14:23
I just had to change my trousers. My other leggings were making the skin fall off my legs. Might be the washing powder. Bloody hurts. So I changed back into my cycling leggings, which are at least fleecy on the inside. I'm standing in the photocopier room cursing at the machine for taking so long to copy and Phil (non-consensus) sidles up to me in a manner that would have been Coyote-esque if it hadn't been so forthright, and says "Have you any idea how damn gorgeous you look in those?" I spluttered and coughed and said something along the lines of "You what?!" Then I realised I had spoken out loud.
Ah well.
13:31
Trainsong
I love travelling by train. I used to hate it. Trains, planes, automobiles - all modes of transport that present certain problems for an empath, involving, as they do, being shut up in a metal box with other people. Cars, being of limited size, are not really a problem any more, especially as I can quite happily go to sleep in a car. Planes are still a bit of an issue, especially as the problem is quite difficult to explain. You can't really start rambling on, wide-eyed and staring, to a stewardess about critical density and Faraday cages.
Trains, now trains I have come to love. The secret is the personal stereo. I couldn't do it without one. Music piped directly to one's ears is a great way of shutting out a great mass of signal from other people, and I can stop worrying about 3D enough to give the visual input as much realism as a cinema screen. The empathy is still impossible to block, but trains don't seem to make very good Faraday cages, so that's just a question of focusing outside.
If you can ignore smell (occasionally difficult), you are left with the extraordinary experience of travelling effortlessly through an ever-changing landscape to your own personal soundtrack, complete with a peculiarly soothing, almost sub-sonic, thrumming vibration from the train itself. I have found nothing else so conducive to visionary experiences as a long, solo (important) train journey, preferably in daylight, accompanied by nothing more than a selection of tapes and something on which to play them.
Select a tape, set the mood. Classic FM is another favourite choice. The Land slides by just beyond reach, green hills and collapsing walls inviting speculation. Everything shifts, presenting a series of vignettes that blend together and yet are nevertheless separate. Distant topography appears mysterious; nearby urban landscapes somehow devoid of context and surreal. I am teased by glimpses of silvery water, haunted by the possibilities represented by the warm, friendly glow in a farmhouse window.
The band plays on. Scenery whips past. Houses right next to the track now, gone as soon as they are there. In addition to the train's rumbling I can hear the occasional whoosh as we speed past a track-side structure. The light is failing and the Land seems both to be shifting with a greater sense of urgency and not shifting at all. In the growing darkness it is difficult to see with my eyes but I can feel it swimming through my outwardly-turned senses. I stare through the window at the night.
When all there is is a shifting world and the thread of the music, there is no need to have form. Freed from the gravity of context, my mind can breathe.
I love travelling by train.