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desperanceI have said this before, that I am a simple soul. Mostly people assume I'm being ironic, but not so. My fictions can be complex, but my own self is a baseline organism.
Yesterday morning, I had a bad case of the blues. Cancelled a lunch date, crept home in a cloud of gloom (well, was driven home in the Witchmobile with the top down and the wind of the road threatening my new Daniel cap, but even so...), hunkered down alone with a book in the sun.
Fetched a glass of gin, and started feeling better.
Had a stray line march through my mind - "They called him Filch, for many better reasons than any lawyer would admit" - and declare itself a Pied Piper story. I declared it a Sekrit Projekt, wrote a couple of pages and flung them out into the ether, into the safe hands of a collaborator.
Fetched another glass of gin and went back to the sun, and the book on spices.
Karen came home. There may have been burritos at the taqueria up the road. There may have been sunscreen, and scolding. (Sun! Hot sun, Californian sunshine!!)
Then there was the car and a carpark and a big top and a circus.
Cirque du Soleil, "Ovo". Just huge fun throughout, and some extraordinary moments: a couple of times I was moved to murmur that what we'd just seen did not in fact lie within the laws of physics.
I confess I have limited patience with clowns, and they did try my patience before the end: but that's okay, I am not their target audience and there was plenty enough for me. Anyone who knows me well will know that I love to be danced to, any kind of physical theatre taps the root of me: it's that combination of skill and effort and training, trust in each other and in themselves, it catches me at the heart. (I used to spend intimate time with dancers when I was a young man, their bodies bewildered me then and I guess they marked me for life.)
There's this set-piece with trampolines and a rockwall that just, well...
Anyway. Circus. Chaz claps. And comes home and talks to Karen and drinks a quarter of a litre of whisky and goes to bed, and gets up this morning feeling much better, thank you.
Apparently it's a recipe. Sunshine, alcohol, work, entertainment, conversation. Who knew?
Yesterday morning, I had a bad case of the blues. Cancelled a lunch date, crept home in a cloud of gloom (well, was driven home in the Witchmobile with the top down and the wind of the road threatening my new Daniel cap, but even so...), hunkered down alone with a book in the sun.
Fetched a glass of gin, and started feeling better.
Had a stray line march through my mind - "They called him Filch, for many better reasons than any lawyer would admit" - and declare itself a Pied Piper story. I declared it a Sekrit Projekt, wrote a couple of pages and flung them out into the ether, into the safe hands of a collaborator.
Fetched another glass of gin and went back to the sun, and the book on spices.
Karen came home. There may have been burritos at the taqueria up the road. There may have been sunscreen, and scolding. (Sun! Hot sun, Californian sunshine!!)
Then there was the car and a carpark and a big top and a circus.
Cirque du Soleil, "Ovo". Just huge fun throughout, and some extraordinary moments: a couple of times I was moved to murmur that what we'd just seen did not in fact lie within the laws of physics.
I confess I have limited patience with clowns, and they did try my patience before the end: but that's okay, I am not their target audience and there was plenty enough for me. Anyone who knows me well will know that I love to be danced to, any kind of physical theatre taps the root of me: it's that combination of skill and effort and training, trust in each other and in themselves, it catches me at the heart. (I used to spend intimate time with dancers when I was a young man, their bodies bewildered me then and I guess they marked me for life.)
There's this set-piece with trampolines and a rockwall that just, well...
Anyway. Circus. Chaz claps. And comes home and talks to Karen and drinks a quarter of a litre of whisky and goes to bed, and gets up this morning feeling much better, thank you.
Apparently it's a recipe. Sunshine, alcohol, work, entertainment, conversation. Who knew?