Take Five

Take one. Athens.
Jazz on the iPod. Slow morning.
Slow, sunny, sweet, comfortable morning
that fits my skin like a warm, well-worn, woolly sweater.
Cold morning that wakes up my mind and my hands,
feeling dry and crackish
yet oddly fulfilled.
Piercing cold breeze on my nose
and earlobes, cold, cold rush of winter
surrounding my new beginnings.

I have woken up to a new day.

Take two. Still Athens.
You at work. Swing rhythm matching your pace throughout the day.
Cut to big screen images of digital boards
flashing ever changing prices
going up
down
down
up up up up
crashing down
it's falling
woo-hoo
roller coaster ride
get going
let's lock
-ooof.

Change of rhythm.
Jazz intermezzo
as the clarinet solos its way, strolling along.

Time
extends.

Light percussion
signals that the heat is on
in the background
waiting to be unleashed by the market forces.
Slowly building up.

Ta-da-ta-da
ta-ta
ta-da
ta.

And here we go.
We're off again.

You sway through all this in utter mastery
of your body's movements,
dance of life, celebration of vivacity in pure calmness,
the expectation of the future
waiting to burst forth like a pregnant fruit.
Dance!

Take three. NYC, centre of the universe.
Masses of little ants rush their way in the financial district
and as they move northwards they
slow
down,
they shed their skin,
away fly ties and jackets,
business cases get lost
among the
tippity
tippity
tap
of feet-

Wham!
Enter through the invisible gates of 42nd
and here we go

slow rush slow rush slow

it's a beautiful morning in fall after all
and New York smells like newly sharpened pencils.


Take four. Lunch on the Thames.
Coffee brewing smell enters my nostrils
as the train pulls in Waterloo station.
People get off
get on
carrying lives, memories, hopes
carrying the universe on this day.
A
static
array
of images
like on a roll of film.
People get off get on
day in day out.
Static,
like paintings.

And suddenly you project it on the screen and it starts playing and-
-miracle of miracles!-
change, movement, time!
The world is no longer motionless and yet it always is!

Ah, the illusions that our brains can digest.

Zoom into my own, small, personal movie.
Cut, frame-

boarding on train, looking back, nostrils detecting the smells of London
Beloved smells, filled with past promise, memories of home.
Warm afternoons under blankets
gazing lazily outside the window
tall trees flashing green in the weak sunshine.
The idea of happiness mingled with the
pitty pat of
kitty feet on
wooden floors
and the sounds of my lover busying about in the kitchen.
Bach's Brandenburg concertos s t r e a m lightly
among the newly washed white sheets.

Cut, back to action-

I step on the Eurostar to Paris,
fulfilled in my knowledge of the past and eager to meet my future.

Take five. Paris.
Late afternoon.
It's already dark and the cabs are
whooshing
down cobble stoned streets
outside Gare du Nord.
I don't smoke, yet I light a cigarette
- no philosopher should be allowed
to enter Paris without a pack of cigarettes
to remind her that she is of mortal
yet magnificent coil-
L'argot fills my ears
as I close my eyes
and am surrounded
by a sea of
Algerian Jamaican Polish Chinese
vernacular.
Sweet, sweet soft
dark chocolate neo-french
of les mahgrebins.
Acid smells
mingled with the sound of cars splashing by.
It's cold and smelly but hey,
c'est Paris.

Tic toc tic toc tic toc

seconds and minutes go by

Screeching tyres in front of me
A taxi door opens and I am summoned in:
Μπες μέσα.
I enter the leather-clad interior smelling of weed
and my pores are attacked by the warmth
and the dark fabrics
and the feel of cracked leather under my palms.

I turn and am met by two vibrant, dark peacock green eyes,
the colour of the abyss.
And then you whisper:
welcome to my world

and I am overcome
by a hot, tender, balming sensation.

Black out.
I am home.
Cut to Dave Brubeck, "take five".