i bought a new book today. i'm really looking forward to reading it. i bought it because i had fuck loads of time between finishing work and getting to south lahn'dn: and to fill the time i wanted a bloody book, alright?
i wanted something by dave eggers because i think his words smell of strawberry delicious and they take me back to a time that never existed even though i wish they did.
the shop did not have any dave eggers. there was a big greasy gap where dave eggers books should have been.
i got a book by someone else instead. despite standing in the philosophy aisle for about 20 minutes, reading excerpts from nietzche and john~paul sartre, my dumbfounded intellect grabbed me silkily by the hand and led me to the "recommended" section (where i didn't have to think for myself). there, i found a book about transcience, detachment and the culture of middle america. winner.
during the inevitable currency transaction that followed i was struck up with conversation from the Waterstone clerk. thus:
grimlock*: i've got that book. it got given to me as a gift.*i know not his real name
grimlock: it's a new publisher based in england.
grimlock: do you have a publisher?
me: ummm.. not... yet. maybe if i ever finished writing anything...
grimlock: oh, i'm sorry. i'm not sure why i asked that. that'll be 7.99 please.
(i'm aware i come off as a big grump in the atmospheric opening lines of that script. this is quite innocent and largely because i have a pretty low opinion of everyone that isn't me.)
so i don't know why he asked that, but i left the shoppe confused - like someone who thought they'd pulled a bottle of orange juice from the fridge, but on drinking it discovered that it's actually amniotic fluid.
in the confused tedium that subsequently followed afterwards i resolved to things.
1. this was a sign.
2. i should finish writing something one day.
later that moment i was wandrring around balham, wondrring what it would be like to live there with a man called "steve"... hum... and i realised that Point 1 is stupid. the people who find 'signs' in unrelated experiences are follish pinheads, who think derren brown is more than just a common garden illusionist peddling the same tricks as david copperfield and/or joe pasquale. mis-direction is the same, my friends, whichever way you look past it.
but Point 2 stands firm, 'firm as the rock of gibralter' (if you can spot that film reference you are as powerful as an astronaut and i will give you a prize). i'm going to finish writing something. something. something i've started but neglected because i am a fat duck.
all the things i've started have thundered with the roar of waves and the wind at my seat; but soon fizzled out because the thing i wanted to say stopped/disappeared/left me/got interrupted.
but something will come out of this (probably not, duck-boy) and i'll get to the end of one of them. maybe i'll finish this blog entry one day and we can all get back to our lives. which would be a relief wouldn't it?
also, i'm going to buy a ukulele.