that europe has no camels.
friend who says that to
give to treat
land mass to a
But an Island is no man
And a mountain has a(n abrupt) subtlety
A river fluidity
And a coast a deception
Devoid of me.
What what Tumbles!
(something what i made.)
I’m taking the summer off.
S’a shame, but i physically don’t have the time to maintain this blog as i’d like to over the summer. i’ve lots and lots of things i’d like to write each day, and many that i do, but i’m not one to half-arse a job.
I’ve loved being introduced to tumblr and i hope you’ll all still be here when i’m back. what i’ll try to do is have a few dozen pieces ready to post as soon as i am.
Do take the time to stroll through the archive. this blog is rather special to me and different in that i’m proud of everything you’ll find there.
Like, re-blog and spread the word. thank you again, and stay around.
January & Jodhpurs,
a. l. beckett
Proud figment of your imagination.
(I’d rather not force it, if you don’t mind.)
Gone, without a trace.”
The man with the waistcoat
inhales the pause and
ponders for a breath. Hands
in pockets - fingers in, his thumbs without.
When the applause comes, he smiles with
something within sight of relief. And,
collecting his notes together
(folding them with care
within a soft suede notebook
- white leafs petruding harmlessly at top and bottom)
he mutters a
to the standing audience.
From rhyme to time i write
a little whim or rudity for you.
(today) though but,
i’d like to make a distinction
(or one of sorts): i do avoid
(where possibility provides)
offending or excluding
but today, and just,
i’ll set all such aside
and speak my mind.
A close acquaintance asked me not so long ago how i’d been and i said fine and he asked what i’d done and i said nothing and we both smiled mutually and with little interest we both looked at our drinks and wished we were much smaller and could climb and clumber over the ice cubes
like polar bears at sea.
(Or maybe only me.)
Now you sea that scene is a problematic one for me (the acquaintance, this is - forget the polar bear, i don’t know why i brought it up). the thing is, i really had been fine. fine is how i’d been and fine is more or less how i am. in fact, had i to choose, i’d say fine is more how i am than less.
Equally, i’d not done anything. i haven’t done anything recently. thinking about it, i haven’t done anything since 1997. but i’m really rather fine.
I’m getting distracted aren’t i? (i can tell, because i just drew up a table of the pros and cons of 1997.) let me detail my perfect day (believe it or not, this is closer to the point than the polar bears). i had my perfect day not so long ago. it was the 22nd of May and i wrote this.
Being the type who works their own way, i spend a lot of time drinking coffee and reading. (and, yes, i’ve got into the habit of wearing eccentric shoes - which go rather down well in rural england thank you for asking.) now it’s reading that i love. it’s all about getting lost in leafs for me and i make no apology.
(This really is meandering.)
What i would like to say is that i don’t like people. i’d like to say it, and it is broadly true. now that’s not at all unusual. thousands, nay (like a horse) millions of people don’t like people. what i wonder is why that’s wrong. i understand it’s healthy to interact, to wrestle, to grope and to goggle with society (not entirely sure what goggling is, but i like it), but such is unavoidable anyway. i’ve written before about (not) talking, and short of stocking up on food and locking yourself away for a few days (go on), most of us are obliged to talk to strangers day-to-day anyway:
‘single to the city please’
‘double espresso when you’re ready’
‘why don’t we barter with animals anymore?’
Why do we (and i do it too) frown and whisper about misanthropes? to be alone is not to be lonely. like i say, i’ve had some of my finest times alone.
On my acquaintance, i do love him. i love so many people and i do enjoy their time (or ‘ours’). i’m away from my home for a time, and living with people who want to time with me a more than i’d like. i’d like a little to myself from time to mine. it’s not rude or spiteful. it’s just me. (a) misanthrope’s appologie.
When i was a little more a child, i’d have a fantasy. when i went to bed and couldn’t sleep, i’d imagine i was on a floating piece of ice (with blankets). i would imagine i was floating out at sea all alone. there was nothing but deep blue from one horizon to another. i’d gather up my toys, warm clothes, pencils, bits of string and raw meat (to cook) and sit with everything i needed ‘till i’d fall asleep. like a polar bear.
I lived like that for months, ago.
the blue was deep and every bit as
as i had ever hoped.
What’s that? you’d like to know what i’ve done today?
I’ve spent the day thinking of a single syllable name for a fictional snail.
writer reading magazines and texting in the waiting room of my inbox,
I shall give to some sound advice. take it, leave it, chew it, thump it, tickle it to tears, i don’t mind. it’s not only disposable but worthless - why is my or anybody’s word of worth at all.
If your writing’s crap (and i’d disagree incidentally) it’s only crap to faceless eyes. you have a face and brain and charm and taste all of your own. do you like it? if you only like a tiny tiny part of it then grab it with both hands, look it in the eyes and get to know it - take it for a coffee - touch its thighs, does it blink?
(oh, and something constructive: when you’re next alone do shut your door, close your blinds, hit the lights and play with your adjectives won’t you?)
datadog2013 asked: Who are you?
I’m the man on the mountain
come on up.
I’m the plowman in the valley
with a face full of mud.
I’m the man who walks the hillside
in the sweet summer sun.
I’m the man who brings you roses
when you ‘aint got none.
(I can’t take the credit for that one,
and that shall forever be a deep regret.)
I hope this has been helpful.