I don’t know what went wrong. I’m here now, piecing things together. Actually not piecing together. Working out what to do next. Cutting things out. Planning. New spaces. Different life. Different people. I have to do this every few years. Different writing. Different habits. Not piecing together, tearing apart. Separating good from bad. Letting go of old ideas. Not caring either. People come and go. So do things. Most things made go into landfill. I don’t know why the worms aren’t eating. Do one thing per day then sit motionless in silence for as long as it takes for thoughts to settle down. Go to other places although yesterday that was dangerous.
“EVERYTHING EVERYWHERE”
is a good summary of life experience.
This has just brought me back into focus. Practise. Simple. Do it. Document it. Words are simple. Words are powerful. This is why I write them. Art without baggage.
Stop trying to measure everything by numbers. It’s like we have to quantify, grade, judge everything by a scale we haven’t set. Graphs, averages, spreadsheets for daily life, it all gets measured and achieves nothing.
Do some painting. Action painting. Large canvas on the floor, like Tony Hancock in The Rebel. I might hate the results, but I have canvas, I have paint, I have space. I have energy to work off.
Other people still seem okay, that’s good.
Andrew Stevenson 