Hendaye, May 2017.
As you drove us to Hendaye, we spoke horizontally. The content trailed out with the exhaust fumes and joined the memorial ether. Words inched around the compass points and trundled into another plane. But I remember the mood between us, I remember the peace I felt.
Biarritz, May 2017.
That most sinister of ideologies had simultaneously been resurrected, forty-one million one hundred thousand square miles apart. I realised how once again the Atlantic currents were transporting history between two continents.
Paris, February 2017.
Like one of those nature programmes, except this chase was devoid of a score for every dramatic turn. The only sounds that accompanied the blocus was the mantra of the youth, shaking the tarmac with their fear, a collective battering ram against the police man’s riot shield.
It is thought, she declared, that half of the French police support the Front National.
Music did eventually find its way through, as the teenage boys and girls, having escaped the chase, gathered round bluetooth speakers at the metro station.
What was left unheard? Unsaid? Their decisions settled, the night took hold.
The decision of the French electorate, 23rd April 2017.
They were kept apart regardless of all they had to offer each other.
Despite the setback, the ageing physicist would not remain disheartened. He took pleasure in the cyclicality of the process, in the gradual accumulation of knowledge through small failures.
I spent much of that walk thinking about my personal and political_: of H., of fences, of what was to come.
The centripetal force that kept them oscillating each other was singularly disturbed by an unknown object. Their course was re-written and the ageing physicist would have to begin his life’s work again. He labelled his coffee-stained notepad with the dates and put it into the drawer of his desk with the others.
‘Chiasmus’ is about unrequited love: my personal (and) political.