Sunday, December 21, 2014

Random Eyes

It's Sunday 21st December and I am on my way to the shops.

I have my shopping list, I have a pair of odd socks to wear.

Routine autopilot is on green.

Then something stopped me in my tracks.

A fleeting scroll on an ipad, I fell upon a word which caught my attention: 'Random.'

It was a post of Alan Levine entitled 'Randomly Yours.'

It was enough to impel action, it was the reason for this rush.

I am writing this before the shops close.


I only skimmed it.

I had no time for reflection.

I remember the mention of serendipity.

I love the word serendipity, a concept so embedded, a word unknown to me before quite recently.

Randomise, random eyes, only a fortunate misspelling.

It is enough to start the top spinning.

Spinning Top.

I find an image.

It is an image that I remember.

It is an image that the Zeega master Mr T. Elliott uses.

There is the element of time.

There is a some unknown wilful spinning impulsion.

There is curiosity.

Spinning stopped

It is captured in this page now, spinning but never stopping.

I go back and embolden a few lines which catch my attention.

They are the bones of the piece. They hold it up, they hold it together.

I am not sure why these lines more than others.

I will go back and read closely later.

I pause, I resume typing, typing ever rightwards, ever downwards, on this page.

Where is this leading?

I come to the edge of the page.

Index card.

I scribble a few references on a card.

I open the library index drawers, I look for the title.

'The Edge of hopelessness'

However long I spend looking for the book reference, I come back to the same conclusion.

The 'Edge of hopelessness' doesn't exist here.

It came from a comment on a Facebook rhizo14 stream by Scott Johnson.

It is the title of a piece of work that needs to be written, that is begging for an author to give it a place some place in the 'Thes'.

How do  I punctuate a plural the?

Random Eyes

No matter. I am now looking at this page anew.

It is blank,  crying out for a release from its mutism.

It is a dumb waiter.

I am flying down to a basement.

If only the top will keep spinning.

I will write before it is too late.

Image from Inception.

Gif by Timetravlin


  1. We dance round in a ring and suppose, But the Secret sits in the middle and knows. ~Rob't Frost

    The 'the's's' have it.

  2. So many thoughts

    bounded by time

    when shared to blog

    enable eternal return