Skip to main content

A Box Of New Dimensions




All new worlds bring opportunity for bravery. Here I am, typing on a silver sliver in yesterday’s same cramped office so the sensation of standing as though at the opening of a breathtakingly vast airlock to discover a new world is disproportionate, somewhat… Microcosmic, I settle for that explanation. My tiny world navigates and connects with The Future World. There should be no barriers now, all communication should flow, just as soon as I work out which buttons to press. All new worlds also bring burdens of learning which can alter one’s perception of the journey. Overall one must chant something inspirational along the lines of:
This is by choice
This is my journey
This is not actual space travel with limited oxygen
Time is finite for people so get on with it
Cool view
Remember why you started.
Not beautifully phrased but workable. This new machine that I have unpackaged, plugged in, lumped a load of untidy files onto is a continuation of a choice made on how I would spend my time on this planet. It’s not about looking pretty, although it is silver and sleek and coincidentally Girl has revamped my hair this week and the wild strawberries have reflowered. They are wild first, strawberries second: they do not wilt in this early autumn heat nor will they fail in hail.
Empty boxes scatter the office: berry stained tubs line up by the hosepipe: upstairs storage boxes wedge and trip us up. The Chap is leaving home to follow his dreams in four days time. Preparations fluctuate and are frequently interrupted:
Is this worth keeping
I remember
I have no idea
This would be useful for.
Out in the lanes blackberry stems bend with gleaming weights of fruit: autumn starts cute as a vintage tea cup, in spite of the brave new world vacillations. Prettiness, toughness, abundance; we hope The Future World has all of this.


Comments

Geo. said…
No worries. Summer ends and we feel the future again.
5 September 2014 at 04:42
Lisa Southard said…
I don't have a bucket list Geo but if I did 'visit Geo's garden' would be on it. So if the future blooms lucratively enough for impulsive plane fares expect a guest :-)
5 September 2014 at 09:36
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Contact Pants Conundrum

There is weather today, I do note it: take a few moments to reckon the size of a cloud (big) and the frequency of rain (sporadic.) Centre of my interest though is a stack of magazines. Not the fashion kind. This is martial arts research. I'm not even sure what it is I'm looking for, but intuition calls loud. A range of old adverts skew some amusement. Contact pants, for example. Pants are not trousers where I come from. They are underwear. Professional contact pants: improved smirk value. But why would a person be likely to purchase a grappling hook and a lock pick set? For specialists and hobbyists only, the blurb assures. Guidance on the pheromone spray that attracts women against their better judgement? I doubt it works any more proficiently than the mysterious potion that defines your muscles while you sleep. But, then: I wonder is some sprayed on this paper? What was my intuition thinking, making this ghastly shout… Tea break time. There's a lot of words...
2 comments
Read more

Back From The Future Blog Party

Another joint blog adventure- if you want to see who else said what the list of participants is here . The premise is this: 'You're up before dawn on a Saturday when the doorbell rings. You haven't brewed your coffee so you wonder if you imagined the sound. Plonking the half-filled carafe in the sink, you go to the front door and cautiously swing it open. No one there. As you cast your eyes to the ground, you see a parcel addressed to you ... from you. You scoop it up and haul it inside, sensing something legitimate despite the extreme oddness of the situation. Carefully, you pry it open. Inside is a shoebox -- sent from ten years in the future -- and it's filled with items you have sent yourself. What's in it?' Here's how I imagined it: Before dawn? Shadows outside, first forming. Sleep has gone, I don't know where. Coffee I can find. All the way from Machu Pichu, this fair-traded pack. Scissors are in the drawer, which ...
26 comments
Read more

Hometime Foam Time

It was hot outside, cold indoors. When we were freed from the hall I opened my car thinking oven gloves might be required for driving. I was weary. I was lined up for a row of shifts- but the evenings are lighter now, and the beach was calling. I drove a wiggly route to Veryan (the road I chose was closed) and down to Carne Beach. Since I had checked the weather the wind had turned easterly, and the tide was in. There were waves smacking over a disappearing line of fine sand. Undeterred I wriggled my swimsuit on and went to play in the foam.  Neither air nor sea was particularly cold. Blue and cloud patterned sky, blue and turquoise patterned sea, flowers blooming and swooshed by the wind, and the warm brown crags of rock: to be here was to be directly connected to the source of all existence.  Home time was foam time, and vice versa. Afterwards I sat in my car, door open, eating a square of dark chocolate, watching the white flecks and trying to work out if the dark dot was a...
Post a Comment
Read more