Sunday morning at Cosi. Here we are again. Strangely familiar. After the coffee, I will go to the school and read. Then I will take then train home. Then I will go to work. Then I will go to school. Then I will go home. I can perhaps add in some hobbies. Maybe I become a Zen monk and also a crack photographer. So these will be added to the cyclical list. Huzzah? No.
There is nothing to any of this. The usual complaint is to say that it’s all smoke and mirrors, but it’s not even that. It’s just a möbius loop covered in scurrying ants. Sometimes I really love this, but mostly I really hate it—or at least I wish I had been born in a different time, place, and context so that I could have at least enjoyed the kind of vacuous sensuality that so many seem to be amused by on their way to the coffin.
Me I’m just sitting in a coffee shop at 11.00 on a Sunday morning with nowhere to go and no particular desire to talk to anyone, friend or stranger. I am the void, as usual.