A Capture Mechanism for Enthusiasm
‘The world certainly wasn’t perfect but that night I didn’t have to contend with an unmadeness’
‘The world certainly wasn’t perfect but that night I didn’t have to contend with an unmadeness’
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It begins when I put my head down. And regardless of the day I have had it comes over quite quickly and almost suddenly – but not really, as it’s well timed and has made its arrival like clockwork. But there is a kind of suddenly as I am immediately in it. And I know I am immediately in it because I am searching for a thought, or an image to recall that will counter the thing that comes every night. Your invisibleness. Your unfleshyness. Your goneness.
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Midnight in a Perfect World is the starting point for continuously-numerous and ongoing aspirations. They have long been my trustee and I theirs. The world certainly wasn’t perfect but that night I didn’t have to contend with an unmadeness.
<body>:
It’s 1996, and apart from the last Teddy Riley jams, soon to be eclipsed by Darkchild bangers, I have on repeat and a phase of dressing like Keisha, whatever I did you were there. What was to become midnight in a perfect world can neither be recalled. It’s this twiceness of goneness that makes it, all the more visceral. It’s a blue-bruised joy. But joy nonetheless.
