Some apparitions are noteworthy whatever plans I have, so those who enjoyed mention of my friend Lauren (in Dakar when this was a life and ideas jotting pad and suchlike), may like to know this September 14 was the day she turned up.
In flesh and blood, I mean, me at work and she in transit. I was right, she looks lovely and is, someone befriended with little but a phone since it feels like forever. She got herself hitched last month. If you think that's private, I thought she was pulling legs about an eponymous wedding web site; I mean who'd do that?
Well, it seems she was telling the truth, the barmy woman.
You don't call the buddies I've got left "corny" particularly if they say so themselves, is that clear? But you may wish her well once she returns to Africa later this week.
A headful of 'Apparitions' (Amazon Fr link)' from Hungry Lucy has been particularly appropriate listening since last night, including some vocal preludes so apposite to other appearances of my day. I forgot Lauren was coming until after I woke up. Once I'd have logged screeds about how synchronicity's kicked in again.
 The woman in sepia is Cynthia Dall.
Cynthia's a bid to set my clock back since she knows 'Sound Restores Young Men'. If you want personal stuff, I could do with restoring. To be honest, after often crying wolf and expressing kinship with those beasts, it's now almost two months since a last deeply personal entry, in the orchard, but that proved this time to be a life-changing experience.
I won't touch those words but am a long way from getting over what happened that night and its deep impact. Enough people now know, so I might as well own up in public: what's the use of a journalist who suddenly finds after 30 years on the job he can no longer stomach violence and horror except in limited doses?
They shoot horses, don't they?
Well, it seems they won't shoot me, but I'm pacing life differently. The funniest, nicest term somebody came up with for what's been happening inside my head since that Night of Unknowing spoke of "your glitching synapses".
Funny; and clinically accurate enough, so I'm told.
Appearances can be deceptive, like apparitions. I've overslept twice badly of late and people have been patient about this slowdown, while most always knew the court jester for what he really is.
Cynthia Dall's demure sepia image is just as deceptive. This poet is pointing out, as she does with a CD cover that's not much more than a large red blob, "I may seem monochromatic, but just try me!"
She's an incitement to the touchy-feelies and gives false assurance -- with a very sweet voice often enough -- in songs like 'Be Safe with Me' and 'I'm Not Tempted', when the truth is she's extremely tempted, sings about it and has two tracks I find particularly outstanding, called 'Nest of Dead Children' and 'Snakeblood and Vodka'.
The latter is one of the "fly-away strangely" numbers I enjoy when on the move, almost eight minutes long and a devilishly successful combination of angelic vocals and catchy, menacing and chunky sound.
I found Cynthia under "rock".
Heaven knows why; very occasionally she does rock, but works from little sounds to come close to being a minimalist in the way she'll start frequently off just one or two notes on guitar or a wide range of keyboards and hypnotise you.
Along with snake's blood, there's plenty of rattle and the overall effect is a haunting one, like Hungry Lucy on 'Apparitions', which have since been revisited (that's their place, the link).
There'll be more to say of the poets who work subtly on our minds, they can be highly illuminating however dark and subterranean they are; songs on 'Apparitions' have a radiance reminding me of miners' stories about the light in the gems deep beneath the surface in the earth.
I've done so much talking and writing that subterranean changes mean learning to listen. Sometimes I hear people best when they're not there, but what they say or do about life creeps into my morning meditations. If you don't listen, you can search for harmony all you want and frequently kid yourself you've found it.
Some recent experiences make it more obvious than ever how when with others, what goes unsaid is often a source of more insight than spoken words. In all kinds of ways.
Without silence, there'd be no music, would there?
__________
*The allusion is partly musical, partly a nod to my favourite writer. In my version of her collection 'The Wind's Twelve Quarters', that story's in vol. 1. But it's 25 years old!
11:24:14 PM link 
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