Saturday, October 28

You tell me...

You tell me you read it, you talk to me about it, you mention things you've read. You ask me which catergory I'd put you in for certain things, or pick out a certain line and muse over it, or tell me how you think the lines should go.

But mostly this is off the blog. Don't get me wrong, I love to hear what you think, and it's still great to hear it off the blog, but isn't the idea of a blog to comment about what you think on the blog, so other people can read/hear it too? Don't just tell it to me offline; be wonderful, & put it on here too, so other people can see. Just because you comment here, doesn't mean you can't talk to me about it offline as well. Go on, you know it's not that difficult... & it doesn't have to be profound or a long comment, it doesn't have to 'be' anything. Just let me know what you think if you're reading it, that's all I ask.

So, thank you to all of my readers who've read this so far, who've put up with the followings of my postcards (I've actually found the other one today -- am going to go and post it very soon!) & everything else. Apparently I have 18 posts up here, but I don't think my blog is quite full-grown/ an adult yet. I don't think it ever will be; the thought scares me. (Which reminds me, I was pondering earlier, and realised how if I say 'it's not that I don't want to, or don't want to sometime, it's just that the thought scares me' this appeals to so many things. Bad thing or good, I don't know. I suppose it's neither, most things can't be seen in a bad/good, child-like way...) Still, I have a little nugget of happiness in knowing that I've kept up with my blog. So far, OK, right? (ha, & here I quashed my ego, resisting the urge to say 'so wonderful'.)

PS Armitage: how is his poetry so damn addictive? The collection 'The Dead Sea Poems' is certainly something to drown in, in a wonderful way. I cannot fault it.

Friday, October 27

C-o-n-t-e-n-t.

I actually am feeling verrrry content. & Happy. But that goes with it, right? (Yeuck 'right'. I am lefty. I detest anti-lefty-ism, and yet I find myself using the word in such a phrase...) Mid-afternoon showers with the radio blasting aid such, believe me. Always believe me, only this time especially.

(I realise there haven't been many posts about writing recently. Or reading, in great depth. There will be some to come soon; again, just believe me on this.)

Having returned back

back home, I was about to say, & it is, but it's just that I quite like being in different places as well.

(I did fit everything in the bag, & am very proud of myself for this, & I wore my new boots for two days, ouch!)

One good thing about being back is that I can now check the news more easily. I mean, I know I could buy a paper whilst I'm away, but I prefer reading it on the net, in a lot of ways it seems easier; my fingers won't get newspaper print on them, and also it seems easier to naviagate. Plus I can have a few different sites open, comparing the articles more easily. Oh, & the fact that I don't have to pay is a good thing. I suppose maybe if my parents bought a paper often (preferably The Guardian, or The Independent...) then I would prefer that. They don't though, so I don't prefer it.

I have one real aim for my half term: to find my passport. It would be helpful, considering I need it to go to Germany or France really, or anywhere else for that matter. & I know it's in the house, it's just whereabouts, I don't know exactly. Probably inbetween some books on my ridiculously overflowing bookcase...

Having just drank a hot chocolate with maple syrup, chocolate from the orange tub which comes from France, and marshmallows; I am very happy. Not only for that reason, but hot chocolate generally contributes to it. As does dancing to the radio when it's very loud & no one else is in the house & it's raining heavily (as it often does here, up north) outside.

I have just invited (well, ish) people round tonight. Does that mean I have to tidy my room? I think it does.

---- (This can be a sort of interlude, I want to break it up because now I'm going to talk about other stuff.)

*London*

(it deserves stars, really, doesn't it?)

I like the place. I like getting lost in all the people, it's strange... up north I feel more of a requirement to talk to other people, like when I'm on public transport, I do make an effort, and often end up talking to people. But there? No. You're not expected to make an effort, you're more expected to keep yourself to yourself. There really is a great difference between the north & the south, not only because London is so utterly touristy.

& we got to go to the Tate Stores!! (Notice not only one exclamation mark.) It smelt nice, warehousey, open, the smell of paint and storage and art. Plus it was good to see the pieces of art we're looking at. (I understand that the 'we' is vague here, but I think it would take too much for me to explain it, so I'll just not, ok? I hope you don't mind.)

The security was very high though. I didn't like the security people too much. Very un-smiley. Why do people find it so difficult to smile? It's not like life has to be utterly glorious for people to smile.. & yes, I'm rolling my eyes. If you know me, you know the look.

I also need a new logbook. It's not a diary, or a journal, because I put into it what I want, when I want. So basically it's really uneven and consists of all sorts from lolly sticks, to breaks of about two weeks, to four pages of fast writing in a pen which was half running out. (Or something like that anyway.) (& I want to stick some of the stuff I picked up in London in there, but I think I've only got about 1 page left in the current book.)

Muji calls, it seems. Next time I need to get one with thicker paper as well, because despite the expense, I don't want my pages falling out, or worrying about them falling out just 'cause I choose to stick/ staple/ shove something(s) into/ onto a page. What a mathematical way of writing that sentence. Heh.

What else? I have writing on my right arm. (I'm left handed & wrote it.) By Juan Monos (with a funny little Spanish accent on the 'n', which I couldn't draw too well on my hand with the pen, but remember having to balance quite particularly to give it a go.) "Either too late or too early; it's always the wrong moment." Shouldn't really have put that in speech marks, it's not a direct quote, I paraphrased it if I remember correctly, but anyway. It looks really pretty I think, some of the ink has gone slightly pink, & the rest sort of deep lilac/ light purple. Makes me wonder what it'd be like to have tattoos. Although I don't think I'd like the permanency (is that a word?), I'd probably get bored of it quite quickly. Suppose I like this because I know it shall wash off soon. (When I finally have a shower. Although I need to watch the film first. Well, don't need too, I want to. Might take a piece of 'art' downstairs with me and do it at the same time...)

The thing on my arm was on an information cuboid on one of the walls at the Tate Modern. Out of interest, has anyone else seen the slide thing there? Or even been on it? & Don't you find the escalators confusing there? They sort of miss out a level, the ground floor one... so you have to take the stairs instead, oh the grand effort of picking up my feet to walk there...

I'm going to do something else now. Wonder whether anyone else has had so much fun in the past two days? (I love the ambiguity of 'that' word.)

Tuesday, October 24

Packing in one small (relatively) backpack.

I will find it difficult. Which, I tell myself, is why I'm putting off doing it. Although I have got as far as to tip all the contents of my schoolbag onto my quilt (and now have probably made it dirty by doing so). Plus I can't decide what to take. I don't like knowing what I'm going to be wearing the next day, I don't like planning it. It's like perfume. You put on what seems right. I am definitely going to take my new boots though, they look fabulous. & I feel so whilst wearing them. But...

onto the writing. I wrote something... 2 nights ago? 3? I like it, it's rather rhythmic and is quite playful. Here's the first 2 lines:

'you are pink spilt-ink wine striking stroked notes, which
run, run, run'

& your thoughts...?

Confused.

Very confused.

Sunday, October 22

Update on the postcards, arty stuff, and writing.

Am just in the proccess of editing that poem I told you about yesterday, and also trying to find a title for it. One friend gave me two ideas for the title, taken from the poem. I actually completely forgot about that way of finding titles. Sometimes titles seem unnecessary, other times obvious, and other times apart from that, they wander inbetween of want. Right now, I'm thinking that 'Not to mention' is the preferred one.

I promised an update on the postcards though... one is by the front door, waiting to have its address written out, and already with a stamp on. (Blue, if I remember rightly, so second class?) The other is somewhere in my room. Where, I don't know, although I have actually tidied it ish. & it was hoovered today (under the bed as well, you'll be glad to know.)

Arty stuff... I made a 3d photograph today. Of the tap and a sink, and a wineglass set just in front.

Need to work out how to put pictures up...