CAKEBEEF. - Old notebooks, older ideas.

5th October 2009

Text with 2 notes

Old notebooks, older ideas.

There’s this thing that happens, independent of my attempts to control or contain it. There is a brightening of the edges of objects. A photo filter for my retinas which may from time to time apply itself, turning everything mundane slightly magical, or at least unoppressive.

Sometimes, I am in love. It makes me childish, in the good way. I become silly with love. Stupid. I become ten years old, only I know what sex is and it’s not illegal for me to have it. I become a man of Post-Its and piggybacking. I sing songs about the food I cook. I cut my hair. I write notes a lot.

I have an entire file folder full of notes that got coffee on them, or a spot where the ink smeared. Notes and sticky notes and love notes and grocery lists and little pictures of robots for no reason. Some are wrinkled. Most are stained here and there. Imperfections that sent them to the recesses of my desk drawer.

I went looking for an old story outline and they got me like fishhooks.

There’s the other kind of photo filter that happens. The watery one, where the edges of things blur and warp. It comes with an accompanying feeling like a strong weight on your sternum and ragged breathing.

Then it subsides, and you go make provencal chicken with olives and capers.

Or maybe that mustard chive sauce with the bourbon and shallots.

Or whatever.