h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Dear Journal, Life and Times, and Some Other Things.



I'm offline for a couple of weeks, as from this weekend, so thought I had better present The Actor story, in all it's rough hewn almost-glory. heheh.

Have been mainly taking photos in funny lit up lightness, for the last week or so,

but tonight I managed to make some sense out of the absurd prose poetry that dances and spirals through my head, like some kind of 1960s shirt pattern. haha.

Who was The Actor? I wonder. I used to think he was a spirit guide or something, but in fact I think sometimes we can pick up on the atmospheres of others, and I think he was perhaps just a very quiet kind person. ?? Perhaps. This is based on a true story, slightly disguised. Like an Actor. heheh. hmm.

Now I have to change postings, for to print out the story ....

The Actor

I don't know why I called him The Actor, all those years ago. There was nothing theatrical about him at all.

It seems to be a fitting title though, given that the ghost of his memory keeps appearing on the various stages of my life, as if he has been there all the time, waiting in the wings.

It must have been the summer of 1976 when I first saw The Actor. It was in a winebar in South London, where I would regularly meet with a group of friends after work. We were young and full of hopeful idiocy.

He was much older, usually sitting alone, sipping brandy, reading or writing. Sometimes he would chat to the piano player who was there some nights, to play ambient background music.

The Actor had a kind of luminous magnetism, although at the time I could never describe it.

I somehow knew that he was very kind.

My friends would tease me, and say I was in love with him. It was never like that. And anyway, I was charmed by the confused young poet type, all ache and yearning and lost in the moonlight.

The Actor, I knew, was beyond such absurdity.

I'm sure he didn't find us very magnetic. We were just a group of kids drinking wine and talking crazy in the candlelight. I'm not sure he even noticed us.

Well, after a year or so we all moved on and made new lives in other cities, and I never thought much more about it all, at least not for a while.

Eventually I fell in love with a confused young poet type, and we were aching and yearning and lost in the moonlight. I would tell him about The Actor, and he would write peculiar poems about luminous magnetism.

Coincidentally, around this time, a friend from those days called me out of the blue, to tell me that she had just seen the piano player from the winebar in her local supermarket, which reminded her of that fellow I used to call The Actor.

It was often like this, from then on. I would think about The Actor, and there would be little glimpses of a memory ghost, waiting in the wings.

Kindness began to haunt me, with a yearning ache.

My poetic first love and I eventually lost each other in the moonlight, although just the other day my friend called me again to tell me that she thought she had seen him in her local supermarket.

I worry about her, I really do. I think she spends too much time in the supermarket. At least she didn't tell me that he was talking to the piano player.

She is bound to see The Actor in there one of these days.

I don't know why I called him The Actor. There was really nothing theatrical about him.

It seems a fitting title, though, as the ghost of his memory keeps appearing on the various stages of my life, as if he has been there all the time, waiting in the wings.

I somehow know that he was very kind.

That's lovely, thanks for sharing it.

PS

Byeeeee for now

Back on computer in a couple of weeks. Will catch up with etc and all things musical and poetic and antennaed.

Antennaed. This is not a word. Antennaed. Tis now. .

Oh, hullo mister! What you doing awake at one a.m.? Oh, it's not one a.m where you are. heheh. It's lunchtime or something.

Thanks for reading my Actor. So sweet you are, you never forget the marginal journalers like me. heheh. That is not a word either, journalers. I think my language went weird.

I love that weird language.

Have a wonderful trip.

mystique

a tale that could be set to real lives events

Hey CactusCafe, you back yet?

I missed you going by a couple of days so didn't get to say cheerio, so I'm getting in first with a welcome home when you get here

thank you for leaving The Actor before you left

his luminous magnetism, reminded me of a lady I met once who glowed, ho hum, you know how these trains of thoughts go

I'll tell you about it over fake baileys sometime if you like

Peanut

Hey!! Lovely to return to my hootoo friends! Been back awhile, but been catching up with busy things.

Buzz buzz went the Busy Thing, then stung me on my left ear. What?? Here I am, talking my usual sense. heheh. I just saw a flying insect called Busy Thing. In my imagination, I think,. .

Ah yes, The Actor, I thought about him after I wrote this, but didn't see him. Neither has my friend in the supermarket. Yet. It was good to write it.

I've been thinking about my late parents a lot.

Thanks for reading and sharing thoughts. I do appreciate it.

I experienced another magic dream image about a week ago, which is very healing, involving a gateway of energy, really incredible, bit flaky sounding I know, but hey. I will try to write more about it. Or create some photo images to try to represent it. Such a beautiful gateway. I call it my spirit gateway, whatever that means.

(pours fake Baileys)

So Peanut, if you ever want to share about the lady with a glowing presence, wow that's magic, , , I am completely fascinated and eager to hear, but only if it feels like a safe space and if you want, no pressure.

(sips fake Baileys)

exit pursued by the Busy Thing

PS

What's Text Enhance? It kept coming up on a highlighted word, when I previewed my last posting. Potentially I like Text Enhance. I want to tell it things, offer it fake Baileys, if it will introduce itself, and enhance the fragments of my brain. It appeared again when I previewed this posting, on the word offer. It didn't seem that interested in The Busy Thing.

F1926355?thread=533382

post 9 - one of my poems/verse

PS: feel free to add your own poems/verse - have to be your ownno on elses

Great poem, Prof the Poet I like the safety net over the Musicians' Pit. Great image.

I saw a pic the other day, can't remember where, of some dude doing a tightrope walk across some uncompromising canyon, with jaggedy rocks, and no safety net.

Not for me. Safety net is good.

Thanks for the invite to contribute some verse .... if I am ever called to swim again in the shivery quivery rivery waters of rhyme beyond time, to immerse myself in verse, I shall remember your kind invitation.





Hah! Splendid, I just emerged from complicated computer procedures to zap the Text Enhancer that was hovering over my text, which was Malware, not a friend of the poet, and not to do with, or hasn't harmed, my hootoo software.

It was an irritating, and mildly dangerous bug in my laptop that crawled in undercover of dark, using the tag of Text Enhancer to sell me inane and senseless commerical products.

I am getting quite good at complicated computer procedures, even though they give me a headache. I almost enjoy the labyrinths of data that exist behind my screen, snaking through a strange landscape of canyons and jaggedy rocks. No tightropes for me though. Need a safety net. . Like, sell the laptop for cash and eat marzipan sandwiches instead.

Marzipan sandwiches?? .



Now, to return to the luminous magnetism of the world, through the gateway of the spirit ....

I would be happy to share my story of the lady that glowed, as soon as I cobble together a post, I post it

can I grab a fake baileys all the same