Songs serve as a cosmic map for life experience. One song earlier today triggered 1989, 14 years old, down the lane on St. Philomena's Road beside our school. The La's were playing There She Goes in my head and I was smokin' a Carroll's No.1 with two classmates, painting my name in Tipex on the wall.
I can still see the brush paint “LAR WOZ ‘ERE '89.
They're like vibrational anchors in the past. Timeless; as soon as you hear them they take you right back. With that Idea, I was thinking this week on the nature of time. When you consider the ability music has to take you to a former life, for better or worse, there seems to be no time.
I wrote a poem about it a few years ago. My first.
It seems to be that linear time is merely perceptual. We stack events in order of apparent chronology just like we've been taught. But not all cultures at all points in history see time this way. For Hindus and Buddhists, for example, time is cyclical rather than linear.
My daughter Cara and I were taking a walk last week and she asked me; “Dad, what was there before the sky?” So that got me thinking on the matter of time and space–a subject I've pondered for some “time” now. I wrote on it yesterday.
This week I pondered who I am. I know, yet I don't. It's a state of to-ing and fro-ing in uncertainty. The more certain you are, the less you know yourself. To take a Lacanian view and in rebuttal of Descartes, you think therefore you are not.
I also went on a bit of a rant about the bollocks that is Valentine's Day. Why do we play their game? Valentine's Day my arse.
Lockdown is giving me plenty of time to think and write, and so that's what I'm doing. If you'd like to follow the current material, read The Reflectionist.
In addition, I'm still working on the book, An Assemblage of Fragmentary Contemplations. You can get a free preview here. I'll have it available for purchase on Amazon in paperback and ebook soon.