After Much Thought
I have decided to change teams and follow the hourglass storyline into shadow. Underexposed photos and unanswered questions are more than enough to keep us amused. It seems to fill all the hours in the day.
I use the days simply to filter the nervous system, to exhibit complex responses and specify the correct amount of air and fluid to take on board. Phew clap whoo clap phew clap surrender.
Licking the glass clean, I stare through the pane and hope the murderer arrives soon. Last time I heard he was lecturing up north and reacting to sudden movements. Irrationality demands intervals and accusations; a power of insight to overcome optical illusions and suspicions of underhand behaviour.
A is for a house. Any house. It will never become a home, just somewhere to rest up and hide, keep warm if a little damp, cowering in the boiler room. Buses run every 15-30 minutes and if you don’t mind the walk it is ideally situated for information overload and all your everyday needs.
The central idea is individual creativity and personal excess. Public interaction is encouraged.
--
8 of 9
Thursday, 26 March 2009
The Basil Bunting Award
The Basil Bunting Award has been set up 'to acknowledge and celebrate the life and work of Basil Bunting'.
Bunting's masterpiece, Briggflatts, was described by Cyril Connolly as 'the finest long poem to have been published in English since T S Eliot’s Four Quartets'. An early draft of the poem stretched to 2000 lines.
Poems submitted to the Basil Bunting Award must be no longer than 42 lines.
According to the information on the Basil Bunting Award's homepage, Bunting was 'a leading British modernist poet whose poems have established their place amongst the twentieth century’s best poetry'.
One of the judges for the Basil Bunting Award is Sean O'Brien.
Wednesday, 25 March 2009
Rupert Loydell & Nathan Thompson - Memos to Self (7)
Melodrama wth Aforethought
You stick dribbling to the window. Down the pane tangents of sucked lozenges bomb the suburbs. I am friendly to this but it brings no clarity.
People try not to notice, playing at wise monkeys, but the marks are genuine. You are indifferent to these shortcuts, the cherry-wood romances of Johann Strauss.
Then it becomes entirely terrible: This is a conflict in which nobody even bothers to get undressed. Cinderella weeps among her shattered slippers. She will never know.
Music for dancing suggests strings of puppets disgusted with the homophony of vast deserts. Ours is a human enterprise which doesn’t happen. Enter the murderer flexing his muscles.
--
7 of 9
You stick dribbling to the window. Down the pane tangents of sucked lozenges bomb the suburbs. I am friendly to this but it brings no clarity.
People try not to notice, playing at wise monkeys, but the marks are genuine. You are indifferent to these shortcuts, the cherry-wood romances of Johann Strauss.
Then it becomes entirely terrible: This is a conflict in which nobody even bothers to get undressed. Cinderella weeps among her shattered slippers. She will never know.
Music for dancing suggests strings of puppets disgusted with the homophony of vast deserts. Ours is a human enterprise which doesn’t happen. Enter the murderer flexing his muscles.
--
7 of 9
Tuesday, 24 March 2009
Rupert Loydell & Nathan Thompson - Memos to Self (6)
Magic Lantern
Shadows play games with unformed memories. Your sleepy danse macabre flicks ash from the music box. We are taking it in turns to be grotesque.
A witch flies upside-down in pursuit of her falling familiars. Beneath her, a crescent moon wraps around a cat retelling the past. Each time she passes she fails to grasp it.
But this is to discount jasmine outside our curtained window, lifting gently, tilting at its edges.
You keep dreaming through figures of eight, each one tighter until the knot is tangled. The last stars tense at the lips of your eyes.
--
6 of 9
Shadows play games with unformed memories. Your sleepy danse macabre flicks ash from the music box. We are taking it in turns to be grotesque.
A witch flies upside-down in pursuit of her falling familiars. Beneath her, a crescent moon wraps around a cat retelling the past. Each time she passes she fails to grasp it.
But this is to discount jasmine outside our curtained window, lifting gently, tilting at its edges.
You keep dreaming through figures of eight, each one tighter until the knot is tangled. The last stars tense at the lips of your eyes.
--
6 of 9
Monday, 23 March 2009
Rupert Loydell & Nathan Thompson - Memos to Self (5)
Osmosis
I’m sorry, I didn’t realise the story had gone astray. It is difficult to find plot or make headway. Memo to self: build a world with language. Memo to reader: get on with it. This was never meant to be an easy read!
“My reaction was a longing for some sense of necessity behind the work. I’d be dishonest to say otherwise.”
And I’d be dishonest if I said your comment didn’t hurt. But the parcels of books made up for it, along with a visit from a friend. I have other reputations as well, warm hands to hold until the clocks go back.
“It looks like a line, not like a line pretending to be a line. Which is why it is more interesting.”
Early evening sunshine warms the darkest corners of human memory. I am hiding your present from you.
--
5 of 9
I’m sorry, I didn’t realise the story had gone astray. It is difficult to find plot or make headway. Memo to self: build a world with language. Memo to reader: get on with it. This was never meant to be an easy read!
“My reaction was a longing for some sense of necessity behind the work. I’d be dishonest to say otherwise.”
And I’d be dishonest if I said your comment didn’t hurt. But the parcels of books made up for it, along with a visit from a friend. I have other reputations as well, warm hands to hold until the clocks go back.
“It looks like a line, not like a line pretending to be a line. Which is why it is more interesting.”
Early evening sunshine warms the darkest corners of human memory. I am hiding your present from you.
--
5 of 9
Sunday, 22 March 2009
Rupert Loydell & Nathan Thompson - Memos to Self (4)
Mudslide
If I cannot live backwards I will live forwards.
Midnight - noon - a charm bracelet of tickets. Soon the whole fiesta.
I think perhaps I should lighten up a little.
How can you tell that the morning star and the evening star are the same thing? Circular breathing. There is still a risk of course: inner city; cold water; the reckless heckles that contribute smallness.
It would be apposite to point out that sometimes air brightens and begins to clear. The moon rising like a love-song through the clouds; a cat on a tightrope walking to the party.
--
4 of 9
If I cannot live backwards I will live forwards.
Midnight - noon - a charm bracelet of tickets. Soon the whole fiesta.
I think perhaps I should lighten up a little.
How can you tell that the morning star and the evening star are the same thing? Circular breathing. There is still a risk of course: inner city; cold water; the reckless heckles that contribute smallness.
It would be apposite to point out that sometimes air brightens and begins to clear. The moon rising like a love-song through the clouds; a cat on a tightrope walking to the party.
--
4 of 9
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