Up in the office block. Briefcase? To the top floor to get something that's mine, while the boss is not around. Was that a sound, is he here? To get away, go out and back to the past.
The woman in a big dress tags along with the others. I wish she wouldn't. At last she has drifted away, I can see her float down the landings. This building is mostly glass.
There's nobody else on the stairs or in the corridors in this block. I wonder if there is anyone inside one of the doors, as we reach the end of the corridor where my apartment is. The others are still just behind.
The apartment is modern, spacious, open plan, minimal. There is a small saucepan sizzling on the hob. Further on in, another identical little saucepan, steaming, boiling. And there's another one ahead on the next worktop too.
I realise that no one else I know is here, no one else can be here, because this is the past and they've all gone. Everyone else is in the future.
But the ones who tagged along came into to the apartment behind me. I point at them. My speech is feeble, so I strain to raise it, but it's rough and fluctuates. I say, "You are in the twilight zone."
Tuesday, November 14, 2017
Other ideas I've had about evolutionary traits. I don't know if they are common knowledge anyway:
- The horrible feeling of scratching your nails on a blackboard, which sets your teeth on edge, must be a protection against damaging your teeth or nails on stones when biting or scratching in the ground for food.
- The start when falling asleep (technical term ...) forces you to check that you are not in a position to fall out of bed, or - way back - to fall out of the branches of a tree in which you are nesting.
- Could stentorian snoring have had a purpose as a scary sound to keep other creatures out of caves where humans were sleeping?
Tuesday, October 03, 2017
Back with the B.....s again. This time I did meet E.... but also the others and even B......., whom, ostensibly I was there to see. In fact he left me alone for a while and who should come in only E-, and we got talking. She wanted to make some point, to harp on about abortion, and there it was, the same old religious incompatibility. It soon became clear that I had to go. It was raining hard outside, but while dressing I couldn't find the coat I came in with. I was looking for it - they have so many clothes strewn around - and eventually took something I'm not even sure was mine, which was only a vest, I think. After that fuss, I thought better of trying to find a box of chocolates that B- had given me earlier, which I had since lost sight of. It might seem selfish to ask after it, and there was still no sign of B-. As I was leaving, going out into the rain, ill-clothed and with a long walk ahead, most of the family, though not B-, was there in the hallway to see me off. Even the reverend himself - tall, smiling, happy. I couldn't really say anything, not about what had transpired, neither the missing box of chocolates, my difficulty with clothes nor the unwanted topic with E-, on my way out the door.
Wednesday, August 23, 2017
I carry someone back to the flats. The shrilling of evil is all around. One kind friend guides me by, towards the entrance. Another cheerfully leads the way. She has only a clean robotic mechanism exposed across the shoulders and nothing above. But the dreadful shrilling of evil is all-pervasive.
Saturday, August 05, 2017
Friday, April 21, 2017
In the night town, it is pitch dark. An endless column of people stand in the road, each row of women followed by a row of men. As one, each of the men pins a little padlock brooch to the side of the waist of the woman in front, quickly and easily. I try to pin mine to your waist but tear your dress a little, and so it fails. It's late. Now the last few from the crowd are dispersing and I'm in an empty car park above the park gates, but I can't find you. There is a steep, grassy hill which will be a shortcut down to the railings and the main gate, where I can almost catch up with the crowd. I edge down the narrow beaten track. But halfway, I think I will lose you completely this way, so I go back up to the car park. I think about taxis, but there aren't any at this hour. It occurs to me that I might contact you by phone. At first I try my smart phone. It has a wonderful but incomprehensible display of clockwork wheels and cogs, and I don't know how to work it. Then I try a tiny phone but it's dead. Walking home from town, out of the corner of my eye, a dark figure flits by on the other side. I make my way to some small, unfamiliar Dublin streets, where I'm not sure if there's anyone around.