Unscheduled morsels

or, more like ramble-morsels

Dear reader,

I write this from the carriage of a city-bound train, doing my best to ignore an awkward and flirtatious conversation opposite—pushbike guy toying with his hair, headphone girl aglow and revealing her weekend plans; it’s adorable, really—whilst I pipe noise-cancelled thrums of Hans Zimmer’s Dune soundtrack into my ears. Why the Dune soundtrack, I don’t hear you ask? No lyrics, the beautiful and ethereal … umm … I want to say oboe? It’s not an oboe. It’s something like an oboe. Desert-oboe? That’ll do. The beautiful and ethereal desert-oboe wending into me, eliciting an escape from the day’s toll. The warm reminder that Villeneuve’s Part 2 is but half a year away.

Morsels, left to seed more of their own kind. Image source: Midjourney.

Perhaps you can tell the mood I’m in. Verging on melancholy. A day of marking exams has left me deflated and, quite honestly, saddened at some of the written responses I read from students. Students that I taught. Didn’t they listen?¹

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I have a chapter of Brae’s meteorite that I was originally going to publish today, but I am still hacking away at it with autumn’s cold fingers. So it’s late. Blame the editor. Something about a toilet. Hence why I’m writing this, instead. It’s also that I have thoughts about serialisation that I’m still toying with following some discussion on Substack’s Notes this week prompted by

Claudia Befu

². I’m writing two things in serial manner here: the aforementioned fantasy-ish Brae’s meteorite and also the science fiction-y Precipice.

The former is done entry by entry, pulled and translated from Renn’s diary, a slab of a tome I found washed up on the neuronal shores of my mind.

The way I’m approaching the latter is to drop fragments, pieces and crumbs of a larger narrative. I like the sense that they can serve as independent reads and that over time a story emerges, even if things aren’t presented linearly. But maybe that’s not a good idea. Maybe it’s too much fragmentation³. Perhaps it doesn’t work. Perhaps with each post eyes roll, memories fades, frustrations rise. Do you have thoughts, dear reader?

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[OK so update: the flirting has now stopped. Bike guy got off the train, bike in tow. Headphone girl: “See you next week”, accompanied by a smile, headphones slipping back on. I note the time, the precise carriage I’m on, file it away for Things To Avoid Next Week.]

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Penultimate morsel: I have a phrase caught in my mind, something that blew in this afternoon: “My skin, crippled by moonlight.” I don’t know what that is, but I’m holding onto it. It’s something. I’m writing it here for safe keeping.

I think we can all agree that Leaving Caladan is a divine track, but one that is cut short too soon. I can see Hans, hands on keys, bored of the music, notes being approved. More likely it’s all Denis’ fault because the piece had to fit a scene. Write longer scenes, Denis! For the love of all things Zimmer, write them longer!

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When I opened this blank document, I had full intensions of it becoming Another Fragment of Precipice, ironically a linear extension of our previous encounter with Jisa:

In this forthcoming piece, Jisa opens up, becomes a little warmer, a little kinder, letting things play out with this man she’s met as she knows they must. It also serves some small expository purpose to learn more of Cloud and his backstory.

I think I’ve rambled enough to warrant anything of worth now and to expect you to read it, so all I will do is dangle the start here, at the very end. Words that will likely change as time’s edits trickle through.

In the near-darkness, Cloud turns his drink with an absent fondness. I am alone with him. Almost alone, perhaps. Between us something hangs palpable, tangible, brooding like the charged atmosphere before a storm.

We had danced a small dance of uncertainty when we sat, each as unsure as the other, laughing. But I like it this way, letting things draw out. I will move to that other side, next to him, I am sure. That time will come. I will stand, slink off to go pee—and maybe whilst there I will drop some rush, scoop it from the packet I keep tucked within my hood, inhaling quickly and letting it flood me with brilliance—and when I return I will take my place next to him, shuffle up to him and let what will happen happen.

But not yet. I can wait these moments longer. There are questions. Words and answers yet to be spoken.

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1. No, it seems. At least for some of them. Thankfully, there are some most excellent answers from those students who turned up each week and enjoyed being engaged by science. For that I am grateful.

2. Link to the note.

3. Defragging is always an excellent option.