Infinitely Distracting

The things that may seem insignificant now, could well be even more so in the future.

Well, I am not steering home at all, but in the opposite direction, to a kind of non-home, perhaps never-to-be home, or then again, what do I know. A fortune teller I am not. Merely a swaying wayward adventurer.

Of nights I have seen many. Nights of pure fancy. Nights of boundless energy, others of inexplicable lethargy. Frantic nights rife with antics and misbehaviour. Unrepeatable nights of unrestrained fervour...

I ponder nights. I ponder myself pondering nights, this night that stretches and stretches, out and out and out and out...

On you fly, on a different tangent to the sun—just a glow now—an arc of orange light, sailing on you go, into the night, in peace, into nowhere, released, high above the Earth, your beautiful wings spread, new blood pumping through your veins, new language in your head, those engines roaring gently outside your porthole.

Down below, the city you leave is turning like some kind of mechanical toy in a shop window. You are nowhere now, hanging in suspension, high above the Earth in your winged, metallic cocoon, drinks trolley already rattling down the aisle, to fill with sips the emptiness, the enigma of departure.

As dusk settles—a gentle afterthought and subtle show of colour, tangerine to rose, mauve to indigo—the sun slips down behind the back of the stage, briefly infuses then fades, leaving brushstrokes of clouds deftly done and momentarily aglow.

Engines ignite and suddenly you are accelerating down a runway … towards tomorrow.

I took on a night job, with the aim of saving up for a ticket to somewhere, working as a night watchman in the city house of horrors, a gothic-looking building on the side of a hill, surrounded of course, by twisted and bare spindly trees, reaching up at the moon. (Ending with a song from the album "Moving Along" 2006)

Could it simply be that, really, the heart is a lonely hunter, always was and always will be.