I’m here now – it’s a better look and a better read.
Orbital
I’m reading Please Don’t Come Back From The Moon by Dean Bakopoulos.
The first chapter made me play Belfast by Orbital but this is a better video – Lush
El Camino Abajo
Before I lost my Jean Sprackland book Tilt I translated one of the poems into Spanish for a friend. I don’t speak much Spanish and had some help. The poem is called The Way Down and I like it a lot. In Spanish I think it sounds good too. I worked hard on this. Here it is:
El Camino Abajo
Olvidar el camino.
Cortar a travès de los tojo y endrino
y caminar en el arroyo.
El asunto es acerca de un arroyo
se sabe dònde se va, tiene un talento
para encontrar la ruta màs corta.
Un camino puede perder su control,
agotarse en las pantano o helecho, partir
inescrutablemente en dos. He pemanecido en ese lugar
y sopesado las opciones, sopesado
y comprobado de nuevo cuando
lentas neblinas sobre las montañas como sueño.
Cuando el arroyo divide
los dos riachuelos estan igualmente firme.
Cada uno juega su propio juego – la mancha de musgo,
la repentina carrera sobre umbral de peñon -
y cada uno, si lo permites,
te llevarà hacia abajo.
This Is England
I saw This Is England tonight. You should see it if you haven’t. It’s a sweet and sinister film. Life is sweet and sinister. It is also a very big and very small film. Life is big and small. And it is timeless and smack in the summer of 1982. Life is neither of these things. I like these contrasts.
I have the boy’s eyes in my head now.
This boy is England.
I want to change the font of this blog
It’s starting to annoy me. I’d like Arial size 8 I think. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t think it is possible. I think I might have to change blogs to do this. I will investigate. There are pros and cons.
I am going to work hard tomorrow. I have been working hard but I haven’t felt productive because my writing has been loose. This is not a bad thing. When I write I like to attack the keyboard. Keep it coming till something starts forming in the subconscious of the pages of words. Maybe a paragraph. This can be depressing. I’m aiming for a start point. I know what I am writing about. Ish. I know what I want to write about. The two are not the same at the moment. The space between them is the size of my depression. If you ask me what I am aiming for I can tell you something. I don’t have this yet. It is a feeling at the moment. I am trying to work out how to achieve this feeling on the page, as a story, as a book. I will find it. When I find it I will know what it looks like. The feeling looks like me when I was 11. I have been writing some poetry today too.
I’ve been sent a book
Matt Briggs, author of Shoot The Buffalo, has emailed me his book as a PDF. I am touched by this kindness. I feel I should give something in return. I will write more on Shoot The Buffalo when I have read it.
I went to the Bodies exhibition in Barcelona yesterday. It’s strange and fascinating and a bit grizzly. I saw embryos and fetuses, the small bones of the ear, three hearts in glass boxes, lungs with and without smoke-induced diseases, the entire nervous system uncoiled, the skin of a man lain out on a table like a suit and a small black rock called cancer. I was uncertain about the ethics of a lot of it and my friend Daniel Hong Kong said some bodies had been bought from the Chinese Government. I can neither confirm or deny this. Most disturbing was the arrangement of some of the bodies in sporting positions. One was playing darts.
The human heart only starts to beat during the fifth week.
Rubbish Haiku
This is for my friend Rachel to prove I’m not rubbish.
It is reference 1.
Rubbish Haiku
Rachel, I’m not rub-
bish. If I was rubbish I
couldn’t write this hai