Blizzard Conditions
21.12 | 11/12/05
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I remember driving, out through Rochdale and Oldham, the slush at the side of the road splashing the sils of the Mini, and the snow-dust covering the high ground of Saddleworth Moor. Pol in B, by Vini Reilly. I think of Pat, as a very young man, and Freya, a mere slip of a girl, but an earth mother before her time. A roadtrip I dubbed "a Day of Long Shadows", and lived to feel the weight of the words, watching those shadows edge their way to totality, in a kind of existential oblivion.
Winter city life, and an attempt to capture the story never told. I've been back there twice in a fortnight, and it still grabs my imagination. Lost in the hills, skidding around on the film of ice and snow beneath the wheels. I wanna change so much, but I'm slipping, and I slip too easily into lazy-mode. Is the best I can achieve a lazily objective study of the apathy that is the scourge of my creative and spiritual life?
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I remember driving, out through Rochdale and Oldham, the slush at the side of the road splashing the sils of the Mini, and the snow-dust covering the high ground of Saddleworth Moor. Pol in B, by Vini Reilly. I think of Pat, as a very young man, and Freya, a mere slip of a girl, but an earth mother before her time. A roadtrip I dubbed "a Day of Long Shadows", and lived to feel the weight of the words, watching those shadows edge their way to totality, in a kind of existential oblivion.
Winter city life, and an attempt to capture the story never told. I've been back there twice in a fortnight, and it still grabs my imagination. Lost in the hills, skidding around on the film of ice and snow beneath the wheels. I wanna change so much, but I'm slipping, and I slip too easily into lazy-mode. Is the best I can achieve a lazily objective study of the apathy that is the scourge of my creative and spiritual life?
posted by johnnytoobad at 4:04 pm
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