Imagine what I haven’t said

This is not the time for stories, although there will be a few. This is not the time to raise a glass, although we should. This is not looking back, although I remember.

Eras end. Climates change. People move on.

The end of an era, then. A change of climate. The workforce is now disintegrated. BlackStar is no more. (Oh look, it is still there. Not what I mean. Dally with me just a moment.)

I talked about conscience and I talked about pain, and he looked out the window and it started to rain I thought ‘maybe, I have already gone crazy.’ Because, you know, he was the last of our own.

A day like no other, because finally, finally, finally the final cabalier makes notice to leave the DeathStar.

What was, what hasn’t been for sometime, in reality, is gone.

Do we know what we lost? Did we realise at the time what we had?

Living on the Edge with blondes, ping-ponging with hyper-clever excellence, dreaming and scheming with quality dreamers and superlative schemers, driving flash and trousers types to distraction, borrowing the boss’ glittery makeup, learning from the master all things blaggable, accepting wisdom from the calm in the storm, and on and on and on (sorry if I have left you out. I didn’t mean to.)

Learning all the time. Creating non-stop. Expanding exponentially. Moving from cramped offices above a builder’s merchants, to dodging the hookers while listening to the Angelus every evening. The people I met all left their mark on me. The things I learnt, being surrounded by such talent, such cleverness, such fun. Mayhaps I don’t take things as seriously as I should, but, people, I had a blast there.

The morning of the (first) cull, the dread expectation. The standing in a Soho erm, shop at 2am blinking in the florescent lighting. The thigh-high boots, the union reps in the pub, the tribunals and disciplinary hearings, the intrigue and the gossip. The Holylands and the Raki, the slashed tyres and the eggings.

While in Eeklandia, the topic turned, once or twice, to the subject of the old DeathStar, given that Tony was the chief instigator thereof. And you know what? I have no problems with admitting I loved it. My time there was excellent. I had, like I usually do, a ball. It kicked me up the arse, and got me to where I am now. A whirlwind of a maelstrom of a typhoon of a place. There are many, many, many stories to tell. Enough to fill volumes.

The printer incident, which is viewed differently from different angles. The bin incident, which is only ever viewed downwards. The many Christmas parties, the conferences, the quake, the cussin’ and the swearin’, the bluffing and the graft. The cabal was forged, which takes me back to the point.

The last of the cabal to leave, while not turning the lights off on the way out, is to be wished well. Go dude! A new chapter, a new leaf, a new direction. Don’t forget us, don’t forget the fires of the forges of the battles of the campaigns of the past. We are all more than the sum of our experiences, but it is our past that has brought us to where we are. Our paths have crossed a time or two since then, and I am grateful for it. May your future be what you deserve.

The cabal salutes you. The seagulls salute you. I salute you.

Boxing clever, box frenzy