Laid Bare, Contemplation, Spotify, Lesson Plan

Saturday 26th May 2012

Saturday morning sunny and it’s really funny to be rudely awoken at twenty-five to eight by a fucking power-tool chewing through oak or 4 inch hardwood of some other persuasion. Why do they start so early these selfish workmen. It’s probably for our benefit of course.

In the bathroom the left shiner is going a jaundice yellow. It was fun to talk about it on stage last night in Hartlepool. Nothing so macho as a punch-up, just a relaxation exercise in a drama workshop that went from vertical to horizontal in a nanosecond -  BANG! And boy was I lucky that the spectacles only pierced my cheek and not the socket squidge. I’d be really, really pissed off losing an eye to a fucking drama workshop. Last night I found the first set a little difficult. It was a big room and quite a distance between stage and audience. It was great to see Valerie Laws and Jenni Pascoe on the same bill. Second set was better, room darkened down, stage spotlit more prominently. I read a couple of pieces from the page and I think it kind of helped me a bit, really great response to Silent Telephone which allowed me to go into Tightrope Walker seamlessly. And as it had been a sunny day, why not do Gutter Man? Obsessional Confessional met with the stone-cold silence as intended – which allowed me to  send myself up and launch into set closer of Goth. The audience went with it and I had a lovely time. We had to leave shortly after out sets as unable to get home otherwise – Valerie kindly drove us back to Gateshead. We were in the Takeaway by half eleven and scoffing our chips in Jen’s room by midnight. Mission totally accomplished. I love doing sets in new towns. Well recommend The Studio Laid Bare event. Really, really enjoyable.

This morning I’m heading back to Consett so that I can catch up on editing and pick up food for our lazy Sunday.

Sunday 27th May 2012

A quiet day of contemplation in the sunshine might be nice. A trip to the coast to sit for a few hours watching the waves, smelling the sea air and listening to the gulls; maybe drawing symbols in the sand with a stick. Try to memorize a poem before the sea swallows the stanzas.

I don’t know, I stand before the mirror and inspect the wreckage. Head peppered with silver stubble. Two days growth on my jowl. The purple smear of a bruise beneath my left eye starting to fade, the jaundice yellow around the socket easing a little. My discoloured teeth stand crooked in the gum line, my nose sprouting hair now, crystallized snot up my nostrils after eight hours of trying to sleep on a burning mattress. If I turn my head right then left my neck crunches. I can feel the tingling in my right hand when I move my fingers. I dislike the abundance of body hair. The halo of grey wire covering my shoulders and chest.

I dislike my inability to get beyond myself sometimes. Other times revel in self absorption.  Still a child, plotting and scheming my own exile. Who wants to run with the hunted? Simple economics tells me I must mix with the masses to afford my fuel and travel passes. The glass is only so big and to keep pouring in liquid with no regard for this fact is surely going to result in unnecessary mess. Live within your means. Some days it’s easy to be philosophical. Other days a sense of urgency bordering on megalomania when the malfunctioning body moves towards some self-appointed destination with a velocity and disregard for people and protocol equalling the force of a nuclear missile. Okay, this is maybe not as it should be, but it’s the way it is sometimes.

And on days like today, we find ourselves awake mid morning, while others are snoring or overcoming boring duty, we find ourselves within the luxury of the daydream; the quiet contemplation. Self assured contentment that allows us to sit out the day, pondering, staring at our surroundings. An empty spare room now, wicker basket by the wall, a broken radiator, musical instruments, empty coat hangers, a pile of scientific magazines and holdalls of wouldn’t-be-seen-again-dead-in clothing plus a few carrier bags of trash. Bare feet adhere to the diamonded grooves of the blue carpet; behind rests on the cushioned expanse of a battered mattress and we chill out. Quiet save the tinnitus of distant teenage musical abuse and the scrapings of a biro on blank paper.

It might be nice to wander today; go to some woodland or clamber over rocks, stroll by a lake or just read a book on a beach for a while. Today is not the day for being cooked up in an attic. There will be technology aplenty upon our return but today feels like one for experiencing something of the natural world.

As the waistline expands I wrack my brain for a sixth exercise adhered to last summer for abdominal sculpture and when it comes back to me I will add it to the five previously recalled and sequence for another seasonal routine in order to strengthen my core to aid hill climbs on a bicycle.

Even I am not immune to the healing power of the sun. Even I can be enticed out into the open, finding myself hungry for a little bit of adventure. It will be good to be on two wheels again this summer. That is, if this wreck of a body can recover, repair itself and regain its former stamina. I am hungry again. I am thirsty. I will return to the room in which my sleeping partner dreams silently and I will pour myself a soft drink. And I will sit, and wait awhile for the next inner signal, whatever it may be. 10.35am.

Monday 28th May 2012

Sleep wasn’t as difficult as I thought. Didn’t go to bed till after one this morning. Right now I’m heating up again big style. Don’t want to be sweltered again today. Think I’ll leave biking till this evening. I checked the weather forecast: it’s going to be a lot cooler after today, which will keep my temper in check.

Yesterday Jenni introduced me to the wonders of Spotify, the website which allows you to access loads of music albums for free. When I got home last night I checked out Swans, Toyah, The Mission, The Damned – loads of full albums that can be played straight out of the computer without the need for download so they aren’t actually taking up any space on the hard drive. Don’t know how the bands make any money out of it, but it’s going to save me a packet this year.

I’m looking forward to some time out from workshops, but must check-in with the college to get a start date for my Clayport Library sessions. They will be quite tough, I reckon, but another lifeline for me. In these difficult economic times I’ll take any writing jobs offered to me. But I need some space to clear the decks a bit. And of course, I want to train for Durham Big Ride’s ‘The Beast’ event too. 8.53 am.

Tuesday 29th May 2012

Good mini-marathon at Waddy this afternoon. Five participants with me. Pleased I went for lighter prompts. Informal approach helped. Some good pieces written. Went to Jeff Price’s book launch tonight. He did a good 30-40 minute set. Read the book in it’s entirety on the bus home, will be re-reading over the coming days.

Before the launch I went to WH Smiths on Northumberland Street and checked out Vive le Rock magazine. Big Interview with Jaz Coleman of Killing Joke. They are playing with the Mission and The Cult in Newcastle in September.

Right now listening to ‘Compact Disc’ by Public Image Limited. They are playing the Academy in August. I don’t really know much of their stuff but it would be good to see Lydon onstage. Got lots of music to explore in the coming months. Really tired now. 10.30pm.

Wednesday 30th May 2012

Would be wise to get into Waddy office by half nine and have my papers copied, get a print out of the Poetry Jam poster and find that little bit of footage of Robert Graves going through fourteen drafts of a poem. Sow the notes on self-editing from Monday and pull out a few examples from Kim Addonizio’s work. Give them their marathon pages and let them have a play, see what they’d like to do with the work. I remember back in the early days when we’d sit at a computer and go over a piece for an hour, instilling the need for revision. Working through drafts towards publication. Where has all that process gone. It’s just sheer lack of motivation. Last night me and Sheila were talking about spending so much time on the creativity of others to the exclusion of our own. Today might be cool to take a couple of pieces of NaPoWriMo with original morning pages, let them see how the work changes. Get some editing done. Self editing. What have you written recently? Where can you take it? Pick four or five of your faces from  the Writng Marathon. Discuss in a group. What works, what needs better lines?  More imagery; less? Do we need a metaphor? Does it jar? Give them a warm-up maybe. How do they feel about a performance for July Learning Celebration Day. Who can I nominate for a learner’s award? Who has devoted their time well? Can we get another edit session on a regular basis, use a college course as Writers’ Shack? How about poems for Ink Bomb? At least one polished piece from each member of the group.  Think about sequencing a ten minute set of material each. Even if there’s no intention of going out on the road. Have a set ready. Try sequencing a pamphlet of work, just in case the opportunity for publication arises. How close a relationship do you have with creativity? Do you revisit the material? Is it throwaway? If you aren’t happy with it, why not? Who says it’s not good, who says it is? By which yardstick are you measuring your own ability? What are you getting from your writing? Catharsis? Distraction?  Self development? Exploration of a theme? Where do you want your writing to go? So many questions. Pick a poem, look at it? What is it trying to say? Do you need to give it major surgery? Minor surgery? What made you write it? More questions. Self editing requires an intimate relationship; and a ruthless objectivity as well – reading the work with critical eyes. Be honest with yourself. Be a reader. Read and write. Pare back, embellish, distil. Time and time again. 7.17 am.