You used to come to life here… You still do.

The tumblers cascade: words and numbers; a thousand castanets building to a crescendo before gradually falling silent, their song reminiscent of pebbles driven before a wave. The commotion echoes in the void; ricocheting off the brickwork; through the exposed iron.

The departures board at Paddington talks; somehow poignant and yet at the same time visceral, you whisper in my ear.

How could it convey information in a manner that seemed, somehow, sensual? Like so many postcards home.

We all contrive meaning, you said. I believe it’s called post rationalisation, I responded. I don’t like that phrase; it implies cynicism. I would rather think of it as the jigsaw of life; a means of furnishing context, you replied.

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A lithe man replete with pencil moustache, trimmed as neat as can be, silver topped and ferruled walking cane, pince nez, top hat and tails, reeking of expensive cologne, enters the Apple store at 767 Fifth Avenue, Manhattan. His demeanour suits his appearance and with nose held aloft he strides purposefully up to a loitering chap with the logo of the Corporation upon his tee.

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My agent called. Before I answered, I visualised him in my mind’s eye: a tall and stately gent, with prehensile brows that could be raised or lowered like Tower Bridge over charcoal eyes as treacherous as the Thames herself. An old school accent and deep purr that brooked no dissent. I imagine the creak of the leather soles of his handmade brogues and the snap of his cuffs. He’s the old-fashioned sort. Doesn’t touch Zoom, for instance. Face-to-face, letter, or telephone- at a push. I answered. 

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In Search of Permanence…

Or…

In Recognition of the Impertinence of Time…

I have a predilection for plastic. The concept of crafting products from man-made matter appeals on a fundamental level. Plus, except for certain aggregates, natures’ endeavours when it comes to raw materials tend toward the fragile. The polymers we manufacture are both ductile and at the same time robust enough to endure. And the colours are more vivid, too.

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SERENITY- By Sam Berlin
  
Serenity   
The little town of Serenity sits on a curve in the river. The crystal-clear water flows swiftly, smoothing the pebbles, pitching and bubbling as it does. A large rock, known locally as Beth’s stone, steps out into the flow. It is named in tribute to the wife of the original settler of the claim. A pool lies down-water in the lee of Beth’s stone, where the natural curvature of the rock has created a little sheltered spot. Paddlefish used to rest there during their migrations. That was before the dam. Now, it’s home to a school of sauger. 
The river talks, so say some of the older residents; although the dam has largely silenced her. The town has a new deli and diner called Mable’s, at the corner of First and Cedar. It’s the only thing to have changed in years. The few local stores still sell everything the home could need, often with second or even third generation owners. The nearest mall is over two hour’s drive away. In thirty years- time, a local town meeting will vote against Walmart building an edge of town store and bowling alley, by almost three-to-one.   
Serenity has survived the death of coal mining in the area, albeit not without consequences. However, the people are resilient and resourceful, and the mining company had the foresight to invest in hydro power when the coal started to run out. Now the dam, two miles upriver but hidden from view by the cliff, as well as the beautiful forest surrounding the valley, have become something of a tourist attraction.  

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Years ago, just as I was becoming recognised in the world of tattooing, I wrote a blog about the tie between a tattoo artist and client and how intimate it was. To my surprise, it got picked up by a national paper’s Sunday Supplement The relationship, I had argued, had two parts: First, there was the ephemeral – the infliction of pain- which required the artist to identify why their client wanted to be inked. For some, the pain was an essential element of getting a tattoo and required a completely different approach to those clients who wanted the whole process done with as little pain as possible.

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Part 1

On the 4th night of Quintilis a new star materialised in the firmament. It appeared suddenly in a pellucid sky. Near to the horizon, it was an interloper, instantly illuminating the heavens. For 23 days it glowed like a firefly, visible during the day; brighter, even, than the moon. A diminutive sun had awoken and yet within a month, it had evanesced to such a degree that it became nothing more than a new star, visible at night only. I named it the Star of Jupiter after the king of the ancient gods, the newly- born daughter of our dominant celestial body.

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