Look—no prologue.
Many months ago…
No—!
…I wished I had more time to work on some of the larger posts I wanted to finish. Now with all the time to work on those larger posts, I need a break. They’re not easy to write. My head is goo by the time they’re published. The latest post ended up including far more data than I’d usually include, so now I feel the need to go back and cite it all. Sometimes I’ll stray from the rough structure I’ve mapped out. A new thought will pop out of nowhere and challenge me to incorporate it, so I will, and then I’ll realize I’ve tanked the ending. Endings are the toughest. If I’m not careful I’ll write myself into an open field instead of converging on the final one–liners I live for.
There’s an emotional component as well. The heavier topics leave me feeling deeply isolated and incredibly distant from the world around me. I’ve noticed to myself and remarked to others on how lonely the future can feel. But I know it won’t always feel like that. And I’m not necessarily adverse to isolation, distance, or solitude. At times I’ve drawn great inspiration, strength, and clarity when I’ve found myself among those melancholic islands.
However; with isolation, distance, and solitude available at any hour of any day, I figure some jocular fjords are in order, clearly the metaphorical if not geological foil to melancholic islands.
This bottle of Canadian Duff from a later Simpsons episode cracks me up:
As does this moment from Star Trek: The Next Generation, an episode where Picard himself is starting to crack under the stress of a different sort of isolation:
While going through some of pictures on my phone from last summer, back before isolation was politely yet strongly recommended, I came across this shot I took—from a bus!—of someone who’s headed off to get away from it all:
As well as this screen capture of a Google Photo Sphere disaster:
And what I’m sure must be the single most exciting place to be in Burlington at 1:30AM on a Thursday night:
Back to the present, I’ve been enjoying Seth Meyers’ re–imagined show from the attic of his family’s home. Meyers himself has a genuine quality to him, extending far past what I consider part of the act. Amber Ruffin, a writer for the show, will occasionally get a segment of her own, including this Easter Quarantine Parade:
Jocular fjords aside, some moments of darkness require only for me to see the light—literally.
Each image below is an attempt to capture some quality of light I noticed just enough for it lift my spirits. Light moves fast—fast enough for me to watch it change before my eyes as I frame the shot and try to figure out just what it was I saw.
Here’s one more for good measure, and because it didn’t fit nicely into the gallery:
I still intend to write long and at times heavier posts. I’ll inevitably find myself navigating around the many and familiar melancholic islands as I do. It’ll be okay—I’ve grown to know these islands. But I’ve also grown to know where to find humour and absurdity, where to find what’s heartfelt and genuine.
And I know to bide my time for that one beam of light…
For now I will continue to wait in recommended solitude for the future to unfold, because until it does, as the old saying the goes: two’s company; three’s a crowd; and more than five is a provincial offence.