The Unquiet Sun, My Bank Account, and Knitters Anonymous (KA)

Today I looked at the sun, then put it back. Who am I to deprive others' of sunlight, or the experience of seeing another enchanting sunset? By contrast, consider those people who feel the heat of this bright, fiery ball, yet may have lost, or never had, the ability to perceive visual images.

In any event, I tend to do my best work when surrounded by flat, impersonal images silkscreened by Andy Warhol or Roy Lichenstein; listening to Ifukube on my 120 GB iPod (which contains a complete history of the universe); smelling glossy magazine covers, and listening to my wife, dog, and myself, snoring on separate BT Baby Monitors wall-mounted a foot from my bed. When we snore in unison it is not dissimilar to a composition by Philip Glass, except for the absence of tedious repetition.

A tabloid headline has prompted my new poem, "Headless Body In Topless Bar”. The opening lines require a certain subtle, aesthetic sensibility; the closing couplet must be sharp, finely crafted, and include reference to a hat, a new remedy for headaches, and conflicting evidence that an invisible dancing pink zebra was at the scene.

I've come to the conclusion that time and space no longer exist. Neither does my bank account - it lies frozen. Why it decided to holiday in Iceland defies rationality. My inescapable financial straits follow me everywhere. I'm at my wit's end - not a long distance, I know - but try getting there during a bus and subway strike.

Today, I visited the bank. First, I had to recover my memory which was recuperating at a local day spa. It seemed pleased to see me. As I entered the bank a lady at reception gazed at me with a distracted air, wearing - at least - three days' growth of beard.

She was unsmiling, and her tone, words, and pattern of speech failed to conceal boredom, irritation, or distraction of some sort. When she advised the manager would see me now, I asked why she could not smile. I advised that her failure to smile made me unhappy, and had ruined my day. As a consequence, I would meet the manager in a miserable mood, drive home in anxious silence, open the door to my house in a distressed manner, interact in any conversation with my wife with rage, kick the cat, and refuse to feed the dog. Indeed, her cynical manner filled me with anger.

I believe she sighed as I walked towards the manager's office. I told myself that in the face of despair words are powerless. I didn't speak for two weeks. No-one noticed any difference. No even me.

Aware off my failure to write anything of worth in English I've decided my next play will be in French. Being monolingual is a hindrance, I know, but I've a great title: The Wild Hollyhock (La rose trémière sauvages); everything else will be an afterthought.

I recalled my mother had been half French, half English, and part mallard. She had short legs and didn't like swimming, especially in water. The play will include a firm handshake, and a green, plastic vase. I must create strong characters, and something for them to say, otherwise it will be a joke.

How many people are aware that Attila the Hun, Beethoven, Mozart, and King Henry VIII were compulsive knitters? Indeed, the execution of Anne Boleyn was delayed by an hour due to King Henry dropping a stitch while simultaneously gazing at a "Hot Housewives Special Edition" of Playboy magazine.

Knitting sites are now the most viewed sites on the Internet after "google.com" according to a recent survey carried out by an Auto Worker at a factory in Antarctica. Do the following questions and answers surprise you?

Questions
1. Men don't knit.

2. Knitting is a woman's hobby.

3. Knitting has always been associated with women.

4. Russell Crowe has nits.

Answers

1. False

2. False

3. False

4. True (However, they belong to Christian Bale - currently on holiday in the Aran Islands. His agent hopes the rest will prove beneficial. His constant ranting that his best role was: "Playing a Knitter from Hell”, was driving his friends nuts.

The fastest growing craze on this planet is knitting and crocheting. My addiction started when I read a copy of "Stitch 'n Bitch" in the dentist waiting room. Soon I was knitting till the early hours, then night after night, out with friends, going to the bathroom. It didn't occur to me that my actions were in anyway pathological. I was using terms like, "I'm in the Zone," and "Pass me some thread, man." I was constantly getting new patterns and visiting sites like "MenKnit.net" and "menwhoknit.com".

When I started to use tooth picks and thread to knit a "beanie hat" for my pet peppered moth called 'Pass the salt, please', I knew my life was out of control. I sought help through Knitters Anonymous (KA) - a worldwide fellowship of men who share a desire to stop knitting - and it seems to be working. The only downside is that I used knitting as a calming distraction. However, I'm now making customized underwear for young, single/married woman, and it seems to help me relax.

Reflections: Some people read so many newspapers, magazines, news-sites, blogs, there is a real danger they may start to believe all they read. Lying has always existed, and some elements of the the mass media, some politician's, some television and radio producers - seeking to optimize viewer and listener ratings - may intentionally distort the truth about those who do not hold power.

If able, we should challenge, where possible, the misuse and abuse of language from whatever source it comes, for the sake of integrity, and our collective sanity.