Words That Change

Diary of an Unborn Writer #65 – Unparallelled Lines

In Uncategorized on 17 August, 2010 at 01:10

Norderlicht cafe

It had not been a good night – we agreed on that. Friendly and nice with music too angular, flat footed and a bit too embarassed to dance. Beer went down, we chatted, it was fine. Rolling back to D’s he fixed us some Spanish dish with eggs and veg, listened to Lucinda Williams and enjoyed. “I’m doing Ramadan, of course,” said the non-Muslim. He limited himself to wine and cigarettes at night and was eating light.

The next day he was drinking coffee, complaining about getting hungry. We went rolling again – 3 men – G, D and I and our target was a boat. I wasn’t sure what was on it but D mentioned something about women and food and drinks and it sounded like the kind of Sunday that would ‘pass’. I never made it.

We went via the museum and stared at pictures of Matisse, Picasso, Kandinsky and a black and white square (to show how ambiguity of feeling merged with completeness of it, the fourth one in a series by Malevich). Emerging, D lost the heel to his shoe and we stared at shapes newly realised to us. Trees, canals, boats and cyclists, now formed with a more certain clarity – not detached but involved in geometry, the poetry of shapes. The Masters teach us how to see.

Malevich's Black on White - this one was painted 17 years before the one we saw, and I do not think it is as good.

They taught us as well to relax and rolling again D at the wheel and G in the back. G’s from North Carolina and drawls and observes. A slow moving sage, he’s travelling and had much to contribute to the day, but D moves a lot faster and says a lot more, which may explain why he lost the heel of his shoe. Anyway, he was driving and we took us to a caravan park amidst weeds and trees and welded metal sculpture including two sublime stencilled in sheet metal huge Green Taras. They could have been white Taras but something told me they were green. It fitted the place better, the way bicycles morphed into dogs nestled amidst hedges and real cats came out to nuzzle and nudge and sit on the bonnet as it was started because it found somewhere warm. A very relaxed cat.

The park reminded us of nature’s lines and human attempts to capture its transformative quality. You don’t get that in an office. Most are very square and the rectangality (a perverse cubism) makes you think straight and in shapes nature has seen fit to conquer and will again once we stop looking, or leave or are bumped off as She (in close co-operation with Green Tara – the greenly surrendered Goddess) sees fit. Silly playthings that are man.

Angles came back in warehouses on the outskirts of the city and we made it to the Norderlicht, a cafe on the dock with a porch draped in sails and had a coffee. Lattés were not exempt from Ramadan and nor was the warm relaxed feeling of three men with nothing much to do, but doing it expertly.

Exquisitely sensuous and gooey as G and I wolfed down mouths of nachos drenched in sour cream, guacamole and salsa. D was furious but didn’t quit.

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  1. […] This post was mentioned on Twitter by Simon Hodges, Simon Hodges. Simon Hodges said: Unparallelled Lines – Diary #65 – this post features abuses of Ramadan. http://wp.me/pQKqa-60 […]

  2. What a rich day of nothing. Can’t wait to do nothing with you next weekend, sounds like I’ll be in expert hands! xxx

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