the illegitimacy of expectation

remembrance, sudden shifts in perception based in and around enfolding memories, heightened (as they are always there) by the cohesion of seemingly disparate events, sequences, played according to choices made throughout the day, and on and on it goes.

to come down to a level, watching the film ‘the untouchables’, drawn back to Uchel Dre, a bungalow once owned by my Nain in the vale of Kerry, a building, i have memories of, certainly, but not of any form in relation to the content contained therein. I think i remember the film playing on the old black and white tv set, it was placed in the large entrance hall, on top of the white circular rug that dominated the room, but this doesnt seem right. Nain would not have allowed that. It is much more likely that the TV had been taken out of the kitchen and placed in one of the spare rooms in the hope of entertaining me, it was probably in the room before the large wicker chair, as my grandads room was further on down the hall, and in all the years i visited that house, i not once went in there. but which memory, origins of fused recollection, am i to lean towards, as i am now, as i was then, standing on one spot.

it was, and is, as if patterns are drawn between the rooms, the outside, everything i can hear and cannot hear. the wind heard through the bushes and coming in through the open window as something else entirely, although it would be something else entirely if the bushes were somewhere else entirely. i have always opened windows, a trait, i think, inherited from my Nain. such sound altering my habits, stopping starting in time with tacit preconceptions, most of what i hear i do not comprehend, 6 years old and preternaturally incredulous, discovering for the first time. the many ears and memories of the encompassing tangle of repetitive motion. to go back to that bungalow, to share in those sounds as if i had been listening there ever since, had not stopped listening there ever since. realising that no sound, indeed no thing, is of no less significance than anything else.

memories as these, often hoped by chance, are all different ways of interpreting one world, a language of dimensions, such dimensions could be heard to be opening up in different ways, the world appearing under different aspects. perception dictates that the everyday world is the basic world, the nearest experience, negating human nature, remaining on the levels of the everyday, known simply as a series of tasks, momentary enjoyments. to exist as new dimensions of the world are opened, even if only brief, in looking out. a centre on which the world reflects back, so that each and every person is made up of an infinite amount of microcosms, worlds in miniature.

everything, our self world, is, self, contained, neither here nor there. where does listening start?