it all, like a salesman drifts on his way to a routine day at the office, his head swaying and bumping along with the rhythm of the train as he stares out the window, staring at the world flickering by, but really seeing nothing at all.
And, so as to not allow the ‘drift’ to drag my mind through the blur I would purposely stop and force myself to recognise how pleasantly absurd it all was. I’d find myself consciously trying to form a memory. I would squint my eyes and pan through the surroundings, inhale and absorb all I could then delicately tattoo it onto my memory, more or less, the way I wanted to remember it. I loved these moments and would try to create them as often as I remembered to. I found that music is a good facilitator for this activity; a melody or phrase acting as the ink in my tattoo gun.
Sometimes if I’m lucky I’d get a little bonus occurrence in my memory-making moment. Like a high flying bird, apparently flying in slow motion; or a train with an endless amount of carriages speeding past some godforsaken backdrop, as if through a photograph. It made goose bumps, it made me smile and made everything better.
I sat on a grassy cliff top one time, below me roared the sea, sharing my field of vision with the overcast sky and far behind me a small deserted fishing village. The setup was almost perfect.
I had just started to feel very pleased with myself, pretending this part of the world was my own. No sooner had I made this declaration than I spotted a head appearing in the distance where the cliffs mellowed out into scalable rocks. It was a girl or perhaps a young woman; it was hard to tell from this distance. Her whole body suddenly emerged. She was carrying two suitcases and wearing a beret. She stopped and looked around while slowly spinning. She made two full rotations and sat down. I wasn’t sure if she had noticed me.
I whistled along to some vibraphone melody. It sounded a bit silly and a touch too sweet but suited the mood nicely. We shared the view for over an hour. She was so far away but it felt like we were sitting together.
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