Thursday, November 27, 2008
On a midnight stroll going nowhere in particular I end up at the corner of Nowhere and In Particular deciding blindly to take the road less travelled down Nowhere. The darkness at the end of the street seemed more mysterious. I feel like someone painted this, me doing this, already in the past and probably seeing the painting made me want to walk this way. I probably didn't know what the painting meant at the time but I appreciated the night sky painted at the bottom of the canvas as a reflection of pale moonlight dimly lit up in the middle of the lake of the town I grew up in. All I could think about, however, distractedly, while admiring the painting of what I was doing now, but portrayed then, was, "what was the first thing that popped into your head when someone asked, 'what was the first thing that popped into your head when someone asked, 'what was the first thing that popped into your head?''" I smiled and kept on walking imagining the painterly life written inside a notebook while going nowhere and ignoring the particulars. It was too dark, anyway. I prefer notebooks and scrap paper. They are more immediate and impermanent and they lead just as equally to nowhere as the rest of my body since they rest comfortably in the back pocket of the jeans I am wearing as I am walking down that unlit street far from the suburbs where I grew up. Or maybe it is the same town I grew up in, I don't remember exactly, but it could just be the time or day, or the time of night. However, I don't remember where I grew up being named Nowhere, but I guess they could have changed the name since I grew up and moved away and removed all the details and just left a dark street with no street lamps, at least no street lamps that work properly. I at least remember the street lamps working in the town I was from. Or maybe they are just old, but I doubt it. They weren't that old since I'm not that old but maybe they are old for street lamps. I keep walking down Nowhere but the street doesn't seem to end and I think I keep seeing the same houses over and over again, but I can't tell exactly since everything seems to be only slightly different from the last time I decided to lift my head and pay attention. I guess it could be different but it could just as well still slightly be the same. Without the particulars it is too hard to tell the difference. So I think I will keep walking until I can tell the difference. Maybe one day I will turn around and walk the other way and take a jog down particulars, but right now I don't feel like it. So I will keep walking. I will keep walking. And walking. And walking.Then I realized, none of this makes sense and nothing makes sense. My senses don't make sense nor are they sense, but senses. Sense plural, with an s. This means that there is a lot of issing to be done. Or is it izzing, since ss is too long of an s sound? Either way there is a lot of issing to be done since nothing makes sense. And with that in mind, it would matter if i had gone anywhere or nowhere in particular.