In physics, the tossing of a ball up means there will be a point at which it comes to rest. Total rest. At the apex. At this point, the ball is suspended, on its way down, to the earth, because of the Force of Gravity. Well, yeah. But, what about that spot of being caught and held, suspended? In midair?
That is me, March 2020-today. Waiting in the pandemic for the ending of this chapter. Waiting, indefinitely. A year can be an instant.
Before the return to a ground, what about this? Looking back, feeling the mixed nature of these… things.
Wishing well to all the neighbors in D3 that let me know that they could see, see that I was here, see that I was someone, not just a ‘tourist’ or ‘a foreigner.’ The waves and smiles I got this morning on my ventures out to places I used to go before the lockdown (which has lifted more and more and yet I remain cautious as one ought) well, those things gave me the sensation that this trip has not been for nothing.
Even if professionally not that much actually happened, as it was too hard to figure out how to make a go of life in a big city in the circumstances I was in, so I just wrote Solitude (Kismuth Books / 2021), which Boss says is boring but I think it’s because it’s kind of a picture, to me, of being suspended like I described above. And, more generally, wu wei.
Boss says I should re-work it and add more plot. I think it’s not that genre. It’s experimental, not thriller. In which nothing happens? Well, that’s how it’s been, kind of. Or not? A thing that is coming up now. It may be not that nothing is happening, but that the things that used to be happening cease to have meaning for me, now. So many things to say about that.
Will say them…
Quietly, in S P A C E.