Chrisonomicon

Tuesday, October 23, 2001

The Memphis skyline appears over the Mississippi as I cross the I-40 bridge into the city. God, I feel so free, it's fucking great. I'm in the brand new rental--it only had a few hundred miles on it when I picked it up--and intoxicated with the smell, diluted as it may be with the heavy river air. Hooverphonic's "Waves" plays on the radio, and although I may not have realized it at the time, I was making a mental, auditory bookmark in my mind. The song takes me back every time.

My new computer arrived last night via FedEx Priority Overnight. My printer comes today. I peeled open the dusty box and stuck my face in it, inhaling the factory smells, ignoring the irritating warning of anthrax in the back of my mind. Although I may not have realized it at the time, I was making a mental, olfactory bookmark in my mind. I gingerly pulled the hardware from its styrofoam womb and deliberately connected the pieces. It runs so quietly, I hardly know it's there. Even the hard-drive whispers.

New music, new books, and new plans litter my life. New furniture, new colors, new stuff. Newness fades and is reborn in the faces of new friends that dot the horizon. From what fountain is this newness eternally springing?