Out of some barren rage or quiet burning, I begin this now (in a slow chugging crawl) at the beginning. I admit, I’ve been meaning to enlist some portion of my time for quite awhile to splash these meandering messages on the soft of my screen but have only just gotten down to doing it. And now I’ve finally dunnit. Yes, the 26th of February on the stroke of midnight, as a matter of fact. Clock-hands almost joining palms in respectful greeting as I type…No, that won’t do, there’s no getting away from the time. Oh, spell it out, spell it out: at the precise instant of my arrival at wordpress independence, I tumbled forth into this world. There were gasps. And, outside the window, fireworks and crowds and stray dogs howling at the moon. And a few seconds later, the wife fell asleep.
But here, aboard the train, I must forget these awkward beginnings and turn my gaze at the slow passing present. I must move fast, faster than Scheherazade, if I am to end up meaning – yes, meaning – something. And so, I commence the business of remaking a small portion of my existence: A locomotive journal of broken entrances and exits. A rushdiean excess of intertwined lives events miracles places rumours, so dense a commingling of the improbable and the mundane.
The train is a swallower of lives; and to ride it, you’ll have to swallow the lot as well.
