a man walking into town towards erro, a prefix written from the present, a week…

I was young then. I didn’t know how young. How could I? Alone in the warm water, I closed my eyes, my eyes and head ached from a night of too much talking. The more I realized that I didn’t really want to talk with them, with anyone really, the more I had to talk. Especially amongst people like those in the house with relationships founded on desire. Breathing in the steam from the hot bath water, the weight of the water, gently lapping as I move. My tiredness and feverishness (such a nice word feverishness) were dissolving in the water and I thought of the last time I had been in the inner suburbia for hours like this when I was on my own, before the relationships became polyamorous. Which happened because of the woman in the house who was laughing between words with him, then there had been a few bombs, buses and trains blown up. Then I’d been stuck for a day or so; then weeks, then months, normality returned slowly. Splash, splash, I soaped a foot and ankle. As long as you can forget yourself in a bath or shower life is. valuable. In the bath, I pick up the book I’m reading on schzioanalytical cartographies. Whilst I read a few sentences, my hands supporting the book. above the surface of the water, I thought about how the peacefulness of. being in the bath contrasted with the overwrought emotional night, a long. weekend of talking, symbolic exchanges as we tried and failed to stabilize the relationships. This was the weekend when it ended. The flow of countless words, conflicting with the unstable desires, projects filled with words, phrases and symbols. I realized over the long impossible saturday into sunday evening and monday morning that liking one another, love and desire probably wasn’t enough. The bath was pleasantly hot. I. read another half of a page. perhaps more. Had I been too ambitious entering into this relationship? I thought of the ambitious people, pale, often convulsed faces – were they more relaxed now in the other room. Were they now more relaxed as they thought of going to work this morning. Were they more relaxed in this hour? was it peaceful? They were more driven, more ambitious than I was it turned out. How had I not known that? It seemed to me as I put the book back on the table, that we, them and I had never relaxed for a moment. Perhaps decades ago when I was still a child, before my over ambitious parents tried to impose their ludicrous values on me, perhaps then I had been able to relax. Now though as I think of rising from the bath I think my life still reflected theirs. Did I want to be with these people I liked. I can scarcely remember the year when my father grew ill, just before he died. I was angry with him for being ill, and yet perhaps I was scared of him leaving. I let the water drain out of the bath as I dried myself with a towel. I didn’t want to live like this any longer. My telephone rang. I answered the call from the agent. “Hello, just called to say they would like to bring the interview forward, can you get there for 11AM or midday rather than 2pm?” Sure. Why the change? “Some people aren’t attending…” Ok if you could confirm which time I should arrive… “I’ll contact them and confirm. What’s that noise?” I’m in the bathroom, just had a bath… “I’ll call back.” Message me the time. I dried myself, shaved, brushed my teeth. And went to the bedroom to get dressed into a dark grey. suit with a heavy cloth white shirt. I didn’t like the ties so I didn’t bother. Put on some black shoes. I thought I looked pre-sent-able enough for the interview. It was around 8.30. There were two of them in the kitchen. I drank coffee and ate some cereal, we talked almost normally. As if the emotional stresses of the weekend hadn’t happened. I told them they had brought the interview forward, and that I had to leave soon. “You have plenty of time, no need to hurry…” I couldn’t explain to her that it was an excuse to leave this place, them. I need to go soon, so I can get into the right frame of mind for the interview. It was strange how desire seemed to have left the house. “Do you. want a lift? I can drop you off…” It was a Monday, the last day of the carnival. A holiday. “Strange day for an interview…”

He dropped me off at the top of the hill and I waved goodbye as he drove across down towards. Regent’s Park and then somewhere else… I walked past the station entrance and began walking down the towards the city. I think this was the last time I saw him. In those days I imagined I was different, but it ended. then and there. Actually. walking down the hill on the broad stone and concrete pavements was th moment which marked the end of all such experimentation. A ridiculous phrase. A ridiculous concept. By the end of the week i. was becoming monogamous. At the end of my walk, it turned out the end was waiting. Who would have known? not me. Past the shops, cinema, post office, the book shop[…] eventually the closed and deserted police station. Given my work It would make no sense to speak of how the over-policed society had fewer police stations than you’d expect. Pavement, houses, down the hill , a bakers, another cinema, mid range restaurants, trees, benches, small supermarkets, another station, beneath the road, beneath the sewage system the underground line. A petrol station. 1930’s modernist, white walls, large windows, single panes of glass. Cold and drafty. 1950s and 1960s municipal flats. South. Past the library where many years ago I stole a copy of Finnegans Wake, I was with a dutch girl then, she was a girl, scarcely old enough to be called a woman, we were both children. Actually perhaps she wasn’t dutch either, perhaps jewish, i remember her saying something about this […] Tall houses, mansion blocks, old trees. Pavement, still walking downhill. Another station. The road levels off. I had been enjoying walking downhill, I thought I would catch a train at the next station, or a bus, perhaps a cab… I had an interview in an hour or so’s time. This was how I saw London again, making my way down hlll, along the plain, over the canal and beneath the railway bridge. When. thinking I might be late and feeling slightly tired I hailed a cab and enjoyed the trip deeper into the city. The cab. dropped me off just outside the office, it was one of spaces between the City of London and Westminster, I had imagined it was in the city before but it wasn’t. I was early so i wandered about the area. looking in shop windows, restaurants and cafes. There was a woman changing the window display in the bookstore round the corner. A young man was passing her books when requested. A chef making bimbap in the window of a K restaurant. After walking around for ten minutes I circled back and looked at the front of the building. There was a cafe open next door, which I realized had been carved out of the building. I went in at just before. or after 10.30 and ordered a flat white, a japanese bio drink and a slice of toast. My ability to recognize faces was. returning. I thought it might be back to normal soon, emotional stress disrupted my phenomenological abilities. There was an east asian woman who was watching me. I’m here for an interview. I told her. She asked me what for? Software engineering, a financial system, but who knows. Do they usually? Not always, usually they know more than this. Are you employed now? Just completed an implementation, so I’d like to find something interesting. We didn’t have much to say, I was being even less coherent than usual. Semiosis, words, sentences, sense all failing me. The weekend of the relationships ending left me disturbed, only now in the cafe was I admitting they were over… collapsing at a table in a cafe. I’m sorry I said to her, I had a bad weekend. I am not this incoherent usually. Probably i didn’t. say any of that, i just thought it. I wondered if I should simply take a line of flight and leave. Later I would get to know her quite well…

I finished my toast in silence and walked through the glass doors into the front of reception area. Receptionists, security people, standing working desks, seating areas. At the Reception desk they booked me in and explained about the security system, gave me a security pass on a lanyard, they insisted I wear it around my neck. The pass will only let you enter into the two relevant floors. The system tracks you round the building. HR is on five, software is on eight. Go to the fifth floor and they’ll look after you at the reception desk there… I helped a woman, carrying too many boxes for her to manage into the the lift. Hello can I help? Picking up a box from her pile. Thank you. What are you doing here? We half recognized one another, but neither of us were certain. A visitor, where are you going? HR, then software for an interview, at 11AM. I moved another couple of boxes. What color were the boxes? Brown or White cardboard. What is the interview for? Software, I’m specialist in financial, billing systems. Seeing her surprised look. Is that interesting ? she asked me. Yes, most people. can’t do it. Why? Because everyone thinks their work is more interesting, they are naive romantics. I remember smiling at her. For some reason even then she made me smile. This woman moving boxes of files. I’m going to seven, afterwards I’ll take you to HR… I checked my watch, I had time…. Thankyou. Badiou writes about truth-events, I had two or three. in a single morning. One was the end of the poly-amorous relationships, and the second bizarrely was meeting this woman who needed help carrying the boxes in and out of the lift. Later much later I realized I stayed working there only because of her. She looked familiar but I didn’t know why, by this stage I couldn’t put a name, a label to her face and body. Perhaps she recognized me, but i didn’t recognize her. I helped her unload the boxes. We made a pyramid. I’ll escort you down to HR. You don’t… I said. The lifts won’t work for you and security is paying attention. She waved at some people standing and looking at us, me. They will come and find you and its a matter of responsibility… All for helping you with boxes. Yes, in this place your helping me makes me responsible for you. She escorted me to the fifth floor, Jane, she said, this is the 11 O’Çlock, I kidnapped him for a few minutes. He was being helpful… Thanks for the help, and good luck with the interview. Jane looked at me, I wondered where you got to […] That was it really, i think I. had three or. four interviews. that day, HR, Software and finally in the mid to late afternoon interviews with four directors, i thought their were four directors, but the woman had brought her PA, they only used names. Unusually they didn’t speak as much as company directors normally do. Did the other people I spoke with matter? It was late afternoon, sometime after four and before five when we finished. “HR is here to collect you and show you out. We’ll be in touch shortly.” I was tired, i met the woman with the cardboard boxes in the lift again, the HR woman was silent and looking suspiciously at me, her, us. How was it? the woman asked me. No idea, I’ve talked to so many people today, that i have lost track. Interested? By the end of the day I couldn’t have told anyone about the five or six hours of interviews. She smiled sympathetically, i thought. The HR woman looked surprised. It was months before i understood why. The lifts were nice half mirrored walls with blue padded cloth mats hanging over the mirrors to protect them. I stood outside the office hailed the first taxi, and decided to go to my warehouse apartment. I hadn’t spent much time at the apartment during the past half year and looked back through the rear window and saw the two women talking, gesturing after me. (Why didn’t i think that was meaningful.) I sat on the black watch tartan covered seats and watched London pass by. The agent phoned me and told me it had gone well and I would probably receive a formal offer the next day. They seemed to like you. The lower two-thirds of the building had relatively normal crittel windows, the top third has. some tall studio windows as well. I wonder if I would have taken the job when they offered it to me the next day if. the. relationships hadn’t ended with tears over the weekend, (was that not obvious?) it had lasted. for nearly six months, and whilst the others wanted the post-family relationships it offered to continue, I found that I simply couldn’t live with that level of. emotional intensity, I wanted to please her/him/her as if they were important to me but. perhaps I simply didn’t like them enough. That morning when I left for the interview was really the end, though I don’t know when I really understood this. In the taxi I thought I’d give myself a. week to make my apartment livable. When I got back. I began to clean up the apartment, dustsheets. from the bed and sofas. The dust sheets were either white or grey cloth. They had been on the furniture for two or three months. I hadn’t thought I would return, probably ever. Love had failed me. Here I was. on my own again. i thought i would always be on my own. I started shaking the sheets. out of the windows. The folded. then into squares and putting them in the spare bedroom. Washed the kitchen work surfaces.

On Tuesday morning I accepted the offer over the phone. and they couriered over the contract for signing during the afternoon. I had a week off before I went to work, monday morning at 10 Am they expected me. During the week I worked to make the loft apartment livable. I ordered a new coffee machine, rectangular in shape, brushed steel, made in Italy. a new grinder also from Italy. A new sofa, an arne jakobson circular table and some chairs, blinds for the windows, the bedroom first, the rest to follow. rugs. A wooden table 175 cm by 85 cm. with solid wooden legs. with drawers on one side. For use as a desk from the local furniture warehouse. Though I didn’t know it then. I would never leave the place again. I would stay . My bank balance, my savings. and my life spent the week disappearing into the building. I. changed my phone, a new handset, a new phone number. I opened the fire doors to check the emergency exits and found. the door to the other apartment open. There was a large cat looking at me. Hello cat, how are you? It was when the rugs arrived at the end of the next day and I went downstairs to help carry the rugs up that I met her. Are you back? She asked me. Yes, I’m staying. this time. I heard you playing music last night. I met your cat, I told her. Could I spur a fibre connection off the cable ? Perhaps it was only with this conversation that my existential crisis faded away. In retrospect even at this early stage in our. relationship; friendship becoming partners and so on […] I only went back to the shared house once more whilst the house was empty, to collect some clothes, books, and a backup of 1000 hours of music… oh and my two grey and brass anglepoise desklamps. It took an hour to load the car, leaving my house keys on the table, a simple goodbye note. “Have a good life, goodbye” I am sure they expected me to run away. When I got back I decalcified the shower with lemon and vinegar. At the end of the week my head started hurting. I took the usual cocktail of aspirin and paracetamol, through the pain I worked at tidying the home. I met her again standing with her cat at her feet, both of them looking at me. Now suddenly. we recognized one another. Lift, she said. I was about to say that, I said. Did you get the job? Yes I start the new job on Monday. I didn’t recognize you before. Is that what recognized means? Why didn’t I recognize her before ? Behind her across the room I could see a man staring at me. She turned and looked at him. That’s my boyfriend. Did the cable work ? Yes it’s working… I looked at him and thought he was fortunate but said nothing. She looked at the drill in my hand. I’m putting some blinds up to control the sunlight. Practical, she said, we didn’t know you were so practical.

Everything begins with a word or two, typically mine begins with 16000 characters… I had no idea. No that’s wrong. Writing this. years later I know I should emphasize WE, we had no idea […]