Without imagination, you come to a full stop

In Hautvoir, Local projects, Music, notes, Now playing in a theater near you, Sundays, Wine on October 28, 2013 at 7:55 am

Life, alone and with others.

An abupt end to the dream. I had to set aside the glass of wine on the mantelpiece. The coaching sessions were about to begin. Why the setting was reminiscent of a boarding house on rue Hutchison where I lived at age eighteen  (and discovered the writing of Henry Miller) ?  Belongs to that brain-at-play aspect of living called dreams.

In awake memory time, there were also two boys from Hong Kong in that specific boarding house. (From there, the trail of boarding houses extends much further into the future).

The two boys were from well-to-do families. Neither one of them had ever set foot in a kitchen before their university adventures in Canada. The cooking vessel in which they prepared their rice must have been an abomination to whatever governs the use of common sense. They never washed it. Never removed the thickening layer of rice starch and overcooked grains in which they poured water to prepare more of same. As much as possible, I avoided the kitchen while they prepared their meal. My room was too small for a desk. In those days, I read and I wrote on my bed.

Life with others begins at 9 today. Coaching sessions. Break for lunch. Work on someone else’s writing in the afternoon.

Life alone. The French saying is: quand la santé va, tout va. As long as you’re healthy, everything’s fine. Amended, in my case, to: as long as the writing goes, everything’s OK. No matter how lousy the writing, trouble starts when it stops.


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