Disparity

I am thinking about this word and how it becomes an effective kind of slippage where the very thing unuttered takes up occupancy between two poles set apart. Of course this is not a spatial housing complex or a sleep in the park, though it can come to be this. It is how we leap the distances between un-matching parts. How our ears bend the note between this mis-match slurring it to fit by widening the gap. This kind of acoustic spaciousness somewhere bares in mind the absolute fit-Whitehead’s Eternal objects?- but the body is lolloping and dragging, stuttering and compounding itself with all the riff raff of passers by that we hang on to or tear past. That we become. All the stuff taken in, in impromptu sandwich stops and omitted again in unsolicited uses of toilets in coffee shops and pubs along the way where we never place an order. Riff raff is passing through us all the time.

listening to the radio later- a reggae Channel where certain notes are got at in a round about way almost as though the revolutions that created a particular frequency were being staggered and hiccupped along the way- a certain hesitancy yet with a mind set so clearly on what is not altogether reached or got at- trying to find ones way through the streets- passages and slim entry points through the cascading channels of shadow and light, flickering off and on the building surfaces, the moving and seated people, the buses and vans that do not stop or suddenly halt so that you feel the wind on your face. I am blind like a bat having rolled on to my sunglasses and broken them lying on the green. I only see in the searing discrepancies of one figure tearing away from another surface that is relatively stable. What moves and what stays is forever changing, jumbling- a complex mix of filaments and shards of light lengthening and containing again like the close of two hands suddenly snapping out the light. I put my hand in the stream of water that runs endlessly off the shiny polished metal sculpture in the courtyard, then put my hand to my face. I am in this courtyard where I have just eaten an egg sandwich listening to the lifts exposed on the outside of buildings go up and down. Levers and pulleys working the ropes. People come into and out of the building. I am not sure if it a public place. If I can be there. I continue on my way and glimpse the Gherkin building through a back-street in the city of London. There is no way to get to it and soon I am ferreted away on a bus I have only just boarded in time.

The music plays on, on the radio at home. Before that in the street opposite some people turn their music up to the limit and dance around their car. There’s real heat in the air for the first time this year. (Yesterday was so cold.) Their white long-haired dog sits exhaustedly in the road as they dance about, taking pictures of one another on their mobile phones. The man does a kind of head-stand back flip off of the wall. There is exuberance in the air. I don’t know where it comes from.