Friday, 22 June 2007

first meet diary

this is the complete version of entry for same date on lifechangetodreamspace. Text in orange is what you will see there.

Diary of first ‘life change to dream space’

Part 1 of the journey

The buddleia flowers,
leaves tipped silver by the breeze
girl in pink runs her thumb over the window
whistling, aimlessly.
Another child stands, stretching a finger,
drawing over half the large window.

I suspect you could have
a fog centred holiday
this week
in west wales
rather than sunsets through scraper canyons.

Rosebay rosebay rosebay willow herb
thrashing pink
you’re just trying to make me happy

I’m not happy.
It’s all knives and forks to me
with delicate lace work.

Part 2 of the journey

Some fields in Wiltshire still have red puddles of poppies.
The lad behind me talks of playing poker until 4 a.m. this morning (I think he won £28). And one of their number turns out to have been a professional poker player for 6 months, including 2 months in vegas.

I have seen giant hogweed.


Leicester Square tube
Sort of natural but I knew it wasn’t someone coming up/down the escalators as the volume never changed. Then there he was: a blind man in a white t-shirt, his official busker id around his neck, whistling. White stick stood in a buff washing up bowl for change.
The whistling was lovely, it made me smile, one of the best busking experiences I’ve had (perhaps second to the Quebecois folk singer in Montreal). I could still hear it on the platform. No instruments no amplification.
Muddy puddle ducklings.
Back seizes up mid tube change, grind to a halt.
I know I’m in a different country, people still smoking in pubs. Yuk!

Part 3 of the journey

The last sunset before the planet tilts back towards winter.

How many old camper vans, and assorted vehicles are going down the motorway towards Somerset filled with people, wellington boots and tents?

So many horse lorries??? I see a sign for an international polo match between England and New Zealand..that’s not that many horses…..
(later I realise Ascot is on, and I remember last year at Waterloo station many hats, not that I want remember, cold hurt, go away)

Part 4 of the journey

Joy Division.

Wandering through Wednesdays conversations:
How much body is personality and how much personality is body? I am agreed that I probably had to be ill to stop (my mother does that but far more dramatically, and then doesn’t really stop). Ballet training certainly gives a rigid discipline of overcoming body and making it look effortless, with a smile. Did my personality enable me to continue, until body said no, or did the learnt discipline add something to my personality? I am a migraine personality type; but that is because my seretonin swings – but that’s body…or is it? Is my personality the how of dealing with the highs and lows (definitely lows for sometime)?

Self-esteem: the mental health assessment people thought a self-esteem course would be most beneficial, but there isn’t funding anymore. But I got to do cognitive behavioural group therapy. It was realistic, but I was probably more academically interested in it…. I was sent a DIY book on self-esteem. I can’t do it, I get so angry I am liable to hurt something.

But I can look at some of my work and recognise something of value in it … something useful??? Yet I can’t put myself out into the world with it, I freeze. Well I can’t put myself out into the world some days! Also on a practical level I am on long term sick, I need to go and see the jobcentre, as one is allowed to do some work, but I’d probably have to contact the council as they would want to remove my housing benefit pound for pound…. And how can I be well? Not how can I get cured but how does one do it, live it? It is terrifying, I don’t feel capable, although I know I am viewing this from a viewpoint of not being able to support myself.

NOTHING on dream spaces…..

But things are pretty awful at the moment, so it’s not surprising I am not going to a dream space (unless involuntarily at sleep). I am about to take a huge challenge and sing in a choir ... I don’t sing, though I did once, for a performance, up a tree; maybe I can only sing up trees.

I arrive back at my parents where I spend some time (where my studio is/was) to find Les, our family friend who has lived with us since I was 5, so much worse. Death really hangs in the air, one can no longer pretend.

Water is good because it supports. Cold water is good for a quick hurtle around …or slipping into briefly, gently … Dancing in the water (not cold) is like flying, a bit, also there isn’t the vertical emphasis (though I do do a lot of movement on the floor these days)

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