In 1968 when I flew home to Stockholm, Sweden from boarding school at St. Andrew’s College in Aurora, Ontario for summer holidays my father bought me an Agfa Silette LK 35 mm camera. I took it with me on our road trip to the Arctic circle then back through the Norwegian fjords.  My introductory use of the camera was a failure.  I somehow broke the film from the internal winding mechanism.  However it didn’t stop me from taking photographs on our trip.  Until at last I clued in that something was very wrong, that I had taken far more photos than the possible capacity of the film.  My photographic misadventure was probably conducted in relative privacy (read: ignorance) while my father fished or did anything else but supervise my initiation to photography. But this wasn’t the worst of it.  Subsequently in Hamburg, Germany nearby a river or lake, while attempting to walk along a pipe which was used as a sidewalk fencing, and while carrying my new Agfa Silette LK on my shoulder with a strap, I fell from the pipe, swung the strap and camera in an arch to the ground and broke the case and seriously damaged the camera.

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Curiously the thing about living by a river is that from only a middling distance it is impossible to know precisely in what direction the river flows merely from observing the surface of the water. The surface is complicated by a collection of swirls and curls and plateaus of mirrors which indiscriminately and very effectively obfuscate what is going on beneath the surface. Meanwhile as I say the superficial activity is enhanced in an often exceedingly picturesque manner by descriptions of alternating patterns and sudden and unexpected orbs of tranquility. The inexactitude of the hidden flow beneath is a metaphor for the desirability of ambivalence; the urging to nonchalantly engage in a situation without trying to change it or assert control over it.

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Though it requires very little to set my course right, the providence of it always gratifies me. Today for example was the perfect storm.  It was an occasion on which all the critical elements of my being were justified, quenched, accommodated and fulfilled. And no doubt favoured and humoured. It began naturally with an early morning rising though an ascent not to the Stoic extent. The recovery of perception started shortly before nine o’clock, representing what had been a full eight-hours of recommended sleep, one which had only been irregularly interrupted by necessity and anxiety if at all.

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Like any child I grew up acquainted with the need to conform to behaviour. Parents and teachers primarily were to be reckoned with. My father was at heart a military man with the stiff, shoulders back approach (verbal reprimand); my mother was more refined as a diplomatic censure (polite ritual conduct). At school I remember once hearing of a child who had been administered the strap for misconduct. It was not a delivery which sat particularly well with me then (nor has it ever since).  To my thinking it bordered upon brutality or bullying at a minimum.  I certainly never considered it a clever routine for instilling cooperation or agreement; though I acknowledge that may also speak to my misunderstanding of the theoretical basics of discipline.

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There are so many ways to say what one means. Among them is the reply I heard today when I asked of a Floridian acquaintance whether, on the heels of a recent technological misfire, I might take the liberty of reactivating her subscription to my Substack account. She said, “I enjoy reading your perspective.” This, I think you’ll agree, readily falls within the scope of democratic, diplomatic and enigmatic. Yet while there is ample room for obfuscation and misinterpretation, I have chosen instead to adopt what I believe to be the more fruitful pattern of conclusion; namely, to crawl to the extent of accepting the equivocation once offered. And not to press the point to inalterable tedium.

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Though I attach no magic to the performance, the Gibbous moon marked the commencement of the alternate phase of the upcoming American presidential election as Joe Biden stood down from the race.

gibbous adjective (of the moon) having the observable illuminated part greater than a semicircle and less than a circle. • convex or protuberant: gibbous eyes

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Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and climb
Golden in the heydays of his eyes

Fern Hill, Dylan Thomas

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Lately there has been a lot of talk and scathing obloquy about the nauseating and reputedly obsequious men and women who have, in the process of protecting their own political and financial career, effectively changed the face and substance of the Republican political party of the United States of America. The GOP (Grand Old Party) was at one time the home of choice for the conventionally minded predominantly white capitalist who has a position in society to inflate or perpetuate. Elon Musk is a member.

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The spectacle of Trump and his caravan of weirdo cronies such as Matt Gaetz, Jim Jordan, Lindsey Graham, Marco Rubio, Marjorie Taylor Greene, Lauren Boebert, JD Vance, Nikki Haley and Ted Cruz continues to afford a record display of parasitic obsequiousness which is unfailingly extraordinary (to the level of a cartoon) by virtue of its collective and universal patent disregard of fact.  The relevance of truth in the upcoming federal election in the United States of America has long ago evaporated.  The contest now is one only of presentation, not unlike a high school debate such as, “Be it RESOVED THAT Little Red Riding Hood is a sexual myth”. Winning is the only objective.  And the Republicans have made that very clear.

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