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128.  Saturday afternoon, in a London haunt.

Recovering from internal pestilence.  Oddly, a week of pain and limited ability to move, times of lightheadedness through lack of sleep has catalysed clarity of thought, renewed purposefulness, practical use of time, being productive, feeling confident, being in control.  At one point, the very worst stage, at 3am one day, trying to visualise different internal…

68.  Sunday, GMT.

Why is that sodding Captain Tom Moore now doing sponsorship videos for Cadbury’s Chocolate?  It’s so nauseatingly* wrong, and oddly like slavery.  I’m sure it’s a front for something more sinister.  Mind control, slavery or fraud. *The chocolate itself isn’t nauseating, it’s quite nice.  I don’t eat rich things much though. A feeling of melancholy. …

96.  Friday afternoon.

I wake early at the moment, but get tired quickly. I’ve decided this phase of writing must be nearing its end.  It has to develop into something structured (structural even?) and purposeful, hopefully with a sense of ending in sight.  I’m never good at endings, which is why my creative output continues indefinitely.  Multiple streams…

41.

There’s a young kitchen porter here with the voice and mannerisms of an emotionally damaged Melvyn Hayes.  A rasping voice, manic jerking body gestures, clearly a maverick, tolerated by his compatriots.  Plenty of people don’t fit in.  He’s quite small, thin, happy, probably regularly ridiculed with affection, which encourages his manic behaviour. Melvyn Hayes never…

99.  Only Tuesday.

The sun is bright and warm.  I’m about to head out somewhere.  I’m not sure where, it may involve the underground.  I want to feel the sun, the air, be near water. Later, on my way now, just gone past Slough, on a very new train with lots of little green lights.  I get so…

43.  On the way out from Victoria.

A few weeks ago, I think when I was first tentatively going out again, I mentioned an LCC block which I thought was being renovated, or “regenerated”.  At the time it looked empty, with some windows missing.  It turns out that I was wrong, and it is being demolished.  Most of the form is wrapped…

46.  Thursday morning.

Writing at home, unusually.  The air is cool, pleasant.  It’s half past nine so not especially early.  It feels calm, although there are sounds of the day beginning.  Already the sun is heating up.  Voices are heard.  People do shout rather here.  Cigarette ends seem to land on the balcony from above.  They become part…

15X. 11th March 2022

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…

82.  Watching, not joining.  The Saturday before Christmas.

An announcement this afternoon that new restrictions are to begin tomorrow.  This is the most urgent implementation yet, I believe.  Stay at home, essential shops only to open, go out for a walk but only with one other person, and so on.  This just reinforces the feeling of detachment, end, disengagement, empty time.  The bookshop…

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