I’m happy to consent, but there’s something tantalisingly surreal
about it. Here is a woman who, for nearly ten years, has invisibly occupied the
centre of a triangle composed of equal parts myth, imagination and mundane
reality, suddenly rising out of the depths like Moby Dick on a mission. Will it
happen? Will I survive? Or will I play the tortured and vengeful sea captain,
waving without volition as he is taken away to an alien dimension.
In my case,
however, the dimension might be anything but alien. I have no idea, but it’s exciting,
isn’t it?
* * *
And I’ve come to the conclusion that I dislike gurus. People
who claim to know what life is about and expect me to listen to them make me
fractious.
* * *
My computer, my computer printer, and my TV all exhibited
strange malfunctions this morning. I wondered whether the matrix was surely
crumbling, but settled instead for blaming the heavy rain we were having at the
time. Or maybe it was Mercury suffering a toothache. I know nothing.
* * *
Am I talking tripe? Do tell me.
(For those who don’t know, tripe is boiled cow’s stomach. It
used to be a staple of the British working class because nobody with the money
to afford proper meat would eat it, and so it was cheap. It’s become a byword for
‘rubbish.’ Feel free.)
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