these little things that plug at my heart strings

thursday, 24th february

So when you write is it like peeing or thought. Is it a bodily function that is traceable? Is it as natural, is it as unbidden, as unregulable as sweat in humid conditions? Why? This is the big question. In fact, why?, is the only question. “Why?” is question. Is as does. Raison d’etre. This is the germ of all human genius. The human genius is for explanation.
The human genius for explanation (requires to operate) the prerequisite “why?”. Why is writing so unsatisfactory. More than the inadequacy of words. The crafting of word to the truth of the thought. The gap in integrity between the transmission of and the impetus that motivates speech. To communicate in a learned matrix. The straightjacket of language. Flip the bird at grammar and make a futile escape a pretend escape from the clutches of permissible expression. A new language?An unrecognizing of language? Denial. Ignorance. Ridiculising.
When you write, it is an act of will, yours on the myriad of perceptivities in which you operate. Another’s will to whom you address your inclinations, to deliver a work of your own independence that they commissioned but did not commission. The commission is like the slipped sideways submission.So that you can always say, “I did not mean that” What is meant?This is where language gives a respite from the act of justification that it finds itself an affiliate to.…You can’t start with a hug. You can never start with a hug, it’s what is built up to. The hug isn’t a beginning.…What I keep being confronted with in life is the importance of not throwing yourself off a bridge. Just over and over. And the constant realization of how young you were.…So that’s the most perfect poem.…What?…Two people meeting. That’s the hug not being any sort of a beginning, any sort of a carry on. There must, in a story, be something for there to be carried on, yeah, so if something is carried on, then the sublime, the thing that gets the audiences rise out of their seats and their train of thought to some clear inspiration that’s when you introduce the two people meeting each other. You can set it up and it can be skillfully incorporated into the carry on, the train of thinking – oh yes, the narrative, and this can be honed, you can learn a multitude of genres, yeah, you know – but you see, the meeting, the physical act and the time it takes and the space it covers and the expectation and perspectives and emotions, it’s this meeting. The sublime is captured in the meeting, and in your story always, always keep the integrity of the meeting and you will have a little kernel of magic to infuse the exercise and your process, so even if you are having writing troubles, you know you have magic, and at your discretion you can implement it, always, always refer your sensitivity to the meeting.It’s the perfect poem. It’s the most perfect poem I know. What are we dealing with – form and impetus and humility and absolute tender honesty. There is no better representation of the humanity of humanity than the meeting of two people. Do you see? You see.…You can’t really interpret a meeting. You know. It’s essential. It is the essential.…Yeah, alrighty, I get you.

w'happen

wednesday 23rd february

call me what you hear in your nerves when you think of the breeze, in a park with fountains, over the ceremonial pebbles. call me like there is a green scarf wrapped around your neck. call me when you are walking and the scarf is yet to warm up to your own temperature, is new against the air, and you are quite warm.
because when i think of you, i think of you thinking, when i think of you, what it feels like is being called by you.
And you're probably not - in the infinite alternatives, some how that is even better. Man, you better keep your voice down, all the crows are scattering.

umbrellas are better for floating in

When it rains, it rains, it rains and it rains.
That's what hits the pavement far below and that's what I see past my window. I'd been looking at the harbour, clocking the expression it was painting on the city, for 3 days now on account of it being so hot, and me being on the beach and so close to it, and walking on the track above the nearby suburbs and looking down toward the roofs of the business that churns the people here, seeing them coated in glutinous sun and the harbour glinting. The harbour was a mischief. Highstreet behaviour, like banking, warrant of fitness, running in for a drink, looking for metallic belts, was commonplacely one-eyed like always, and even through the impermeable, amateur focus of accumulation of hours in acts, the harbour managed to sweep itself into a peripheral dimension, so that every breath and awareness seemed to be happening on the edge of something.
And then it got hot, with a curious metallic lightness; then it got so light, the clouds were silver and if you were to find yourself inside one, you might have heard ringing; then the sky disappeared into silver and all of a sudden it was dark.
On the peninsula, the view of the city was munched up by globulous, fastmoving clouds, shapeshifting but motionless, an emulsion of water vapour and vaporized proofs of human life poised across the harbour, so few feet up.
And I was very happy that the lady behind me had 2 cans of tuna and 4 cans of salmon, because it looked like a habit and it's quite a nice feeling to believe you share a nutritional culture with a stranger in the same town, it feels like you live here.
It broke like saucepans and tambourines on patios without number. It broke like glass. The wind weaved through the raindrops falling straight straight, it felt like being kissed. Nobody left for 16 minutes, it just came down.
At the moment, the whole place is grey. If it is still raining it is doing it very quietly, at this point I can't see past the glass on the window, I can't see the harbour. Perhaps the harbour doesn't exist. Actually, there are lights on the peninsula, I can see those. Which means the harbour is still there, but it is incredibly cold.

excitement in lifesize increments

put backing on picture
make phonecall to mobile
krisflyer
ask about hanging picture
go to rhubarb
clean room
starbucks
txt
120 min circuit
sauna