Knots are bad enough.
Route maps.
Knitting.
Chakras.
Veins.
Lines and lines.
The lines of Nazra.
'A line is a line is a line' said Malevich.
'Hold the line please.'
Crochet.
Macrame.
Spaghetti.
Wood grain.
Railways.
Rope.
___________________He pushes away from the keyboard and stares at the wall behind the monitor. Spiders' webs. Cracks.
___________________The idea is to try his hand at a new kind of creativity. A website, and not just a collection of text and pictures, but something with real meaning. A new kind of art. But there are too many options and he cannot bear to look at them all.
___________________Corduroy. Soft brown velvety lines, not hard like the circumference of the keyboard. The tip of his fingernail runs along one of the channels where his knee curves the material in a ripple of chestnut. The grooves across the patella run flat whilst those either side of it twist and contort before rejoining the perpendicular.
___________________He is not sure that he wants to become involved with hypertext. It's too much like real life. Linearity is the most he can cope with right now. That way he can go from A to B to C and everything is clear. But with hypertext he could go from A to D! That would be too much. Way too much.
___________________A telephone line connects him to people across the world. It can be as long or as short as he wants it. It can stretch as far as Australia or shrink to the next street.
___________________He has always had the knack of knowing whether someone is at the end of a line when he dials. That is why it is that at this moment, when he pushes his index finger against the keypad the required number of times, he knows perfectly well that she is nearby but not picking up. He senses she is there, he feels her presence down the lines. When a phone is ringing in an empty room, he knows it, he can feel the echo, but on this occasion it is clear to his unnamed senses that she is standing right there. He knows it. He can even feel it when she reaches out to lift the receiver then hesitates and withdraws. In his mind's eye he pictures the lines of precious metal that encircle her - throat, finger, wrist. It seems they no longer bind her affections.
___________________His favourite cartoon: A pencil-drawn character, in some distress, says to another: 'Someone told me we're just lines on a piece of paper.'
___________________Why make a hypertext at all? Why force this multidimensional torture on himself?
___________________Well, it would be good for him. Constructive. A useful skill to learn. And it would stretch his brain; pull him away from the grid, make him develop a more agile way of thinking. He needs to imagine more possibilities. He needs to escape the predictable.
___________________The first time he saw her, she was buying yarn to be knotted into a blanket. Later, much later, he would sleep beneath that very cloth, at that moment as yet unborn, but right then all he could do was stare at her hands and the long fingers which would sew him in to her body. He knew immediately that he loved her. Soon, as their daily lives began to intertwine, he would spend a part of each day watching her fingers as she hooked the strands into place.
____________________Unlike him, she was never afraid of knots, and she always laughed at his fear of entanglement.