This is the last of the fine weather days, it said on the news this morning. Rain tomorrow, and the north wind. I won’t be able to have the windows open as I do now, and let the air move through the flat. The flat is not even dark, as it usually is – or rather, its darkness is like the shade that is welcome because it is part of a sunny day. I found out yesterday I would not have to draw a line under this part of my life; this was welcome, as would have been the opposite outcome.
Was it last Sunday that, bored in the office, seeing the football fans lined up in their seats in the stadium from the stairwell, I received an invitation to go out for drinks and then to eat with others, my friends? I thought: would I want to leave here? Should I want to – and for what? Further North, in another city, I would have had a different life. What would have happened there? And what would have happened here where I had left, that was no longer my ‘here’?
Eventful year! Who was it that said yesterday, I’m interested in the non-event? I thought, without saying it, so am I. And then, how to discover it again, the year of the non-event, the year that unlimits this and every year? Is it dark matter that will put the universe back to a single, smouldering point? Is it that secret force which will bring it back to its inception?
Forking paths: the event is joined to the non-event. What happens does not happen, and it is the non-event that steers everything back to the beginning. But what begins and what ever began that did not carry around it the nimbus of non-beginning?
None of that this morning, in this fine, clear weather. None of it: perhaps later this summer, bright day following day, there will be a time when it is that the summer lies down and that, as it does so, divides itself. Above the grass, in the summer haze, the event will slip out of phase with itself, or reveal, as if for the first time, what has never occurred.
Lars Iyer's Blog 