Still...

Still:

- Livid, though it seems to be settling into a low level world-weary derision

- Amazed by the awkward and honest way that youngsters use their bodies, it in turns embarrasses , confounds, and astounds me

- Trying to become more human again after 33 days straight at work and then the apocolypsis of lightly imparted (work-gripe related) death knells

- Calming; like aloe on a raw wound, my last two days have cooled me, but only time will really begin to make it less sore

- Really happy that my brothers seem to be negotiating themselves through their difficult days with far more aplomb, better dress sense and greater grace than ever I did

- Nostalgic for the ease of August, and the pleasant sensations of sloth and evenings full of possibility that an early dusk brings

- Looking.


B: Freakonomics, Dubner and Levitt; Dirk Gently... Douglas Adams; If Minds Had Toes Lucy Eyre

Grrrr...

Gnnnnnnnnnnnnggggg...

I am absolutely livid...


It remains to be seen if this is lasting, but whence not even brown leather brogues and the blues cheer me ... ominous indeed.

I shall explain in due course.



B: Anger Robert A. F. Thurman

Stripey shoes

I have an unbridled and inexplicable love of these shoes. Made, bizarrely, by fender... The guitar people.

debts and bets... I have decided

should I win my impending argument with my bank, I shall be taking myself (with my spoils) across the pond for a brief sojourn 'pon the wilds of the American East coast

I bet;

- that i don't get back as much from the bank as i'm owed (well, yeah)
- that I find that all the people I know who live out there have shifted/are shifting cities exactly the week I arrive
- that I forget to take something vital with me
- that whatever happens I will come back with at least two dozen books

I am, it seems, forever a pessimist and not a gambler...

* And in the weather today: I'm back in upper case, for a while at least.

(first) bookstack of the year

these are (most of - at least all the ones present in the store) the books I finished in January… aided and abetted by a five day holiday at the start…

B: Look We Have Coming To Dover - Daljit Nagra; What's Left - Nick Cohen; Measuring The World - Daniel Kehlmann

capital punishment

today i feel diminished

and

i’m not quite sure about how this writing-stuff-down-malarky feels yet.

reading the bio-scribbles of others often makes me happy, i’m absorbed in their life, filling in versions of their truths with my imagination. frequently i will become so hooked on a stumbled upon author, that i read through their archive to the present, but i cant begin to imagine how that would be for people reading through me.

i’m never certain that i’m able to be honest on the page. i’m too aware of the explicit desire to be read that it expresses, it seems somehow so presumptive and i’m very wary of that.

so for today, i shall write myself in a lower case. it shadows my mood, reflects my uncertainties and better than that, includes my judgements before it gets read. which is really the crux of it all; judging what i’ve done before i’ve done it and claiming it as a result of fear of others judging me.

punishment through typeface choices; at least that’s context.

i am, i think, just a little more frightened of me than i knew before.

how silly.

B:Speed Of Light - Javier Cercas; Fixed Ideas - Joan Didion