Three 'c' words that go with familiarity... comfort, complacency, claustrophobia.

A Poison Tree - William Blake

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/175222

Some words.. for my mum

I remember sitting next to her
Cross legged
Brushing her hair
It feels soft

I remember leaning in
Resting on her
I can hear her heartbeat
It sounds like mine

She is one half of my heart
The safe place in which I once slept
The strength and warmth
That makes a home

When I look at her, I see
A beautiful girl, laughing
A strong woman, coping
A mother, full of love

I am her and she is me
Nothing cracks, nothing breaks
Nothing fades
Me and my mum
Always

Mermaid

As a girl, I would lie on my front in the bath, watch my hair twist and swirl in the soapy water...imagine I was a mermaid.

I watch it now. Shorter, the odd flash of silver, lying still. I wonder where she is hiding.

Summer clouds

Writer's block

Grasping at formless thoughts, they twist and flicker like shadows cast from a flame, then vanish. Frustration lingers, I imagine it smells of burning.

Empty Room

You come to know the sounds of a building.

The gentle hum of working machines...

air and water whirring through pipes...

ticking clock.

When alone, your limbs and mind relax into these sounds.

Like a baby, settled in its mother's womb,

listening to the sounds of her body.

They are sounds of existence.

They do not instruct,

they do not call for movement,

they simply are.

A door bangs.

A phone rings.

You remember that you are born.

Eliot's Love Song

T.S. Eliot - The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

A poem’s beauty comes from that moment in which the emotion you are experiencing and the voice created by the poet recognise and understand one other. I have felt that connection with this poem. Its beauty and tragedy lie in its truth.

Evening meadows

Lofty clouds rest on the dusk horizon, like damson pillows on warm meadow quilts. Breathe in the heady scented breeze of the fading summer day. 

Gaze

White evening sun peers above a lone cloud;

its gaze a perfect shimmering spotlight on the Atlantic.

Home

Curled into his warm body, nose pillowed in his stubbled cheek, I inhale and fall deeply into the scent of home. 

The Tweet of Life

I watched a film yesterday. Terrence Malicks 2011 film The Tree of Life to be specific. My subsequent review posted on Getglue this afternoon went like this:

"What a stunning film. Watching it is what i imagine it feels like to be hypnotised. Regressing into childhood memories and the awareness that these experiences, interactions and relationships both with other human beings and our physical environment make us who we are. A beautiful visual and audible presentation of the human condition and our constant struggle to break through the pressures/demands of an enclosed individual life to a broader realisation that we are part of something much bigger, and our short time here should be spent making the most of those we love. Cinematic philosophy at its provoking and engaging best."

Since i got home from work today i imagine 80%ish of my evening has been spent, or more aptly 'wasted', staring at a screen. After surfing/wading (how bizarre that we so often compare the internet to an 'ocean', and yet no two experiences could be further apart) across various pages of mindless drivel on my phone, i turned on my laptop to 'pin' some 'interests' on Pinterest, followed by a brief bout of facebook stalking, then eventually landed on Blogger and got very frustrated about a pages/tabs issue that couldn't be more irrelevant to my life.

Occasionally, Andy looked at me and smiled. I smiled tightly back; all the while my insides were screaming 'don't try to communicate with me i'm busy'. Then i stopped... and noticed myself... and thought about the film.

I wondered when i last laughed, which thankfully was earlier this evening, and then why i was so uptight. I thought about what screens have done to human communication, ironically under the guise of improving it... and what communication actually is and what it means to us. It is, or should be, a lot more than the transference of flat visual symbols across a measureless faceless digital space. Faceless.. facebook.. hm. A book of faces. Quite disturbing really when you think about it. By this method, human communication could continue forever with no two individuals actually meeting in the flesh. This is a long debated, tired, worn issue, which perhaps makes me sound old before my time; someone who won't accept the benefits of our increasingly techno-electro world. This isn't the case. But from my own personal experience, screens tend to absorb and consume -  identity, life, time, restricting our awareness of, experience of and interaction with others and the world around us. I think, the crux of it is, i need to get out more. Not in a social sense (i do enough of that), but in a living sense, in a 'take a walk in the countryside, breathe, and be aware' sense.

Before writing this, i went to Andy for a cuddle in the full knowledge of my crablike behaviour this evening. I don't want a pixelated version of me, i want a red-blooded, living, laughing, crying, 4d version of me, who is there for those around me and takes the time to truly know them. I know a lot of self-absorbed people, and none of the best ones are. So my mid-June resolution is to step outside of myself and my screen a little more (she says, whilst looking at a screen), and to appreciate the vibrant, present world around me. Admittedly, it is raining right now, and this train of thought was inspired by a film...

Ah well, life is full of contradictions.. taking a moment or two out to acknowledge these thoughts is a healthy process. Unlike the process going on in my tummy after a whole pizza and huge chunk of banana bread this evening. I will attempt to steer clear of screens on holiday in Devon next week and hopefully return with a clear mind and slightly less bagged and bloodshot eyes.

As a new compatriot of mine would say... toodlepip.

A small insomniac stone

Drawn to the screen
like a moth
to a cool slick flame.
Scarring is inevitable.

Apprehension

Fog tendrils linger
and creep
soften jagged thoughts
smother
and cool
raw bruised tissue.
Slow black descent
in scented nothing.
Breathe.
Do you think this is safety?
Then fall
deep
uncertain
lost
alone

Writing Our Way Home blog: How easily we abandon what's important to us... (&...

Writing Our Way Home blog: How easily we abandon what's important to us... (&...

Fantastic article that i, and i'm sure many others, entirely relate to. It's so difficult to find time between everything in life that demands attention, to sit.. think.. write.. and gain some perspective. I must start soon...

Rain

Raindrops on my windscreen turn the world into Monet

Chocolate relief

And on a less serious note.. chocolate cake, which forms one of my personalised 'five-a-day' foods chosen on the basis of their pick-me-up qualities. This particular cake is a dark chocolate and hazelnut recipe by Mary Berry, made with very little flour and lots of eggs. Its brownie-like texture and yummy but not-too-sweet taste rendered it a short guest on our kitchen side. In fact it lasted all of Saturday and two thirds of Sunday before being reduced to little brown dots . ..   . ... .   .

Watching a cake rise when baking is magical. Powder, grain, grease and egg slime transform into a beautiful dome of gooey sweet heaven. I like to turn the kitchen light off so everything is dark but the golden glow of the oven, then i watch my baby cake grow (i do not normally compare edible products to babies, unless they are made from jelly).

The best things in life emerge from a hot oven.. sweet sugar-scented steam clouding the kitchen window.

The Virgin Post

How frustrating it can be to develop a fear of words. I suppose that's what writer's block is really, a deep fear of inadequacy. That you don't have the mental organisation and intelligence to order words in a fashion that will express your thoughts clearly and accurately to a reader. I have started so many blogs, all anonymous, including this one to an extent, because i fear the judgements my words will provoke. All wordless, because i'm afraid that my words won't reach a high enough level of coherence, wit, poignancy. I feel that when i commit 'my' words to a page they enter into a world of assessment and competition in which i'm found lacking in some nameless, colourless, faceless measure of value.

Perhaps this is one thing my degree has taken away from me. Years of being trained to strive for a particular level of analytical clarity and complexity. Every word is important in its significance to the end goal. What happened to superfluous playful rhythmic sensual words that flow fall flux in fluid motion like the rise and fall of breath beat of heart palpable waves of emotion. I have lost this, i have lost the me in my words. I don't write a diary anymore, only the occasional meaningless Facebook status update or Twitter comment. I want something more from words. I want them to be mine... to embrace my voice and carry pieces of it by whatever means through time place and form. I want those small moments of life, love, emotion... feeling, to be made timeless in writing and to flow like blood through word shaped pieces of me. My plan is to re-build my relationship with words, and in the process i hope that i will come to know myself better. This blog may be another failed attempt at diarising, or it may grow into a collection of word-shaped pebbles of sound and silence that play the tune of a thing called me. We shall see.