This post, the second part especially, however lacking, is dedicated to Waterhot. It seemed to make sense when I wrote it; now I'm finding myself scratching my head in perplexity, and I cant even blame it on drugs. Oh well.

1.No man steps into the same river twice. (Heraclitus on a normal day)

a. Outside my window there is a tree. It’s bare, for it’s winter. In the Spring, assuming no crazy chainsaw neighbour cuts it down and Spring does come to England, it’ll still be there, and still I’ll call it a tree, although it’ll be different; and again with every season. Same word, different object. Are there any languages that rename the tree according to the season?

b. Language flatters and hides our indecisions and our fluctuations with its stability. Although the world changes minute by minute around us and within us, we give it an illusory fixity.

c. In love with a woman, how much of that flux is expressed in the words I’m in love? How do these words carry all the nuances and conflicts and ambivalence and apparent contradictions that were woven into this love?

d. So I take the dominant feature and proceed by abbreviation. As soon as a moment is narrated, described, possibly even remembered, it loses its complexity, its multiplicity. The present becomes degraded, first into memory, then into nostalgia.

e. I loved/love A – how simple that sounds, just like saying I like pineapple juice or beef stroganoff. And yet how much more complex the reality of that was/ is, so complex that I struggle against saying anything conclusive of any one moment.
Then for a period of time I hated her; again, how simple that sounds. Another abbreviation.

2. no woman either steps into the same river twice. (Ysengrin on a coffee day)

a. Possibly because I’m only too aware of the complexity of the relationship that’s ended, (and, trust me, it was even more complex than most. Put two tortured souls in a room….) I keep the river in mind, and this time, not for suicidal purposes.

b. This is where the bit about giving relationships a second chance comes in, you see. When enough water has passed under the bridge, will the river you'll step in this time be any different? Muddier, perhaps..


c. Contemplating the idea itself is a contradictory flux, look: I never believed in trying again with anyone. I think it might be a good, brave idea to try again with some people. Once it’s over it’s over. I think it might work out. There is absolutely no point since it’ll never work out. It’s not worth it. Nothing else is worth it. Things change, lessons are learned, people grow. There is such a thing as a bad match, and that’s that. Harmony between two people is never a given, but must be conquered, over and over and over.

d. I’m a really good swimmer.

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Next time, blogpeople, if I'm still in a good mood I'll tell you about Superbutch, because for some strange reason I've been thinking about her recently. And not because that's a relationship I'd like to re-visit.