Before I found my will I was always sleepy and covered in dust. It made me sneeze and i couldn’t see where I was going. Instead I just saw piles and piles of where I had been.
There are millions of others, just the same. Unchanging, unmoving, still people. Gathering layers of waste fibres and allowing something else to live through them. But they are still people.
‘Centre yourself’ they used to tell me when the nausea got too much. ‘Be here now.’ ‘Find your sense of home.’ It’s good advice, when you take it in your own particular flavour, but most people assume it means ‘think of sunshine, a fresh breeze, still waters and soft ground’. Those things feel most uncomfortable to me. I do not have those things at my centre. I am not soft and gentle and still and bright. Sure, they might feel calming. But they are not true to my nature.
Continue reading “Fragments of Void: Affirmations”
This is a new episode of a continuing piece of fiction. You are welcome to start reading here, or if you would prefer you can find the previous episodes on my home page under the heading Creative, ‘The Old Woman, The Stag, and Me’.
To my delight, I got a job in the central library where everything was curved and ergonomic and fresh. Employment had seemed to be such a dull prospect that I hadn’t imagined there’d be a place like that for me. Being allowed to spend my days swimming in books was ideal; all that was missing was a nice big bathtub and I would’ve been completely at home.
What I found difficult was working with so many people. When I lived in dreamscapes the people could be peculiar for sure, but they were nearly always open to the craft of psychic travelling. They didn’t mind the occasional shapeshifting, and understood that time and space were not linear. The people in reality seemed quite grey in comparison, and I kept forgetting to censor myself to appear normal.
Continue reading “A Bright Purple Scream”
As we have evolved, the way we understand the world around us has changed. Nature plays a less obvious part in our lives than it once did, and we pay far more attention to technological devices and man made structures. The Spell of the Sensuous aims to explore the reasons for this, and to demonstrate how we might improve our lives by reconnecting with the natural world. It is a book that successfully merges anthropology, philosophy and ecology, and I expect it will hold the intrigue of anyone with an interest in one or more of these disciplines.
A particular curiosity of mine concerns perception, and how it alters the way we experience, so I was delighted to see the book began with that aspect. Abram considers the feeling of connectedness we get when we truly immerse ourselves in our surroundings, becoming conscious of everything our senses are telling us as we do in the practice of mindfulness. He argues that we are in essence inseparable from the things we perceive, and are in a reciprocal dance with the earth, plants and animals. He relies heavily on the ideas of Maurice Merleau-Ponty as support; a philosopher I hadn’t studied before but found intriguing. Early on in the book we are given the most convincing explanation for a belief in animism I have come across.
Continue reading “The Spell of the Sensuous – David Abram (7/10)”
Books written by our favourite authors are like old friends, who have accompanied us through years of our lives and seen us at various stages of togetherness. They have occupied that intimate space between the inner workings of our minds that only we know, and the external world. They have fed into our moods, perceptions and understandings. They have comforted and inspired us.
The first book I read by Steve Erickson was The Sea Came in at Midnight, back in 1999. He had published 5 novels before this, but my particular introduction to his work was a short paragraph written about this one in The Times newspaper. I no longer remember the description, but it sounded like nothing I’d read before and I knew I had to get a copy. I wasn’t disappointed. I was thrilled in fact, and having felt much the same about all of his other novels since, he has become my favourite contemporary author.
Continue reading “Homage to Steve Erickson”
Pining, longing, desperate to grasp
But one gasp
And the connection is cut
The life supply removed
The flowers rot in their cellophane.
In a world where money is God, unemployment is for the forsaken. It can be seen in the glassy eyes of the homeless, who are denied ordinary human interaction and treated with revulsion as punishment for not conforming to accepted methods of worship. It can be seen in the content of daytime television. And it can be seen in the body language of those who have a job, when addressing those who would like one.
The young woman responsible for interviewing Hertz and I at the employment agency looked as though her clothes were swallowing her. She can’t have been long out of full time education, but had already been packaged in a sharp grey suit and her hair scraped back into a sensible, stern bun. She was taking her role seriously, speaking in a professional condescending manner, and putting on what would have been referred to as a display of power had she been part of the animal kingdom. Beneath all of that there was a person, I was sure. I squinted, trying to see who she might be. Continue reading “A Cat Among the Pigeonholes”