the gift she gave to me

the gift she gave to me - its often difficult for me to think of something harder, something explicit and concrete, anyone who has followed my whereabouts for any period of time is all too aware of this. its all sight, all touch, all sense-impressions mixed with abstract thought-- the love of the idea over the reality. the manner in which one frames an event, no matter how ridiculous. as long as it has an over arching purpose, or is explicitly the opposite, strangely all surface, it somehow keeps my interest, it goes beyond any kind of rational inquiry. oh, how i wish it would warm up a bit, so i could go for a long walk without freezing, so i wouldn't feel so housebound all the time. the inquiry continues: i answer with my petty troubles, my upset, my sweet discontent. i keep my body within a certain degree of control, that is my ambition anyway- it probably is as far from the truth as possible. my mind goes away again dreaming. a few moments ago, as I was walking home, i wondered about nostalgia, and whether it is by definition somewhat sugar coated, my inclination is to say no, that would be too sentimental, too kitsch. nostalgia can have an endearing harsher edge. i try to remember the good times, but too often sadness is mixed with joy, too often what i wish for nearly comes true. i can sense when something isn't entirely right, or when it will meet my expectations up to a point. i know i shouldn't force the issue but there are times when, well times when i feel i need to push it just to get answers, just to learn, how to plan my next move, when to persist and when to sit and wait. i am reminded of the silent, color 8mm bits of Alain Tanner's "Dans la ville blanche" (In the white city)-- what a beautiful film.