14 Nov 2021

The saddest pictures in the world



In the early summer of 2020  - a time that became very visceral in the best possible way for myself, I had a few tabs open, only, on the laptop aside me.  One had been open several years and  only that one interested me in a  never really used Facebook. Only one woman's jottings. What would she make of it all I wonder?  Having been the only one I ever felt lived real rebel wisdom  - her own person, comfortable in her own skin too; what take will she have? Maybe even give, unreservedly.  Give something real for a change. The  other version perhaps not belinging any more. 

I saw not very much of interest and anyway i was a little disappointed in the previous offerings: lots of hairdye, when i am national campaigner for lovely sexy silvery grey hair left as nature intended, because indeed it is far sexier; sunglasses when every teenager i knew knew when we were teenagers, the eyes were the windows to the soul, never mind the science saying natural UV entering via the lenses - the natural ones, is a required element in natural bodily cancer protection systems never mind other systems we know not yet quite how they work...but they do and are essential;  and smelly stuff, and i have only ever had one bar of non smelly soap in my bathroom and know i am the freest person in the modern world and thus most at peace, but one day she stuck up something that included the word 'poignant'. And at that moment I knew i was on the right page.

And that one moment I think did say all about what my time had so gorgeously, only, become about. Ride this sublime; suffer too,  but celebrate also, this so gorgeous once-in-a-lifetime poignancy.  And then there was nothing left to suffer. Just live every day in both those words. But live them for real..... It was if that one word was the starting pistol I never knew  had mislaid. 


Oh real life real things happened later in the year - incredible real lovely things I could never have dreamed of in my wildest, but still, this is homage to, then. Because I recall every second and every second was so full of real thought and things which will be hard to even articulate. But they were glorious-poignant; and the sublime itself. I would wish every moment could have lasted forever. They almost did in that the definition of time travel or delaying the ageing process is when so much and yet nothing happens such that just a month felt like a year. To the memory.  I have a superb memory – for example for every word on an aeroplane ride taken nearly four years ago, but trying to recall  the journeys and delight from 18 months ago, that feels even longer ago. The definition of living well. And almost ‘beating’ age. Not that age should never be beat. That’s the point.... even if rather a lot of ‘em seem to have forgotten this. As the last six months sure has shown. Though they’ll never admit it....