Courgette & John Cage Coincidence, My Imaginary Wire Magazine Friend, Melancholy Baby & My Disappearance

1. Synchronicity – I bought a courgette and a book about experimental American music, spending some time on the chapter about John Cage whilst sat outside a cafe. I came home to read a message from a friend in which she said she had picked a courgette from her garden and was going to a performance of John Cage’s music that evening.


2. This morning, as I left the shop having just bought the latest edition of The Wire, it struck me that it would be very odd to meet someone else buying the magazine in my area, to see them also leaving with a copy, or taking one to the till. I thought, if this happened, I might stop him (for it would surely be a male) and say something. But what? ‘Ah, a fellow Wire reader!’? As if merely reading the same magazine unites us in a profound way. But The Wire’s content is eclectic, and the chances of him reading it for the same reasons that I do are slim. The worst case scenario would be for us to strike up a friendship based on being Wire readers whereby he invites me to his flat for the first time and plays Japanese Noise all evening whilst wishing to discuss Foucault. I would have to make my excuses and leave. Should I see a fellow Wire reader, perhaps it would be best to say or do nothing.

3. Walking to the bus stop I came across a discarded baby’s bib on the pavement, which made me feel melancholic, for a few seconds.

4. The other day I disappeared for a while. Attempting to look in a mirror that was no longer there, I felt the brief shock of appearing not to exist. Yet it was also thrilling. The portal through which I am guaranteed to see myself was gone, and it was as if I too had gone. But where? Without mirrors, or windows in buildings at street level, would we exist at all? Reflections offer us a glimpse of how others must see us, but in the mirror we see ourselves from our own point of view, which is never as others see us. I slid the bathroom cabinet door, which doubles as a mirror, back into place, and there I was. It was reassuring.