After midnight it will be Sunday, as we reckon time here in the U.S. That will be nice, that transition into another day, especially Day One.
As others reckon time, and as I am inclined to do, the Sabbath ended long ago (before I finished work), and it is already Day One. I’ll take that: anything to bring Sunday sooner is fine by me. The time matters not at all anyway.
Our days are not bound by it, not bound by time.
Further down is Round Midnight performed (before midnight) by Michel Petrucciani circa 1985 at the Village Vanguard. It was recorded then but inserted into this blog post at 9:29:17 p.m. on 28 April 2018.
I’ve kept typing for a while longer. It’s later in a way, but not at all in another way.
I am now going to leave this chair that I have slumped lower and lower into, and go pray somewhere. I will have to pack up my computer and stow it in my backpack because I am in a public place on a college campus and I do not want to break the law again.
The law of probability I mean, because on another occasion I packed up everything after sitting in this same space, and forgot my laptop. Someone found it and turned it into the campus police and I did indeed thank God for that kind soul and for another chance to keep writing.
But, I ain’t gonna try that again because this late (in a way it’s late
[Oh that was perfect. I stopped abruptly because someone tapped me on the shoulder, and said in a friendly/firm voice that the building was being closed for the night. So, I packed up quickly and left, apparently with my laptop. And that prayer was prayed somewhere other than where it had been prayed in my mind when I wrote that I was going to do it. And now I am typing again, after that prayer, and being connected by an entirely different wifi signal which will carry this post later, whenever I send it. So I will strike out some text because it is now (later) moot.]
Weird, how much more time has passed than it takes to read this far, but I do not feel at all that it is later; it is just different with nothing lost. We are not bound by time, just moving around in it somewhat freely.
And now you are reading. When?
Did you already click the link? Will you click the link and listen to Round Midnight ever? Will you wait until it is very close to midnight, and listen as the clock hands move closer?
Will you factor in the extra click required to watch it on YouTube, plus the five-second ad, timing it just right?
Do you suppose that it was ‘Round Seven when Michel played it? Or maybe those chimes of the grandfather clock in the lower register of Michel’s piano were just letting us know that he was aware of time passing, but his chimes mean nothing else. And why was his last clock chime softer?
It is as if he is telling us that it is all in time, but is not limited by it. With that softness, time just fades away into the rest of the music, and our music is not bound by time.
Photograph “A Bridge ‘Round Midnight ” 2018 Timothy Waugh