I wish I could remember when ‘Star’ was released because that would give me a temporal node (not the ones in the brain) for what I’m feeling this evening. One evening a few years ago (not long enough when all is said and done) I came down to this spot (give or take a few metres) and had a crisis of faith – which as it turns out was much more prescient than I would have liked.
In any case, the past is the past and there’s not much you can do to change, but you can paint the telling of it in different colours, and for this re-telling, I choose the colour black. As in Black Void.
So fortunate that in my case, I don’t require any alcohol to achieve this particular shade of feeling otherwise it would throw my calculations even more awry – even more because of more information I finally got. I should really have obtained all these information beforehand, but didn’t want to because of FEAR. And now, my fears are well-founded. Nice to know that I’m prescient and that my fears are based on well-founded bases.
But back to the void for a second – just a short second for really, what can one remember of a void, much less a Black Void. Oh yes, prescience, and the telling phrase, “Mark my words, this will end in tears”. It did one lonely January night on West 10th Avenue when Dr. B was walking the other way. And somehow there was a security light involved in the whole sorry evening, and there it is, the light’s gone out and who can tell what really happened. Not me.
There are those who will babble on about forgiveness being a prerequisite for forgetting. I disagree. Plaque formation alongside the nerves of the brain will do the same without any need for soul searching or enlightenment to achieve forgiveness. Mind you, the formation of plaques can be random and you might be well left with the very memories you’re hoping to erase for good.
No, I’d rather not leave the eradication of my past to plaque formations. I shall take an active role in it and the black shall be the darkest shade of dark, the pigment the finest triple-milled of black onyx, and the layers of the softest, thickest velvet coats you can imagine.
Forgive and let go, I hear the Texas Cowboy saying. I have as it turns out, but like bathroom mould, however much you scrub and clean, there’s always a little bit left behind, which will grow again.
Who would have forecast 20 years ago that all would come to pass in this manner? Not me.
When I think of PG-Tips, I think of Tetley teabags – “each bag has 1000 perforations” – and the kindly gentlemen - experienced tea makers all – in their lab coats and tweed caps. Then I think of diabetes, and how he was diagnosed with diabetes in Dorking, but died of diarrhoea in Dagenham. Goodness, the digressions that my wandering mind goes through. So what was I thinking of here? Right, PG-Tips. It’s time to drop them by the wayside because it’s neither worth the investment in time, the effort nor the generosity of feeling.
“Kawan! Kawan apa?!” I can already hear Dr. K saying with vehemence, which in this case is more than justified.
My hands are cold. I shall return to the shell whence I emerged.