So Pretty. So Ugly.

Okay well, so I got a little off track. There was this splash of luminous red on a brick floor somewhere outside in the dark, many worlds swirling around on the inside of it. Many Words. Mesmerizing. I fled to the toilet a short walk away on a gravel path, the crunch of the stones beneath the tread of my boots somehow reassuring, deeply satisfying. The toilet is in a dimly lit outhouse, not very sophisticated but a sanctuary of sorts no less, a place to go for a welcome break, to get away from all the activity. Away from all the talk. Away from the to and fro of words flying through the air like so many armed missiles.

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Cody Seekins
@; (“Alan Moore on Why Superhero Fans Need to Grow Up, Brexit, and His Massive New Novel By David Marchese”);
“Having forever altered the realm of superheroes, Moore is now attempting to do the same with the novel. His new book, Jerusalem, written over ten years, is a nearly 1,300-page attempt to encompass theories of space-time, hallucinogenic children’s adventure, thinly fictionalized personal biography, the surprisingly epic history of the downtrodden Northampton neighborhood in which he grew up, and, well, just about everything else. Which is only a bit more than he touches on in this interview, conducted over the phone from his home in Northampton.You’ve said in the past that an artist’s job is to give audiences what they need, not what they want. What audience need is being filled by a thousand-plus-page modernist novel built on the idea that all time is happening at the same time?
That’s easy. One of the needs it’s filling is for an alternative way of looking at life and death. I have a lot of very dear rationalist, atheist friends who accept that having a higher belief system is good for you — you probably live longer if you have one. You’re probably happier. So I wanted to come up with a secular theory of the afterlife. As far as I can see, and as far as Einstein could see, what I describe in the book looks like a fairly safe option in terms of its actual possibility.

Which is that everything that can happen has already happened?

So we’ve already had this conversation?
It’s probably more accurate to say we’re always having this conversation. We relive it over and over again, and it’s always the same.

Then let me retroactively and preemptively apologize for that.
It does feel like the conversation’s gone on a bit, doesn’t it?”

Back to the fray and B pulls me to one side, she’s quite distraught, asking me if I can smell that? I can, it’s not a pleasant smell, vaguely familiar ~ burnt plastic ~ do not like it. I suggest we make our way further upstream of the smell, go stand further away somewhere in the garden. It’s in a large open space surrounded by a mixture of bush and trees, a cloudy sky above us where a moon plays hide and seek. It’s beautiful. But from there the chaos of where the rest are is even more pronounced, people making a noise, smoke bellows from a fire, luminous liquid all over the place. I feel like it’s time to go so we head on back to bid farewell, gather our things and leave.

Two days later and I’m feeling strangely sentimental. I recollect how about a week ago I was in our garage at home scratching around looking for those glow sticks. They’ve come a long way with us, they represent a very different time in our lives. A completely different place. A time and place that might have been more happy. More innocent maybe… More hopeful? I remember talking to B about getting the glow sticks when we were pretty down and out, we didn’t have jobs at that point, were far away from home and running out of money faster than what was comfortable. We were at a coffee shop at the Blue Route Mall close to Tokai, such a beautiful place.

We were having one of our many, many conversations over a cup of coffee. ‘Brainstorming’. We were thinking we should get a few more things for our flea-market stall, something that might attract a little more interest at the outdoor trance parties that we wanted to go to and sell stuff at. Glow stick seemed like a good idea so we went ahead and ordered a bunch of them on the internet. We spent quite a bit of money on it in a last ditch attempt to breath some life into an effort to survive outside of needing to work in an office.

But we only ever did manage to set up a stall at one party, and didn’t even really sell anything there. So the stuff got put in a box and dragged around with us as we moved from place to place, waiting for a time and place that was better suited to getting rid of it. And now here we are, selling it to family for a birthday party. Now here we are watching in horror as they do what people do; breaking the stuff, letting it bleed out on the floor, throwing it in a fire and watching it burn.

So Pretty.

So Ugly.

That night I’d been getting weird vibes from T1. It was her throwing the glow sticks in the fire. There were things going on throughout the evening that she did that were jumping out at me, that made me think, made me wonder. This was not really unfamiliar territory for me, not really surprising, pretty consistent with who she’s been inside my head. I guess I could spend a bit of time getting into that but for now just that it brought about a bit of a disappointing thought. Something to do with how she is, with how she feels, and that way, that how, possibly being an obstacle to any ideas involving what could be done at her place that might be of a particular persuasion.

Going back a bit to a previous entry; something of a daydream or fantasy. A key element of making something like that work would involve things she would be openly resentful of, or at least that was the vibe I was getting from her on Saturday evening. In many ways having a party there like what her daughter was having could have been seen as a test run of future events being held there. I’m not sure she was aware of that, not lucid enough to consider that a possibility. What was evident to me coming from her seemed to amount to playing an active role in trying to jeopardize any enjoyment that might have been brought about by what the particular theme of the party was.

It occurred to me there was only one theme involving what her venue was being used for that she would participate in from a perspective of encouragement; a theme that involved meat, old ladies, cake and gossip. Maybe having an attitude like that will work out for her. I don’t know. In the meantime B and I have spent some more time imagining what it could be like if we threw a party there for about a hundred or so people, deck the place out with all sorts of interesting, charge people to attend an all night party. If we did it right we could make quite a bit of cash out of it. So could T1. But we’d have to tell her to get lost for the night. Let the rest of us sort it out.

But it would take time and money putting something like that together, which is fine because I think T1 needs time to try and make things work the way she thinks they should work. There isn’t really much of a point hanging on to this idea ~ it’s just going to get me all worked up. When all I need to do for now is to learn how to breath. All I need to do is try get this thing more solid, more stable, get into a routine, get healthy. Get some money together. Work hard trying to set things up so in six years time, we can retire.


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