Thunder rolled overhead. As approaching storms went, this was a big one. If the forecasts were correct, the storm would loom ever closer and continue its ponderous rumblings well into the night. Almost like in one of those novels where the manor on the moor got a surprise visitor on that one dark stormy night, who turned out to be implicated in an overly ornate plot whose slow unraveling somehow transpired at a sustained breakneck pace once it got going

Putting out her cigarette, she stopped pondering the storm, and closed the window. The play was about to start, and she had every intention of acing the opening line

I Ching sign: 1

The eternal return

In a flash of reminiscence, she suddenly remembered a dish that she used to eat all the time, then stopped for some reason. This memory, being both vivid and inspiring, prompted her to prepare it that very same day. Every step of the process – getting the ingredients, preparing everything, instinctively knowing which setting the stove had to be on – brought back a trickle of memories of those long past days, and the emotional resonances that moved things along. A culinary trip down memory lane, it was

That is, until she took the first bite, and suddenly – in a slightly longer flash of reminiscence – remembered just why she didn’t eat this any more

A later later

In an attempt to come to grips with the new year, she took a detour and read the things she’d written to come to terms with previous years. There turned out to be quite a lot of it – todo lists, wish lists, shopping lists, lists of friends to reconnect with, lists of friends to deconnect with. The latter two overlapped in interesting ways

More interesting, however, was the one word that always recurred. “Later”. There were no end to the things that could and probably should be done, but every year these things somehow delegated themselves into the next one. Perhaps, she thought, there would come a leap year, a year when all the laters would come to pass and save the world from its procrastinating self

Dancing with the times

The kids had gotten older. What had once impressed them now left them indifferent. What had once made them laugh in amazement was now a mere fact of life. The big, unanswerable questions had transformed into smaller, equally unanswerable questions. Everything changed, and the key to dealing with it was to accept the change at the pace at which it occurred

With this line of thought firmly in mind, he rhetorically asked if anyone wanted pancakes. Not one of the youngsters did. They had outgrown such childish foodstuffs. and wanted more sophisticated grub. These days it was waffles that dominated the menu, and thus he grabbed his spatula and set to work

Discourse as power as art

He looked at the object in amazement

On the one hand, it perfectly encapsulated everything about the organization and its aims. It even captured the emotional resonance that permeated its everyday praxis. It was a remarkable achievement

On the other hand, it was also utterly incomprehensible. All attempts to describe what it resembled resulted in a series of floundering nouns, none of which bore any similarity to each other. A rider on a horse, a spaceship, a parliament in session, a flock of birds, children at play – somehow, all of these incommensurate things at once

In short, it was perfect


She awoke with a very specific task in mind. Not stopping to think or reconsider, she sprung into action and made quick progress. One thing led to another, and soon enough she found herself with a slightly messier than it ought to yet serviceable end result. Having thus exerted herself, she thought back on what had transpired. Waking in the middle of the night to randomly make cupcakes was not, in the strictest sense of the word, normal

In the back of her mind, she suspected the root cause might be the excessively comfortable mittens she’d gotten for Christmas. If this was what finally taught her to bake, tho, she’d take it

Setting the agenda

New Year’s Eve. The last day of a decade. The activities of this day will serve as a template for the decade to come. An argumentative day would make for an argumentative decade, and so on. For big things, the course of action was clear: leave nothing unfinished and be surrounded by friends. For the smaller things, however

This outfit or that? This song or that? This drink or that? Would the levity of the one match the brevity of the other? So many choices, so many implications, so many everythings

At length, she figured that there were arguments for everything, but none against anything in particular. Having thus cut through this last bout of indecision, she was ready to face the new decade, come what may

A sacred geometry

He was home. It had been a long day, and there were still some ways to go with it, but for now, for right this instant, he was home. And home meant taking a nice couch nap

He had barely situated himself on the couch before a meowing figure hopped onto him and formed a geometrically perfect rectangular sphinx. It defied ever notion of spatial possibility and – worse – it actively prevented him from taking a picture of this small miracle

“You would be the one to do this” he said affectionately

“Meow” the rectangle replied with pleased crypticality

Singing the body electric

It began with a single, simple thing. It had a single blinking diode, slowly doing its thing, one pulse at a time. No one thought much about it at the time, but it was the beginning of an unstoppable and inexorable trend. This first item was soon followed by a second, which in addition to its blinking lights also had a built in sound emitter. Then came another one, and another, and another. Before anyone knew it, the kids had an entire arsenal of brightly blinking blaringly beeping toys, and the indomitable will to use it to further their strategic aims

The smallest mood

She sat down. Nothing needed doing right this instant, nowhere needed going, no one needed talking. For once in her life, a small moment of nothing occupied her being. Not even anticipation, for anything. This was, and it was everything. Everything, thus made concrete, was also nothing, and as she sat she pondered the peculiarity of it all. It wasn’t even profound, it just – was

The moment only lasted for the average span of time a moment usually occupies. Then, something, as always, came up. But often, afterwards, she pondered that fleeting speck of time. It had been the smallest of moods