I arrive in London Kings Cross an hour late thanks to kids outside of Doncaster throwing stones at passing trains. The driver had to slow down so the entire right hand side of the train could make charged eye contact with them as we passed. There were quite a few of them, twenty or more, some of them just sitting sprawled on the gravel of the once industrial plot, now vacant, in silence. I guessed that there isn't much to do in Doncaster.
I don't mind the delay so much, I'm sitting on my own - a luxury on popular London routes - and I'm not short of entertainment. I've brought with me a novel, a William Gibson techno-witfest, a thin but dense Paul Virilio tome that so far seems to be charting the ever accelerating decline of humanity all thanks to speed and the advancement of technology, two magazines and my laptop. I took a great deal of pleasure modifying an image of two almost identical clocks that's easier to illustrate than explain:
From
To
I set them as the backdrop on my laptop and arrange it so the images would swap every five seconds. I fantasised about idly pointing the screen at people and it tripping them up without them quite realising. Sewing tiny unrecognisable seeds of discomfort. I'd also brought with me a copy of Final Fantasy IX to play on an emulator. It didn't work so I spent my time trying to fix it, which was about as challenging and ultimately fruitless as the game would have been anyway.
Praising every breath, I smoked my post-going-anywhere-by-transport-with-no-smoking-signs cigarette until I saw the desperation in the faces of the smokers surrounding me and hoped it wasn't mirrored in my own face. I put mine out. The human detritus that hangs around public places like train and bus stations and the spotty faced little fat kid asking me for a cigarette told me it was time to leave. Numbed to the world around me by an audio book version of Steven Kings 'The Stand' I stumbled into the Underground station, checked the credit on my Oyster card and wandered through the barriers onto the Northern Line.
I wait on the Morden bound platform and realise that in London you're not often more than four feet away from certain death, be it electrified tracks or speeding traffic. I make a personal note to myself not to listen to 'The Stand,' or other books about the spread of disease, on public transportation as I get into the Underground carriage full of sniffles and coughs.
I get out at Elephant and Castle and once I've made my way through a labyrinth directed by 'Way Out' signs I wait for the elevator out of one of the deepest Underground lines. I swipe my Oyster card to get out of the station and catch my bus home after trying to look as nonchalant as possible with three bags on two shoulders.
I'm still listening to 'The Stand' on the bus and I notice myself making faces in my reflection in the windows made mirrors by the darkness outside. I fantasise about a future in which I'm a successful actor being interviewed. I'm asked the question "How did you know you wanted to be an actor?" and I reply with this anecdotal tail about making faces corresponding to the characters in an audio book I listened to on a bus ride at a the end of long journey. I smile at this perfect scenario and get off the bus. I stop for Chinese on the way back, too tired to cook, get something decaffeinated and eat it at home to more face-making along to Steven King.
I don't mind the delay so much, I'm sitting on my own - a luxury on popular London routes - and I'm not short of entertainment. I've brought with me a novel, a William Gibson techno-witfest, a thin but dense Paul Virilio tome that so far seems to be charting the ever accelerating decline of humanity all thanks to speed and the advancement of technology, two magazines and my laptop. I took a great deal of pleasure modifying an image of two almost identical clocks that's easier to illustrate than explain:
From
To
I set them as the backdrop on my laptop and arrange it so the images would swap every five seconds. I fantasised about idly pointing the screen at people and it tripping them up without them quite realising. Sewing tiny unrecognisable seeds of discomfort. I'd also brought with me a copy of Final Fantasy IX to play on an emulator. It didn't work so I spent my time trying to fix it, which was about as challenging and ultimately fruitless as the game would have been anyway.
Praising every breath, I smoked my post-going-anywhere-by-transport-with-no-smoking-signs cigarette until I saw the desperation in the faces of the smokers surrounding me and hoped it wasn't mirrored in my own face. I put mine out. The human detritus that hangs around public places like train and bus stations and the spotty faced little fat kid asking me for a cigarette told me it was time to leave. Numbed to the world around me by an audio book version of Steven Kings 'The Stand' I stumbled into the Underground station, checked the credit on my Oyster card and wandered through the barriers onto the Northern Line.
I wait on the Morden bound platform and realise that in London you're not often more than four feet away from certain death, be it electrified tracks or speeding traffic. I make a personal note to myself not to listen to 'The Stand,' or other books about the spread of disease, on public transportation as I get into the Underground carriage full of sniffles and coughs.
I get out at Elephant and Castle and once I've made my way through a labyrinth directed by 'Way Out' signs I wait for the elevator out of one of the deepest Underground lines. I swipe my Oyster card to get out of the station and catch my bus home after trying to look as nonchalant as possible with three bags on two shoulders.
I'm still listening to 'The Stand' on the bus and I notice myself making faces in my reflection in the windows made mirrors by the darkness outside. I fantasise about a future in which I'm a successful actor being interviewed. I'm asked the question "How did you know you wanted to be an actor?" and I reply with this anecdotal tail about making faces corresponding to the characters in an audio book I listened to on a bus ride at a the end of long journey. I smile at this perfect scenario and get off the bus. I stop for Chinese on the way back, too tired to cook, get something decaffeinated and eat it at home to more face-making along to Steven King.
