The Circle Game

Unfinished, I'm afraid!

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When I heard her say something about people entering without knowing what event they were supposed to be attending, I was scared! That's actually quite funny, that I should be scared, rather than, say, just chagrined, but I think I was fearing that she would turn those fearful eyes onto me. They were small eyes, you see, almost like a hawk's. I would tell you what colour they were if I knew, but I certainly knew I knew I didn't want them to drift anywhere near where I was seated. So, this was the game to play for today, it seemed, for me to be stuck in my seat, trying to avoid medusa's gaze.

Never mind that I would later find that she was not talking about me, but some other event she had attended in the last week. In fact, I doubt that she even noticed me enter, or sit down, or not touch any of the food or drink, but instead blankly stare at the others there, thinking that maybe I was right about some things. Things like, I guess, the fact that there was something not quite right with them, that they were not my kind of people. But why? Affable if approached, mostly funny, and yet...there were these old thoughts that never seemed to go away, that said that there were better people out there. It is a fairly awful thing for me to think, I know; believe me, I can't comprehend sometimes why I write down such things, whether they are true or not. The reader must be spared some amount of the writer's idiosyncracy, or else I think he becomes as mad as the writer himself!

I started to think that maybe I was a bit odd, sitting there in what was, after all, supposed to be a party of sorts. Was I supposed to be eating? Drinking? But I'd already eaten, and I didn't much feel like a drink, although it did make me wonder what I was expecting to do there. Had I any sense, I would have arrived much later, when my abstinence was less conspicuous. Or was I just imagining things? After all, who was really dull enough to pay attention to whether I was eating or not? Ah, the mental anguish! Bleedin' brilliant, this was. I wondered whether I looked out of place, but at this point, the mere activation of the thought was enough to drive me into a fit.

Of course, she would have been wrong, were she talking about me - I knew what I was there for, even if I didn't know what I was supposed to be doing! The centre seat was occupied with someone who was now synonymous with the ancient name, which is self-evident to those who were there, and irrelevant to anyone else. "Now", I thought, "should be the time for celebration".

I wondered how long I could last sitting there with no plate, no drink, watching the other people, but then I realized that the only decent thing to do, even if it meant a temporary cessation of shyness, was to work up the nerve to say something. So, deep breath and all, I did what was right.

I wouldn't say much changed after that, but I did stop noticing medusa's presence. It was probably for the better, because the whole thing ended up like it started, with a complete sense of neutrality of thought on my part. The problem, at least as I see it, is simply that it is not too difficult to foresee a time when I am the one who must sit there in the centre; for sure, I will that time know what event I am attending, but I wonder whether it will make it any easier. I do not think there are any easy answers with the circle game.

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Incidentally, don't take them titles too seriously. I haven't listened to a Joni Mitchell song in a long time, and I certainly have not listened to the song in question. But it somehow inspired some parts of this, in some mysterious way that is nowadays the only reason I keep writing.

I remember now the motivation for the blog's first title; a chance reacquaintance with the 'Dead's Anthem To Beauty reminded me of "Hunter", as he is called*, and his words that, to me, were written both yesterday, five years ago, and possibly ever since I care to remember.

But I remember also why I had to change the title, for to use Hunter's words was doing a disservice to him. At one point I did have dreams of writing with an eloquence that I suppose is implicit in, say, "Ripple", but nowadays I think this is a tad fanciful! Now, I don't imagine Paul McCartney would be particularly happy with me using one of his lines, but I suppose there isn't as much of a symbolic meaning to them!

* Incidentally, Brian Eno was also called simply "Eno" in the Roxys.

Another unfinished one. It's been too long since I worked on it, so I don't think I can finish it satisfactorily. You can tell that I end up writing sentences that don't lead anywere! I guess I wanted to capture the whimsy of the first line, but it hasn't really come off.

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Hello! It's me!
I'm probably who you think!

I must apologize for the fright
I agree, a stranger calling out
Your secret name
Somewhere from the recess of the night
Perfectly pronounced, and with such assurance
Usually augurs no good!

But, in my defense,
Your brother has on his slippers
Grounding him where he stands
And so, this was how we had to meet,
Conveniently cutting away
Those early morning jitters
Wondering how best to impress
What words will serve best.

So let us thank those slippers -
Thank that they are in no shape for this world
Or the games we play.

To carry on from the last post, I think sometimes that as long as I maintain my demure, there will be scope for posting. It seems as though there is no end to the trivial (and the magical) that is worthy of some pithy musing, but the question is simply when it starts to get a bit repetitive. For instance, I overheard something W said today; or to be precise, I noticed certain glances in my direction, followed by some comment that elicited a few laughs. I know he doesn't mean any harm, but it did cause me to privately mutter, and think of an appropriate rebuke. It was rather ineffectual, mind you, thinking of saying something biting and caustic, but merely sitting there silently, taking the slights, but that is the way it goes. Anyhow, it made me think that as long as there are situations like this, there will be provokations that make me want to express something here. Unfortunately, that something is usually not particularly interesting, seeing as how it is hopelessly of its time. In a few days, a week, certainly a month, it loses all perspective and scope, and becomes like a hazy dream half-remembered, which one cannot deem as being real or not. But I suppose these things are required, whether publicly let out or not; at least, they are probably required for those given to only modest talents in writing (I trust it is easy enough to guess who I refer to)! So maybe my thoughts about a retirement were a tad premature, but I do still worry about whether I will reach a stage where I have literally nothing to say. Till then, I suppose there will be plenty of posts like this. This one probably does not possess a great deal of objective worth, but like W's comment, it is harmless enough.

I've started to think about where this blog is going, and the answer is, at the moment anyway, not anywhere in particular. I think I ran into the same problem last year, where the only thing I was writing about was music, but I'm not quite prepared to give it all up and move to last.fm. Truth be told, the majority of journals there are little more than "My favourite songs" or "My mainstream rating", which are fine for an entertaining read, but do leave you feeling a little weary after a while (as opposed to my brilliant writing of late). Perhaps it's because my reading has stagnated yet again; I still harbour hopes of continuing writing, but I should note that at this present time, it is the farthest thing from my mind. Of course, a little perspective never hurt, nor did a little time off. So here's to the next music-related post!