{THE PILL BOX } spacer
powered by blogger




Hey, citizens!
Now, come on, call off the search party, dear hearts, haven't disappeared off the face of the earth just yet. Only:

i} It's deadline week, lots of reviews for The Wire

ii} It's IP Birthday Week, so no need to search for a party, altho a semi reformed Pill Box do these days is decidedly less DionysIAN {tho' no less carnivalesque) than certain all-week blow-outs past ...

iii} Something regrettable has emerged from the past to severely vex me; to wit, an unbelievably nasty LIBEL would you credit it ... and thus it's consider my options time, it's consult a lawyer and/or consult Crowley's Magick in Theory and Practice, and so if you have in the recent past been "responsible" for a completely mean spirited, stab in the back and above all UNTRUE libellous statement about my time at the NME ... well, "friend", think on ...

One thing I will say in re the latter vexation, tho', is that, an inadverantly pleasant side effect, as also with Pill Box correspondance in general, is that it's made me realise just how lucky I am. Not only that I, personally, have not turned into some bitter flailing old wrung out stuck-in-the-past hack, but that I am surrounded by LOVELY people, friends, e friends, supporters, letter writers ... all of you.
And so can I just take this opportunity of my birth date to thank you all and wish you all nothing but truly heartfelt LOVE and apawlogise for continued failure to answer all/most e mail, which please don't imagine it isn't opened and read and appreciated and in some cases makes me feel quite humbled and lit up and loved and gee but you folks are the smartest, loveliest, most urbane and all round GORGEOUS readership a guy could wish for ...

Which, I mean, it doesn't rebalance the scales of Justice, per se, in re this specific and HATEful slur; but in karmic or something terms, it really does make all the difference in the world.

Yesterday, nothing special, just strollin' + singin' rockin' + rollin' down Seven Sisters, as you do, I had one of Abraham Maslow's "peak experiences" [I think that's the term]: just suddenly flooded with non specific everyday JOY; which kinda went hand in paw with the realisation (partly thrown into relief, it must be said, by JUST how desperate and desperately unhappy and booze strafed and crack pipe edgy SO MANY fellow citizens looked to be: so sad, so widespread psychic triage somehow ...} that I really have a pretty peachy life, full of good stuff, and good people, and good potential could I just shift my skinny ass up a gear or two ...

Same thing sorta happened on Saturday last just outside Clissold Park: when I came across this girl contentedly struggling with three or four [I think] daschunds on their multi leash, so cute (some of 'em smaller than some of my CATS!} and I caught myself blooming into the fondest fellow pet owner smile, and I looked up and the dog handler girl returned my smile with this BIG OPEN BEAM of her own which just ... melted me. And I mean - this wasn't wink wink boy-girl stuff, (or not just, or very little) it was just EROS in the widest application of that word, life is good, and also cos I am so used to and FED UP with people STARING at me in the street or supermarket if I'm smiling or singing, staring like it's ME that's some kind of desperate case, ME with the problem!, and it can get you down, y'know, and this was the opposite, strict English social defences down, OH JOY, sweet & open & disinterestedly lovely ... and I have no idea who you are, anonymous pawgirl, and doubtless our paths will never cross again, but like that little mnemonic speech in - is it Magnificent Ambersons or Citizen Kane? - I can imagine never forgetting that drop-dead or rather come-alive UN GUARDED smile, for the rest of my days ...
... sometimes, in the city, such simple unadorned un "special" signs can redeem a world of downs or perplexity or lost faith. And not that I wasn't already in a fairly tip-top frame of mind, as it went, but ... if anyone in Clissold Park or environs knows a girl who walks daschunds, tell her THANKS from this paw boy. And that in his book, a street-level smile like that is worth a thousand billion 'it girls' or tabloid cover-snap addicts, boob-job dinosaurs, or bony up-themselves models or Big Brother flashers or lad mag phantasy dolls ...

As the quietly wise Paul Buchanan put it in one of The Blue Nile's most moving and movingly lastingly resonant moments:


++ ---- ++

So: Love & thanks to you all: I.P. {at time of signing off, 43 years, 11 months, 30 days, 7 hrs and 53 mins ... x.

posted by Ian 8/05/2003 07:56:00 PM

Comments: Post a Comment