Angie Mack writes a wonderful blog entitled Satellite for Entropy. She does other things too obviously, but it’s through this blog that I came to know her. She lives far away in a land full of poisonous animals but, in between trying to stay alive, she has taken the time to contribute ‘Why I Love #3.
I don’t really know what to title this one, so I’ll just let you read it yourselves. And remember, if you’d like to contribute a piece you can do so by dropping me a line at email@example.com
Do check out Angie’s blog. In the meantime, enjoy:
I was sure I was going to have an epiphany, that a revelation of sorts would occur somewhere down the line if I just gave it enough time. When I decided to write this, I thought it would be easy purely because there are countless things in the world that I love, some of them easy to explain why, some of them impossible, but I felt confident there would be at least one which would ultimately become the obvious choice. So I sat down with my thoughts every so often and examined them and the things I love, piece by piece like they were a box of old things I’d brought out to see if there was something I could dust and make all shiny.
I say old things because this process is not something new to me. I spend a lot of my time simply thinking; examining and exploring the intricacies I find in things – in music, in words and stories, in the world…in myself. I think that there are microcosms, little worlds of thought, to be found within everything. Thoughts which can be delved into and where the possibilities for discovering connections to other things is potentially infinite, perhaps limited only by the scope of what I know, understand and what I’m prepared to include in those thoughts.
When I write about the things I love, I tend to meander quite a bit, stray from the point (if I even have one) and often leave thoughts unfinished – sometimes because they can’t be ‘finished’, they exist without conclusion and just like to wander about in various places, taking a sightseeing tour and meeting up with other strays from anywhere and everywhere. It’s similar to what would happen when my mother brought out the box she kept under her bed.
When I was very young, sometimes on rainy days or just when the mood struck her, she would take it out and we would sit on her bed as she went through the things she kept in there – momentoes – and told me stories. Her hands would trace over faces in photographs, familiar to her but always strangers to me, while she told me who they were and things they once said, which would inevitably lead into other memories and stories. My understanding of the places she’d travelled, the memories she shared, was very limited and I’ve long since fogotten many of the details of the things she told me, but not the significance of reasons why she kept all those things, or the sheer pleasure of the ritual, which I now use almost every time I think about anything.
And so, when I sat down with my thoughts, I wanted to find something of similar significance to me and out came all the things I love and have kept to one side in the hope of one day finding the right way – or in some cases the courage – to tell their stories. At the top are the reasons why I love music, and why I love writing about it. Then there is my love of words themselves – a word that is a shape-shifter and speaks sometimes like Shakespeare, other times like Homer Simpson. There are books of ancient fairy tales, pebbles, old jewellery, new boots, stars, cheese, empty bottles of perfume, ticket stubs, colours and maybe even a universe in there, which makes the task of finding just one thing to talk about a difficult challenge, but I love going through them, remembering why they’re important, imagining other things or simply indulging in the process of thought.
Which is one of the things I love most, those moments in time when my mind wanders as it wonders, and I will invariably love anything that gives me the opportunity to do just that. As to the reasons why… I’m going to have to think about it some more.