Gone in November

I hitched a ride this morning aboard the rickety boat that the scientists from the observatory use to commute to Longyearbyen. Right now I’m hiding in the back of a small plane, which I assume is flying me to Reykjavík. I ended up carrying a lot less than one box. I decided to leave the DVD player, leave the Six-Feet-Under box, and leave the ab-flex machine. Travel will be my exercise. The world as is will be my home entertainment. Today I carry 1 carrot in a little cotton pouch, a copy of Winnie The Pooh, and a tape bearing the most peculiar inscription. (I found it outside the weather observatory one morning and couldn’t quite bring myself to throw it away. Since I’ve no tape player I can only speculate as to its contents. Perhaps I shall one day find a suitable device to unravel this mystery and discover the identity of this “Master of Puppets”.) So my new life begins. I’ve appointed a caretaker to nurse my various business interests both at home and overseas. The more I thought about going away, the more I came to see it as a fresh turn, an instance of self-reinvention. Hence I shall go about without the trappings of urban luxury, I shall go without the cumbersome calling of “business celebrity,” or “star producer.” I will open my own doors, go to regular bars instead of “clubs”, and think of pick-up lines myself. To escape the world’s ever-vigilant celebrity-watch I have dyed my fur in the most exquisite anonymous black. For those I meet along the trail my name will be Just Ben. The journey has begun.