The rain gently strikes the window as early evening arrives. I roll down the shutter on the outside of the window, hoping, as usual, that it doesn’t jam, and stop mid flow. In the middle or near middle of the outside of this shutter, pale grey in colour, someone has written in magic marker, ‘hard to stop’. Nearby, on the pavement, someone else, or for that matter the same person has chosen to spray in a lime green spray, ‘alone’. One day I walked outside to find a small sparrow, lying dead, feet up just below this green word. Alone.
I walk down the hall to the kitchen and past a pile of books that I have been reading over the last while. Sitting near each other, implausibly, a study of Black Metal, ’Lords of Chaos’ where anthropology and Burzum meet, and Daniel Dennett’s ‘Darwin’s Dangerous Idea’. One about death, one about the origins of life.