Field Recordings

The Côte Rôtie vineyards.

May 16, 2022.

A parenthetical lost in the moment. Moment. Time. Relativity. Space. Lost in space.

I still hope that I can find the idea. Which reminds me I had a Pandora riff going the other day but it is not captured anywhere.

This is not my first time riffing on ideas joined by a thin thread.

I’m …. The neighbour is examining the wear on her enamel mug. I look at mine and compare.

I am trying to capture my thoughts but they are too quick. Perhaps I can catch the memories.

I am in London. There are billions that find this significant. Not my presence but travelling to the city. In other words, if it was them here, it would be a significant event.

The restaurant is playing Hole. I sing along to show off my knowledge.

Women on the brain.

My neighbour went out for a cigarette. She is French, vaguely reminding me of someone that I had met once. Her companions are not keeping her company. Why?

There is a blue-haired girl in a mini-dress and black tights that draws my attention for a couple, or more, seconds. A little further along, in a chair next to the window, with a whipped cream drink and a half eaten piece of cheesecake, sits a South-Asian woman whose midday bling (a thick coat of glossy red lipstick on her lips, oversized-logo sunglasses in her hair and a large crystal on a gold chain) makes me suspect a difficult personality.

I do like the neighbour. Trying to remember who she reminds me of reminds me of Angie’s mom. She would be the double for the lady in front of me at the coffee shop this morning. Same size and shape. Tall and full-bodied. Like the stereotypical Dutch woman. No toothpick jokes.

“Reminds-me-of women.” Instead of soothing my curiosity, solving the earlier mystery has me obsessing over this one. Her smile reminds me of my travel agent from the 90’s. Her eyes, Jim’s wife. It’s the composite that has confused me.

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