Review Summary: There’s something about the endless movement in airports.
There’s something about the endless movement in airports. I keep picturing a man with a briefcase staring longingly out of a giant window-wall at the tarmack. He’s neither late, nor early. He has no place to be other than there. Of course, this image is probably some spinoff of a scene from a film that my brain is throwing at me. Nevertheless, I can’t help feeling a deep swelling of melancholy. This melancholic tide surges over a reef of bizarre contentment and boils as waves of it break onto shore. I’m fine with the longing. I’ve adjusted to the emptiness that somehow fills me.
Still, there’s movement. There’s possibilities. There are places and people and things to see. Proper nouns throughout the world waiting for me to take the next step toward them. And these things could replace this longing that I feel with rich, fertile energy. These things could help me sleep at night. They have the potential to make feelings of happiness whisp by, at the very least.
For now, I’d rather wait. I’d rather leave these possibilities as they are. I’d rather leave the block uncarved. And it’s because I know, that any step I take in one direction, is a step away from another.
But I’ll be ok. I’ve got my coffee. I’ve got my muffin. And I have my headphones planted over my ears.
What am I listening to?
Brian Eno’s Ambient 1/Music For Airports. And by god, it’s beautiful.
It’s taking me everywhere I need to go and back. All of the places I could see, all of the nouns I could experience, can wait. In the meantime, I’ll venture outward with my eyes closed. And when I open them, I’ll still be in that airport, searching out that giant window-wall. Waiting for the next wave of melancholy, to crash over the reef of contentment. Waiting for nothing really. Just feeling ok with feeling not so ok.
