I was picked up at the airport last night by a good friend. We spent little time in bite-sized small talk, communicating more with the kind of grunts that two guys who know each other quite well tend to do. He said 'You look good" which I took to be complimentary.
I found myself wanting to review, dissect, reconfigure, deconstruct and otherwise recontextualise the summer, to bounce thoughts off him, to put the emotional toy bricks back in their boxes, properly stacked in order of size.
But, it doesn't work like that, much as my obsessive-compulsive sock-ordering, library of a mind would like it to. In a world in which lives are shaped by what appear to be random choices and by fortuitous events, a world in which almost everything occurs only once - or appears to - existence seems to lose its substance, its weight. Hence, Kundera's "unbearable lightness of being" spills from conceptual to contextual realities. In other words, it's nice to loosen up a bit, let the dust settle and chill for a spell. In the light of that, a few images. These have no connection, no theme, either chronological or artistic. Like a Rothko painting they're not supposed to be thought about very much, just enjoyed.