Brian Eno - From The Same Hill

…

I hate the noise of the clock hanging by the wall.

Hearing it is driving me mad.

I hate being mad, it's not good for the heart. I listen to my heart and it's fine, so I'm not mad at all. Just thinking too much, oh, now I hear my thoughts hanging by the wall, like a calendar. Yes, the calendar, whose pages I flip and read a novel of days I missed keeping this house clean and serene.

Oh, my... where's my tea? Have I forgotten to make tea? I'm not expecting any visitors today. I mean, why would I open my house for visitors to see it covered in dust? That would be so, so... embarrassing, right? Like when one of my kids gets covered in mud. I told them to not ruin their clothing, and yet they do. Kids, go figure them out. I was a kid once, go figure out how I became this, this... eh, boring?

Never thought... I'd consider this quiet life to be boring. Yes, I'm bored, all I had to do has been done. Million thoughts per second, I can't concentrate on each of them. Focus! Must focus. There's a bit of smudge in this porcelain dish at hand, that's awful, awful! Let me clean it, we'll see it... done! Nothing else to do, nothing to worry about. Right? Is it alright?

Or what? Something's bothering you, Mrs. Fillyjonk? Why are you so unquiet? Why don't you enjoy this peace of spirit? Having tea at hand, everything's in order, except your thoughts… they're never in order, I gave up a long ago to put them in a row, and yet, thoughts come as they want. Like my kids, covered in mud, stepping at the carpet, running upstairs, and what else can I do, shout? Beg them to stop?

How antiquated of yours. Wait, did I say "antiquated"? I'm not even that old, am I? He would say otherwise... but he's not here. It's impossible. As much as it is impossible to educate someone, it is impossible to have certain thoughts, to have an ounce of peace at hand. I wish, really wish I had a star for a brain. Why not? A radiant star of pure thought.

That is not even possible! Ludicrous at best, but I'd like to. I'd be the only one in the entire Moominvalley with a star in head, wouldn't that be nice? Yes, I'd have to figure a way to turn myself off without, well... I don't need to think about that. I'll be here for my kids before they have their own kids to point at the stars and tell their grandmother is together with them. Together with the stars, I mean. They do fascinate me, being so far away from the rest while still shining at the skies. I'm not being uptight about this, though.

He too was fascinated by the stars, how they guided him around the world. He'd call me Mrs. Fillyjonk, how fancy of his... and once these thoughts come to mind, of a man who took shelter by the standing stones, miles from all that moves, a brave young man who breathes solitude seeking confidence, I feel unrest. Why can't he just come out another hour, perhaps never? I hate feeling unrest, with things to do. I've been grieving for so long now, moved on to raise a family on my own, and yet, he just insists on coming back to me like a ghost. I refer to Mr. Fillyjonk, the kids don't know much about him, but I do. A great Fillyjonk? More like an eccentric Fillyjonk, carrying over shrunk heads by the pockets.

He might have been eccentric, but if at least he was not so stubborn, so big-headed, so, so... what a fool Mr. Fillyjonk was! My lovely darling fool.

And to think I came down here to the cellar, of all places... Memories deep buried in soot, a macabre shrine of remains between pieces of broken arrows and glass-like spiders and whatever object he brought back home from his trips to pagan places. That's his diary over there, mostly a collection of fantastic tales I have never seen, betwixt and between in this reality, nor here nor there. I never told my kids everything I know about Mr. Fillyjonk, because I feared one day they would follow in their father's footsteps. To this day, he has not knocked on the front door. Better believe he's dead rather than alive and with a newfound family.

…

''...When I was a young boy, I wanted to sail around the world. That's life for me, living on the sea. Spirit of a sailor, circumnavigates the globe... The lust of a pioneer who will acknowledge no frontier...''

…

Mr. Fillyjonk was a dreamer. He sailed around the known world, but he always had to come back home. To the mainland, whether he liked it or not. Like I said, he always brought something from out of his travels, including this, this… Carranca.

…

"My, such a weird, grotesque face! It must have been made in poor taste."

"They protect navigators from disasters."

…

I always felt ignorant near Mr. Fillyjonk and his gifts from faraway lands. These wooden Carrancas and their ever grimming faces, big mouths and big scary eyes, which he used to decorate the ship's bow and how I hated it... I don't know whose kind of protection he meant. Could it be the same kind of protection talismans, lucky charms, crystal skulls, medicine wheels, holy waters and ofudas offered?

Now, would these work against the Groke? They do look frightening to each. Hmmm... Mr. Fillyjonk told me something about bad eyes, and how these things, these Carrancas, they avoided any sort of bad eye. The Carrancas, according to him, were confectioned by natives in order to avoid storms, shipwrecks or any evil spirits. He believed it so, while I found them to be quite well-made, if not frightening.

Everything Mr. Fillyjonk gave me as a gift was very unusual and I'd hate it at first, but now that he's gone, it's all that remains of Mr. Fillyjonk. He'd go to the outer side of the world to give me a recipe of soporific tea. The kids upstairs… Is there anything in this room that could be of any help? I do want to make them feel better, but I refuse to stare at their faces. After what I said… I need time. At any moment they could die and I wouldn't be there… Dear Lord, what am I doing here? I should be upstairs, taking care of my children. I dust off a book to read…

…

"Drawing loneliness, seeking confidence...Gift for me... Spirit of expression will never be far away... Passing me and I welcome them with open arms.."

''...Feeling a presence moving into me... Seeing places I've never seen...''

"Like an open door to a life I had lived before… Side by side are... we are one... of two lives..."

…

I don't understand a thing Mr. Fillyjonk wrote while having one of his spiritual travels. He said he heard a woman chant these words, while I felt a bit jealous of him. My, jealous of a woman that didn't exist anywhere else outside his head, though he said otherwise.

…

''It was like hearing the mother of my mother, or her spirit together with everyone else."

…

I never tried whichever drink Mr. Fillyjonk drank to have these extracorporeal experiences. I already have too many voices at head, why have one more? And the kids, what if the kids drank it?

Tick… Tick… Well, here was a day they came back home with their heads spinning after drinking Sniff's Happiness Juice™ to see which ingredients were needed. As if there was a recipe for happiness… As if you were the happiest person living in Moominvalley, Mrs. Fillyjonk. Look at this house, it feels so out of life, out of touch, and you did your best to keep it clean, keep it organized, keep it symmetric. Even the spider webs are symmetric!

Tick… tick… tick… I'd listen to, beg to hear Mr. Fillyjonk's wonderous stories, and that was when I realized how lifeless and dull this house looked. And yet, despite telling me a lot of his uncanny discoveries, something bothered Mr. Fillyjonk. He had quite a life, exploring the world as he wished, and YET, he felt restless.

Tick… tick… tick… He wanted to know the world he already knew, as much as he needed someone who knew him as much as he knew himself.

…

"It's not only me who is afraid. You too are a Fillyjonk. And I don't mean to stop you from traveling around the world if that's what brings you joy, but… A boat needs to anchor at times, it can't be led astray by the tides all the time."

…

Mr. Fillyjonk never showed any hesitation, or sign of fear. He felt dignified by risking his life, thirsty for adventure since a child, but deep inside, he shaked and whimpered in fear. And so it was time for the traveler to settle down.

Tick, tick tick... Sigh. Every time I hear that tick, it feels like I'm losing the opportunity of hearing something, or doing something more exciting. Ironically, cleaning the house was Mr. Fillyjonk's funniest pastime. He told me about how a boat needed to be clean in order to work. I agreed, and so we had quite a... fun time? By cleaning home? Yeah, he would not be here as soon as his boat got fixed, and I'd await seasons so he came back. He had to, because of me. Other than me, Mr. Fillyjonk had the world. And a skull ring.

I knew what he'd say next.

…

"Mrs. Fillyjonk… Will you marry me?"

…

I... I fainted. More due the shock of seeing that expensive ring than the big question. Of course I said yes, I loved him so much that nothing could stand in our way. He liked the fact that my name is just Fillyjonk, for some reason. Maybe he just wanted to be like me, to have a quiet life instead of wandering into the blue desert above and below. And then, well... I wanted to talk to him about the matter, but he always seemed occupied with something else.

…

"Oh, the ship broke again."

"The ceiling is dripping."

"The carpet is covered in dust."

"I'm not ready to be a father."

…

Most of the time he was telling the truth, and many others he was pretty much a liar. Who didn't want children in any such way.

I understood. Being an explorer, how would he live outside home for so long, while I refused to go with him? It wasn't my way of life, I was too scared that some disaster would happen. He thought the same, by the day I told him I was, well... with his children in chest. Was it love, or was it the idea of being in love? Or was it the hand of fate that seemed to fit just like a glove? Neither did I want to have any kids, all they do is cast trouble and dirt, but what could I do? I waited, soon the seeds were sown, the year grew late and neither one wanted to remain alone. As for their father, though…

Children are ugly. They are disgusting, they make noise, they don't know how to control themselves, they stain their clothes, they throw food away from the dish, they make trouble, they yell, they swear, but when I look at my children, I ignore their flaws just to contemplate the gift of life and how little we can afford it. I should be upstairs. I should take care of my children. I can't even look straight at them anymore.

I don't want them to be gone soon, I don't want to disappear before leaving something behind, maybe a picture, a food recipe, a drawing in the wall, a souvenir, anything. Anything is fine, as long as they remember that you lived and that they should make the best of their living. Growing up means leaving something behind and throwing something away. I need some time, yes, some time…

Time that will never wait, no matter how hard you hold onto it, it escapes you.