Monday, February 18, 2008

Freeform ramblings, metempsychosis, etc.

I have not left my little opium loft for nearly a week. I am cabin feverish and am frequented by terrifying hallucinations. Why just yesterday I imagined myself sitting atop a stone bench in ancient Athens while listening to Pythagoras expound upon metempsychosis, when all of a sudden he began squeaking wildly. I watched in astonishment as his philosopher's beard turned into ratty old fur and he peeled off his mask to reveal, well, a mask. Before I knew it he had turned into my dear, dead pet, Cerberus Weasel, and at that moment I both understood and was stupefied by the soul's transmigration. What ever will become of me? Will I turn into a graceful swan or a filthy swine? Or will I be destined to eternally recur as Nigel Tewksbury, Aesthete / Recluse? As an undergraduate I grew convinced that Nietzschean recurrence was the only possibility--for how else could I act if I had not acted that way an infinite many times before? I am not one of those idiots who believe in free will, you see, at least not in a simple version (I admit, it does make some sense if one presupposes there are 7 dimensions of existence--but I am yet to witness numbers 6 and 7 so remain a little skeptical). At the time, eternal recurrence of the same was a dreadful thought to me, but I eventually grew to see the humour in it, no small part as a result of watching the Bill Murray film, "Groundhog Day." If you have not seen it, I highly recommend it.

My visions have become quite regular. On Sunday morning I could not get out of bed. I know not if I was dreaming or sleeping, but I lay beneath the covers in a state of paralysis while seeing myself rolling through verdant grass on a hilltop. I rolled and I rolled and I then noticed my manlihood grow full and turgid. It was marvelous! The paralysis then lifted and I opened my eyes, descended to the kitchen, and brewed some Kopi Luwak. I cannot remember who said it (was it you Reginald?), but, "it is much easier to rise from bed if one first experiences a rise in the pants."


Caitlin said...

I'd like you to know that I enjoy looking in at your imagination. Please keep offering the world these darling glimpses.

Nigel Tewksbury said...

Many thanks, dear Caitlin. Your comment warms my fast-cooling heart. Perhaps one day there will be an ember again.



Anonymous said...

Nigel, please spare us your neuro/psychological/philosophical ramblings you dreadful immortal boob.

Yes, I am responsible for that crass expression. I am a tad embarrassed, but the nineties are largely a psychotropic haze. I could have said nearly anything. Like the time I exhorted to Gregor, "här är det full fart med jobb och allt annat man ska hinna med. I helgen ska vi till Sundsvall, det ska bli skönt att komma bort några dagar och få träffa släkten. My my, it took me a while to live that one down."

My my, that did take some time to live down. I recall retiring to my expanse for a fortnight to contemplate. Edwina left Groundhog Day on repeat on the computer machine and I did not notice for a day and a half.

Well, I do prattle on so I'll end it here.

Perhaps I'll invite Basia over for a Little Waltz. That, dear Nigel, is a euphemism for the high hard one. Ha! And ta.