Small Inspiration
Ennui | "I picked up this pen because I felt I could write something beautiful."
Something new, from something old. Sometimes a thing needs time to ripen and age before it is ready. Stories, especially the kind found in photos and through the pen, are perfect examples of such things.
December 30, 2020
Sitting on my couch, the sound of Herbie at the piano fills the room and the pages of Apartamento turn softly in my hands. I should be working. As I turn yet another page the record ends and I rise to set the needle back to the beginning for the fourth time. I resume my position with the cat nestled in a blanket between my legs.
For once the guilt of not working does not bother my American sensibilities. Herbie has left no chance of that. If we should ever meet I must remember to thank him.
The people in this edition of Apartamento are wonderful and interesting. I find myself lost in time whilst occupied with these people, like a voyeur peeking through a narrow hole. I only break my rapture to remind Herbie to keep playing.
As the afternoon light fades into early winter evening, I look outside and see pink clouds suspended over Los Angeles. I put down the magazine and look and look. I look until I am somewhere far away. Then, I feel something stir within me and arrive here. I picked up this pen because I felt I could write something beautiful.