I go out walking, after midnight
04/04/2006
A few years ago I read a book. I know, not all that surprising as I read several dozen books a year, but this one has revisited my memory for a while. There’s something about the deeper meaning that I am appreciating just now, from afar. I suspect that the book is currently residing under a bed somewhere in London, I don’t know that I put enough stock in the book to even keep it in my travels, sometimes a concession is made and books are given away to charity shops or libraries.
I have searched the Internet and Library of Congress and the name in my head appears to be wrong. There are wide expanses of memory, filtering through, touching on the point, but, can I be sure that is the point, I cannot even remember the name of the book - just the cover art.
I suppose that is my lifelong failure. I will always be remembering the elements of some long forgotten text, and I will apply my own impression, my mistaken impression.
And the meaning, so clear now, not really thought about then, am I never going to be the end that works? I always thought that I was the one making it happen and that I was responsible for living an active life, there is nothing worse in life than passivity, but action, for the sake of action, may not be much of an improvement. Maybe, just maybe, all this time, I have been the end that didn’t work.
The Sergeant, the Film Executive, Some (Angry) Boy, maybe all of them were the ends that worked and I was the mis-fitted joint, leaking coolant and threatening the safety of the plant employees.
The point, and yes there is one, the character in the book that let his art work be assumed by another, he was willing to fade into the background, he wanted to be grey and let someone else take the spotlight, in the end the someone in the spotlight burned out and the one who was grey was shown to be of stronger character, solid morals, and deeper talent than anyone suspected.
Just saying, it’s funny, the one that works.