Doug's Darkworld

I came across this picture on Snappygoat. I love it. On several levels. Pictures say a lot to me. So do words. I’ll never take a picture like this, but maybe if I write long enough I’ll eventually say something important. I heard once that people have the ability to talk so that if they ever have anything important to say, they can say it. That’s the diplomatic version. I’m going to keep trying. Writing at least, I usually only take my foot out of my mouth to change feet, so the less I talk the better.

I searched for a road picture because I took a one hour road journey with a friend the other day. She hardly said a word. It was wonderful. Time isn’t something that needs to be filled with words. Reality is amazing enough as it is. The trip reminded me of an encounter years ago in the lost country. A friend and I went to eat at a casino. A waitress served the entire meal for us, from meeting us at the door and all the service that follows, using just two words total. Elegant communication personified. She is my God. I should have proposed on the spot, but alas I was young and asleep. Life, an endless parade of lost opportunities.

As I reminisced about waitresses in casinos a friend contacted me, and he informed me that his friend had died. Suddenly and randomly. Oh Jeez. Mortality. I will hoist a few in his friend’s memory. I was lucky, I was middle age before someone close passed over. Recently, oh my, my friends and relatives are dropping like flies. This got me thinking, there was one exception, Jeffrey wasn’t lucky. Early 1960s. I was in first or second grade. He was my neighbour and friend. Died horribly. Age seven or so, he only experienced the beginning of life. All he could have experienced, gone. At the time, I didn’t get it. Now, I get it all too well. Such is death.

Trying to pin down what grade I was in then got me thinking. It was first or second. Pearl River, New York. I could reconstruct the date if I tried. Mid 1960s. I remember I left second grade early by a few weeks because we were moving to New Jersey. Haven’t thought about this in years, or decades. I remember packing up and leaving the classroom was really sad, because there were at least two girls in my class I really liked. My predilection for having girls as friends started early. Can’t even remember their names now. Or what they looked like even.

I hope they’re still alive. And have long rich lives behind and ahead of them still. I doubt our paths will ever cross, I doubt we would know if they did. Yet in some weird sense our lives are still intertwined. All lost to me. This is what I mean by the lost country. The past. And what the past could have been but wasn’t. All lost to time and lost chances. All lost to younger people especially. For them the nineties are what the fifties were to me as a child, ancient history.

And what could have been. In some universes my dad’s career stalled and I stayed in Pearl River, married one of those girls, and lived happily ever after. It’s a nice thought. Or maybe I haven’t met my true love yet. Or maybe it’s all about meeting one of those girls again. Stranger things have happened. I thought I might have met the one under a tree this last spring, but as in the song, it was just my imagination.

Which brings me back to the photo. It’s the same in either direction. But there can be warm stops along the way. My point though, such as a random assemblage of squiggles can make a point, is lost to me. It comes from time to time, but I can never get the words down fast enough. No matter how long one lives, every moment will be new. In the past few days I’ve seen a few things I never saw before. And never will again. Every moment is like that, one of an infinite number of moments that will never repeat again. However, if reality is such that infinite possibilities are played out, then each unique moment… repeats infinitely. Right? Most people think about their investments or sportsball, I think about the nature of infinity. And then I try to put those thoughts into words. Painting with words.

So no, Doug’s Darkworld is not going to turn into a podcast. I will keep writing and posting, for myself and for those who like the written word. I knew MTV was a huge deal when it hit, and kudos to them, but I’m sticking with the written word. I’ll post when I can. Have a great week everyone.

Copyright © 2019 Doug Stych. All rights reserved.

(Image: Road, mountains, winter. Looks like Nevada, could be Utah, maybe AZ or NM. Credit: Snappygoat image, released into the public domain like letting a balloon free.)