Thoughts fly from all corners of my head. They flit about unpredictably. No, not “unpredictably”, because they are not making their way through my fingers and onto the page. Only last week, my pen would have scratched effortlessly across the page, filling the feint-ruled lines with alacrity. Today, it’s all Write about this! Use those notes on page nineteen! And don’t forget about that! It’s a horribly staccato way to write. I have no fully-fleshed ideas, they’re all pieces and I am not in the mood for jigsaws. I need to walk away for a while before the frustration at pulling these ideas from my labyrinthine mind becomes unbearable.
Flipping my 1973 US half-dollar, I can hear its ‘note’ as it revolves mid-flight. This is odd, but I remember thinking that it sounds so much better than any Australian coin. I think ours might be too heavy.
How did I come by a 1973 US half-dollar? No idea. I’ve no recollections whatsoever of how it came into my possession. In saying that however, it’s been something of a good luck charm; as has the $5 chip I stole from the casino on my first legal visit. I carry one or both of them everywhere.
My cerebral atrophy has not dissipated wholly, but I feel sound enough to write. I’m reminded of the episode of M*A*S*H entitled “Dreams”, and specifically the one had by “Major Charles Emerson Winchester the Third”, where is in a magician’s costume and he puts on a show for all. He perfectly executes every trick in the book until the patient is wheeled in. I feel a bit like that today.
Vainly, I scour the pages for something to latch on to. No, nothing. The voice of Jack Hawkins fills my head. “Ramming speed” and my personal hortator resumes his beat. I hadn’t even noticed his absence. For days last week, I slaved to his indefatigable and at times painful rhythm, and now he returns. It’s the last thing I want.
Magician… conjuror … The words swim in my head. There is something in that. I feel it. Magic … magical …
And there it is. One word from your honeyed lips and I catch my breath. It’s a hammer stroke against a pane of glass. There is no more. I should be used to it by now, such inveigling behaviour, but no. Desire smoulders. A king tide in Hope’s ocean is the only thing to quell it. The kind of excitement usually reserved for 5 years-olds on December 24 fills my heart. GOD! I think it’s gonna burst! Do you know how long it has been since I felt like that?
In all sincerity, that one word is one of the finest compliments I have ever been paid.
Flipping my 1973 US half-dollar, I can hear its ‘note’ as it revolves mid-flight. This is odd, but I remember thinking that it sounds so much better than any Australian coin. I think ours might be too heavy.
How did I come by a 1973 US half-dollar? No idea. I’ve no recollections whatsoever of how it came into my possession. In saying that however, it’s been something of a good luck charm; as has the $5 chip I stole from the casino on my first legal visit. I carry one or both of them everywhere.
My cerebral atrophy has not dissipated wholly, but I feel sound enough to write. I’m reminded of the episode of M*A*S*H entitled “Dreams”, and specifically the one had by “Major Charles Emerson Winchester the Third”, where is in a magician’s costume and he puts on a show for all. He perfectly executes every trick in the book until the patient is wheeled in. I feel a bit like that today.
Vainly, I scour the pages for something to latch on to. No, nothing. The voice of Jack Hawkins fills my head. “Ramming speed” and my personal hortator resumes his beat. I hadn’t even noticed his absence. For days last week, I slaved to his indefatigable and at times painful rhythm, and now he returns. It’s the last thing I want.
Magician… conjuror … The words swim in my head. There is something in that. I feel it. Magic … magical …
And there it is. One word from your honeyed lips and I catch my breath. It’s a hammer stroke against a pane of glass. There is no more. I should be used to it by now, such inveigling behaviour, but no. Desire smoulders. A king tide in Hope’s ocean is the only thing to quell it. The kind of excitement usually reserved for 5 years-olds on December 24 fills my heart. GOD! I think it’s gonna burst! Do you know how long it has been since I felt like that?
In all sincerity, that one word is one of the finest compliments I have ever been paid.