blank pages (16/April/18)

the most enigmatic part of any book has to be the blank pages at the end, at the back of the book, hidden yet not, left anonymous, unused, as though waiting and still waiting, unrequited…… they seem surplus, superfluous and yet integral… a silence after sentences have been spoken, the pause, the breath to be taken, inhalation… exhalation… merging and submerging…… reflect…… balancing on the echoes of words read… from beginnings and unknowns through turns and twists that bring you here, just here, where the end is just beginning all over again… wiser… blank pages… a lithographic landscape lingers and escapes now running rife in your imagination… you can’t unread the book, only bear its consequences… blank pages aren’t to be squandered, skipped, ignored, it’s never an end until you’ve reached the end, they are an essential ingredient to the recipe…… there are more in some books than others but all nonetheless worth a moments attention… never frivolous, never wasted, never padding, instead they invite you beyond where you’ve just been, if you’re listening that is… blank pages engender curiousity for the curious, for the not-curious, well, let’s just say you haven’t looked hard enough………

© 2018 robert greig

books, Buffy and global domination (4/April/18)

by now I’m well-ensconced in my new book.. reading that is… started last week now almost half way’ish through… a new adventure… reading a book is just that, an adventure, names, new ‘faces’, characters, entire worlds, even when I’m out and about walking around not reading it it’s there, in the background, back of my mind, sort of still reading, or re-reading what’s been read, barely subconsciously sifting and sorting through the plots and turns and pondering where it’ll go next…. all the time leading a double-life, the one in front of me and the one between the pages of the book sat on the bedside table back at home patiently waiting for my return…… they can make the world outside more tolerable, knowing I always have somewhere to retreat……

… talking of retreating, I just found my mind catapulted  back to the 1990’s and realising in so many ways what a different world it was and not that long ago, the affectionately-known, or not so affectionately, pre-millenium… move over Cro-Magnon man, enter Pre-Millenium Man…… surely that deserves a signature tune that annoyingly bursts forth every time I enter a room……

… thinking back to the 90’s makes one realise how not-so long ago it was computers began their golbal domination and how, in such short a time, we’ve surrendered our souls lock, stock and sanity to them… in 1991 the world wide web went live, with the Internet a scarily and rapidly-growing dot on the horizon… the Berlin Wall had only just come down… the first ever Playstation invented a couple of years later in 1994, the same year the first ever Internet-only music track, and can you guess by who?…. Aerosmith!…… Grunge was busy gunging up the music scene with sounds akin to wading through slurry…… a huge sea-change in UK politics in 1997 when the 18-year reign of the Tories monster mash-machine finally came to a staggering end and we thought everything would change, but, you know what they say about change?… the more things change, the more they stay the same…… and poor old Ask Jeeves went the way of Betamax when Google appeared in 1998 to become, well, you know now what happens with an unchecked corporation with whims of world domination?…. they get there in the end… X-Files (1993), now lost the plot entirely; South Park (1997), the best giggle and cringe-fest; Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1997), pure unrecognised genius;  Midsomer Murders (1997), still plodding after all these years… I won’t go on as most are just an embarrassment and I’ll be here forever and a day, as they say, though where this extra day comes from after forever (good name for a band, oops, there is one already) has run its course I’m surely baffled by… unless it’s like a leap year, which would be even more baffling…

… television’s never done what books can, provide this other life in your head running parallel, that no one else can see but you… and when that book’s finished just open another and whoosh!……

© 2018 robert greig

the underbite of day (25/Feb/18)

I will tell you a story, a story that wrote itself, a story that is in fact still writing itself right now, ink appearing on the page as if by magic strewn before your eyes peeling back your eyelids, leading you by the pupils to where it will whether you like it or not… of course you could close this book, hide the page, get up and walk away get on with other things your day has planned for you but… wouldn’t you like to know how it ends… or actually how it begins?…… has it even started yet?…
don’t you know, every story you read includes you, including this one being written right now, without you there is no story, just object without form, and probably an endless parade of possible analogies queuing up to get in on the act… but we won’t let them , they’ll only distract from… from?…
it’s only when you read it does it become a story, like this story your reading and it’s writing right before your eyes… me and you sitting on a rock storying a book, slipping in some meaning here, some nonsense there, something thoughtful there… a title’s just words without place sitting on the binding, possibly alluring, often passed over for another, or none…. this story is writing itself right now no different from any other book except perhaps with this story you can’t leap ahead and if you do you just end up falling off the end of the page, off a flat world into a flat nothing… but… if you just be patient, keep up and don’t try to get ahead of yourself, or the story, then maybe just maybe we’ll get there in the end…… maybe…
so I’ll tell you a story that’s writing itself right now, it could be this one, likely is, but possibly it isn’t, I suppose you’ll have to read on to find out…… once upon a winter in the underbite of the day a deafening of silences carried shadows much bigger than themselves on their backs, only beads of condensation compensated for a lack of light as each caught a glimmer that itself got trapped inside each bead, and along this path rarely trod they trod, in fact so rarely had it been trod that it wasn’t even there until they got there and even then it wasn’t obvious, in fact so unobvious as to be arguably there at all…

© 2018 robert greig