Diary – Friday

Double this up

I feel as though I am cranking old machinery into gear.

No.  It was the Castle who were wrong in the first place.  Of course you can read old texts through these-days theory – in fact, what else can you do?  What’s it called – historical parity – you don’t have to have that to have authenticity.

But that’s something else – authenticity.

However – an academic career would not have suited me in any case –

Bus – just there, but I can’t run.

Keep myself company in these pages again for a while.

We’ll see.

I have a tag (or is it a category) called ‘casting about’ and that might be what I’m doing.

A bit absent to myself, you could say, but if I say that, who am I saying it to?

I must insist that this does matter.

“She hasn’t learnt to go round people yet.”

A dad about his kid on a scooter, but I was out of the way by instinct before I knew she was there.

Oo!  They’ve crossed and gone into the house with the turrets cut into the hedge.

Do they live there?

Wish I lived there.

But it wouldn’t be me cutting the turrets.

Where’s that bus?

You miss one, you miss them all.

Call it ‘Double this up’ – I have what would turn into a double space between these – thoughts – it might not translate well on to mobile phones, since the thoughts are so – short.

I do think of my reader.

No.  I explain only what I have to.  You can so much get yourself into hot water if you’re not careful.

No.

Shut up now.

Diary – Tuesday

This is what I was thinking yesterday, and I may or may not get this straight.  Nothing is ever perfect, but I generally know when to leave what I’ve written – when it appears as something of an ‘artistic whole’ (even though I don’t entirely believe in that notion).  I may or may not tell you if I think I have achieved that – this is now on the hoof –

What I was thinking – it’s funny (I was thinking) – when I read, I don’t really read for content – I don’t think I do – I can be oblivious to content (or, it is secondary) –

And – but what I’ve just said – that can’t apply to thrillers and horror and fantasy or science fiction that I read specifically so that I can turn the pages and find out what happened, can it? –

Ah – I’ve been in this spot before where I try to wrap things around – say – yes, this applies to me; this is how I am –

Only to find instances or occasions when I don’t seem to be that way at all –

And then you can worry in case you are lying – but you never are – or, on the odd occasion when you might find that a necessity – you do know you are doing it – and there is a reason –

No – if I catch myself saying something that doesn’t seem to apply to something else I have espoused elsewhere – I am all unaware.  It is a rarity indeed that I lie outright – and I can say that about myself.

But – leave this track now, and get back to what I was thinking yesterday –

I can be oblivious to content in what I read.

I can be carried away by sound, or rhythm.

A pervasive soft shushing sound in something I read yesterday – there was an accuracy, in it, of being a certain age – I picked up on that much – I admired the courage it must have taken to admit to that –

But it was the shushing, the softness of the expression that got me – the gentle round the edges.

And I commented, on an impulse.

Just that I loved it – the post.

And then I went back, later – maybe something was bothering me –

And some of the other comments – brought me up short.

They were to do with the content of the post – which I had hardly picked up on at all (except for a few bare bones) – content which had been, to me, hardly important.

It sounded like a gentlemen’s club, and I wondered if I would have been welcome at all – really – or – in what capacity.

 

Maybe I should stop commenting off the cuff.

But, on the other hand, some of these blog-people I comment with –

And this is where I break down – I have ‘I might or probably seem odd in some way – it is like, as though, but – we are on different pages.’

 

And I have ‘Might seem weird.  But I get a lot of insight from commenting – in this way – with not much –’

 

I’m strange?

Not my problem.

 

 

 

Diary – Saturday

My neighbour died last week – I’d known him for 30-odd years – a young lad of 59 – I went to his funeral last Thursday – a celebration of his life, I should say – and very nice that was, too.

Last weekend, I went to a religious do.

I’m an atheist, I should say.

Though I believe in an afterlife – don’t want things too grim.

No.  Don’t ask me to discuss that just now –

But I have my stream of dead people at my right shoulder, and I’m beginning to think I must be making up my people myself – even people I don’t want jostle there, trying to get a word in –

Well – there’s been one –

Let him through!

Yes.  The religious do – me wondering if I should stop singing the hymns at last at these events, looking up and catching the eye of the Catholic priest – so jovial he was! – and me not singing at that point – and looking down to avoid that eye –

No!  No!  Don’t bow your head as if in shame at a Godly-guy!

Look straight on!

It was a strain.

It was all a strain, I can tell you – and you go out in your stream and shake his hand – “Thank you for the lovely service,” you say – like a kid, like a kid –

Diary – Sunday

Trying to find where I am today – went to a do yesterday – I’m waiting, now, to pick up my own things once more – I always said I didn’t want to be a chronicler of events – but I could be – in another place.

I need to put down what is there, in any case.  I follow a few blogs where people produce story after story, week by week – or even more often than that.

They seem to have that facility – which I don’t have.

I knew someone once – someone dark, and who I ended up not liking very much, but he could do that – trot out the stories.

It was a bit like that yesterday – who could tell the best story.  Some of them I’d heard before.

Oh, there’s a better version of all this tucked away in a private place – and I’m back here again, working out what can go public, what can’t.

I must produce, in any case, I have decided – whatever I can produce, that is what I can produce, and I need to throw that down on the page like so much paint-splatter.

I did art once – a course in it – and, in life-drawing, we were told that we were now professionals, and whatever mark we put down on the paper – it had to be right – when you were a professional, you couldn’t keep on screwing up pieces of paper and throwing them in the waste basket.  You didn’t put a mark unless you knew it was going to be right.  You didn’t leave a mark standing that wasn’t right – you used your putty-rubber where necessary.

I think writing is only so-so like that.

That sort of art – there was a deliberation in it – we were not Jackson Pollocks at that point.

And writing – there is an ideal to get it oh-just-so-right.

But that is impossible, and I find it is better to throw signifiers to the page – see which stick like Pollockian paint.

[Oh – I’d read Jeanne’s post at Borderline Crossings where she says some interesting things about Mondrian.  That was in my mind when I wrote this – Pollock seems different from Mondrian – Mondrian seems so precise, Pollock not – but I’m no art expert, and I’m just wondering.]

Diary – Sunday

Hair Trauma

 

From ‘Wednesday 8 March 2017’:

You’ve got to be who you are – don’t you?  Regardless of what is going down.

 

But other people see you in a different way from how you see yourself.

You might not be living the mirror-thing, though.

But you get caught up in that anyway.

You live with buffeting that comes from other people.

 

Someone has moved in over the road who has a motor-bike.

That is now a regular roar.

 

The reason you don’t give your age, if you are a woman – you’re on the run.

Hairdressers – they want to forever give you age-related styles.

And you must also beware, if you do look ‘good for your age’, that you don’t get stuck in that, because age does show.  It always shows in one way or another.

And you don’t want to be mistaken for very much younger than you are – you can’t keep up.  You don’t want to keep up.  You’re past all that.

I’m 65.

Got to say it sometime, and face the consequences, stop that run, shake off hairdressers.

I’m a hippie! for god’s sake!

Get off my hair!

Leave it be!

But then – this short – I have lost a weight from around my neck.

That is nice because of these aches and pains.

Not age-related!

I’ve had them for years!

Age-related in another way.

No!  I won’t say what I mean!

I’m of the generation of rebels!

And I hardly rebelled then!

I’ll do it now!

 

I thought of putting much of this entry into the blog – but that would leave me too vulnerable – I can only put there what I can manage in my real life (apart from what is – habitually – ‘on the page’)…

So – this is where I am.

And the blog – it serves me – I don’t serve it.

 

No.  I’ve got to remember that it is March.  I can’t change the fact that it’s March.

But – I can work through it…

But (I get sick of saying ‘but’) – it is no use speculating.

Write, that’s all, and it’ll come out.

 

No.  It’s March.  And it will be worse next month.

I just need to hold my own where I can.

 

At the moment, I’m finding that I need to be generally more tolerant – because people are all different.

But – being ‘tolerant’ also means that I don’t expect myself to be like other people.  I’m not them.

It’s a case of finding this balance so that I’m not a complete pushover.

 

From ‘Thursday 9 March 2017’:

No.  It’s what slips into your writing – that’s what you’re really saying.

 

Woman burning – “Roll over, Missus, you’re burning!”

“I know, but I have to get out of the way first!”

Dream.

I was going along a place that I knew – into a shop – a very small Japanese woman (old) running, smiling, into a corner of the shop – the running was the only way she could move, these days.

One or two other people with her.

She was smiling because she did know it was funny that she was running (reminds me of a young kid, running away from ‘minders’, knowing it is mischievous to do).

I came out of that shop.  I was looking for something.

I went further up that road, which reminds me of somewhere near Church Lane (but not there).

It was then that I saw – up a side street – a sudden flare-up of flames – a bungalow (think it was) just combusted – orange fire.

I didn’t know that area so well, and I was trying to get my phone out of my pocket – but fumbling – tissues – I don’t know.

I knew I had to ring 999 – the fire – whoosh! – blazed from another building – it was spreading rapidly.

I knew I had to get out of the way, but I could hardly move.

It was then that I saw this woman, her handbag over her arm, shooting out of that side street – but she was on fire!

I was trying to get out of the way, knew I had to ring –

Other people were coming now from across the road – you could hear the fire spreading –

I knew one of those would be able to ring before I could – meanwhile, I was almost rooted to the spot.

I woke.

 

My hair – as the hairdresser did it yesterday – it seemed such a calamity to me – such a problem – it is too short around my face, and I can do nothing with it except stick it behind my ears…

No.  It’s March, and I’m in the throes of affectivity.

 

Oh – what I was thinking – ‘things are so awful – look what’s happened with my hair – I’ll have to go to another hairdresser – and then another one, and another one – go to hairdressers in rotation because there aren’t that many of them – because I told her, and she didn’t know what I meant – wanted her own way at being a hairdresser – but at my expense – and my glasses – I’ll never be able to tell an optician – I’ll be blamed for everything because I can’t get across what I mean – I can’t say – and the doctor-thing –’

 

From ‘Friday 10 March 2017’:

No.  There is a lot of emotional stuff going down.  I need to be careful.

 

Today difficult – that’s what I was saying – used only one lot of shampoo on hair – hardly need to wash it twice – it’s that shorn.  Hate it.  Last time I go to a hairdresser for a while – oh, none of what I say can say…

 

My encounter with the hairdresser – just last Wednesday – she said something that was just not true.

She can do hair – she is good – that is why I went back to her.

But they get –

 

My hair is short – it is in such a way that, if I bothered with hair curlers and spray and colour – I could have an actual style.

But I don’t want a style.  I like styles – on other people – some styles.  But, for me – I want my hair long, free and natural.

And – the hairdresser and me – talking at cross-purposes.

She has given me a potential style – but having already been disparaging about my actual hair, as it was when I went in there –

And it’s no better now she’s done her damnedest – because it’s hair.

My hair is fine but thick, with some wave (it has!) – and it tends to be fly-away this time of year – which is why she cut it off!

There was nothing wrong with it – it’s fly-away now, just the same – but shorter fly-away.

She’s solved nothing!

But it’s my fault!

I let it happen!

I have got to get a grip of myself when I do go to hairdressers – tell them – no – tell them nothing!

Tell them anything and they’ve got you!

Tell them nothing!

Say you want a trim at the ends (no cutting up the front – you don’t tell them, but you do that yourself when you get home!) – a trim – not a style.

If they argue – walk out!

Trim your own!

Diary – Wednesday

This is just a straight entry – no fancy stuff here – just something to keep the whole thing ticking over – just jotting – but I’m not going to put it in the ‘Jottings’ slot – I think I have one – this blog may just (everything is ‘just’ here) turn into a diary blog with the occasional story, or part of story, if I wanted a change – if I wanted to – I – I – I –

I know how it gets.

I don’t know what it is about this time of year – people disappear – I said this before – it seems as though everyone gets busy.

I just (again) note that – for myself – to keep the paranoia at bay – no, the last thing I have, in fact, is paranoia –

Does anyone else hate the stats?

Do you know, WordPress is never going to talk to me – I talk about it so much.

The stats get in the way – but you need to take a look because someone may have said something, or visited (in between being so much somewhere else).

Oh – March.  I generally hate March.

There are some important dates in March for me – not everyone hates March – I don’t expect them to – and I hope to come through for them – but – all those light nights coming in.

I prefer the winter – in many ways – get cosy, inside – not much to do except write – yea!

I know lots of writers who need to write – who are not happy unless they write.

I’m one of them.

And so I –

Leave it.