lighters now, socks next?
Monday May 31st 2004, 6:45 pm
Filed under: TPT the First Links Tags:

http://www.traces-of-fire.org/tracing/homeranges/index.html



pens
Monday May 31st 2004, 12:45 pm
Filed under: TPT the First Tags:

It had been far too long. Mood lighting arranged (dim, but bright enough to read softly), Arv



homage
Sunday May 30th 2004, 1:31 pm
Filed under: TPT the First Tags:

Homage to the Magic Pub, a photo sent along by the friend recently visiting. A precious space, cool and yet relentlessly un-achingly-hip, sound and old-fashioned and proper, yet filled with the intriguing. A shame it’s not closer, but I’m not above cross-city quests for proper pints in proper surroundings.



the point
Saturday May 29th 2004, 12:17 pm
Filed under: TPT the First Tags:

The point was precisely to maintain distance, to assert the reserve, to defensively maintain a strict boundary. And yet somehow, when called on it, when pressed on it, in the midst of the call, things tumbled open into the deeper discussion I’d been insistently trying to avoid. Not that I blame her, particularly. But the difference in our modi operandi is clear, transparent, even. To live in this world, to allow someone else to live in this world, and in your head, but without needing to cross the lines, without sending voices across telephone lines, to sustain the real and the fantasy as separate, for the time being. But denied that, of course, I ended up here. A wasted night, work a lost cause after a promising day, the new title challenged and undermined, and an appallingly late start to today. C’est la vie. BL and a pub, I think, are in order, in disproportionate quantities.



Just another manic morning
Friday May 28th 2004, 5:23 pm
Filed under: TPT the First Tags:

The process of submitting the forms was rather involved. For there are forms, you see, elaborate and complicated, intricate and appallingly final. Your name as it will appear in the on-line catalogue of authors. The title of the work, exactly as it was given originally, in block capitals. Otherwise, submit form G6 along with G3, G3a and G26. The mad revisionist instinct to come up with a better title. Which I believe I managed, and cheers to those of you who not only pitched in, but tolerated my manic phone calls and inane ideas.

But of course, once everything was signed sealed and delivered to the post office, I was confronted with the awful reality of the process. That the finality of the ‘fill out a form, presto, you’re done’ was followed by the ‘you ain’t done yet, bitch, not by a long shot’. And that the ‘not done’ entails the slow, steady grind of work, of eke-ing out and ache-ing out sentences one at a time, paragraphs by halves, pages by days. Not terribly surprising – it’s simply ‘work’, no matter what I signed my name to this morning. Which I’ve managed to get some of done, and it’s rather early yet, rather too early to be fading into the lassitude I seem to be in. Perhaps a coffee out, and something different to read for a bit. Wow. This has really degenerated to the boring banalities of my life. So much for the grandiose tone I’m eminently capable of striking, purple prose leaking from a green pen….



29, clumsy, and shy…
Thursday May 27th 2004, 10:12 pm
Filed under: TPT the First Tags:

Well, two out of three, at least. A strange, strange, strangely joyous though exhausting day. The early bus to the ford of Oxen, I settled my long-standing debt with college. Hurdle number one. Then lunch at the supervisor’s – a 3 hour affair, which can best be described using my word du jour (albeit adverbially) – improbably successful. Followed by several lazy, pleasant hours with a friend, quiet in the midst of mutual storms.

But batten down the hatches. The ‘I’m gonna finish’ tour has now gone public, to the judge of judges. And although there’s accompanying paperwork to file, it’s now, officially, the countdown to completion. Daunting and daunted. But pretty farking committed to coming in under the wire: I came to London, and rather than died, landed improbably well on my feet (see?). And thus no excuses, no barriers, no obstacles.



truth about rats and dogs
Wednesday May 26th 2004, 5:49 pm
Filed under: TPT the First Links Tags:

http://www.watleyreview.com/2004/052504-3.html



PsychoChick VII: The End
Tuesday May 25th 2004, 1:49 pm
Filed under: TPT the First Creative Tags:

The saga conclude. Find parts 1,2,3,4, 5, and 6 here. I’ve got work to do, which is why you’re getting this. I refuse to permit myself the luxury of posting my innermost thoughts here when I can simply slap this up, feel like I’ve done something, and go do something more important.

It wasn’t what I wanted, and it was way too hardcore for me. A three week love affair, if not really a 3 cigarette break up. She was the last, really, of the three week women. Or perhaps the last of the first round, as I remained naïve, still, to the power, and thus responsibility of it all. [Appropriate lighting, however, remains a weakness.]



genius
Monday May 24th 2004, 10:10 pm
Filed under: TPT the First Derivative Tags:

In all its glory:

Yearning for death

Badge on my sleeve

You know what I mean

Don’t know what I mean…

Mangina. The one and only…



tomorrow
Monday May 24th 2004, 9:56 pm
Filed under: TPT the First Tags:

Wanting to be loved, to be in love, seems such a basic human instinct, a human need. The friend leaves tomorrow, and temporarily solo, post-filmic, post-excess, I have to confront the upcoming. Which would be easier if I had my head space to myself, but the flatmate on the mobile phone in the other room is distracting me from the thoughts of the walk that landed me here in front of this machine. I know I have much to do, that abegnation and self-discipline, that renunciation and concentration are to be my imminent existence. And I believe I can sustain those things. But can I sustain the hope, as well, that in the magical, almost impossible after, those things that seduce my brain can be renewed, retained? Can I remember the memory of the future, what I want of it, that I have now? I’m rather afraid, I have to say. Afraid of what the cost of the coming months might be. Of what the future me looks like, after the present me, still a fragile reconstruction of previous me’s, endures what I have ahead. Pain can’t hurt you, he said, often and too all who should have listened, but didn’t, including me. But hope can, tragically, preciously.