When Ave died

When Ave, an old schoomate of mine, died two summers ago, it struck me how mind-bogglingly before us, at all times, starts the third road. A split-second away, less than half a step away, one small funny chemical event away; Actually, I believe that if we made a sudden fast move, we could - nearly - touch with our outstretched arm whatever it's paved with.

So when Ave died, I saw even better, I felt even better what I always knew, but too often chose not to think about: that my quiet home village is surrounded, skin to skin, by some powerful mysterious frightening thrilling foreign home-land kingdom.

We can always go this way (in Ave's case - to a pal next door to drink more lager), we can go that way (to the local shop to get a bottle of vodka); or we can immediately find ourselves in the middle of that legendary overseas place that lies just across the doorstep of wherever we happen to be standing.


*I remembered Ave's death, when I checked the other day how close to me Hell was (it was closer that I thought). And I realise I may be saying the obvious, but each of us has a pool of obvious stuff to say, and - evidently - I haven't exhausted mine; I'm nowhere near the bottom, to be frank. So stay tuned and don't go away - I'll back after a short commercial break.