Wednesday, 15 October 2008

A day of two halves

A tremendous physical lassitude all day, combined with an appalling lack of concentration. I was trying to read half a page at a time in an instant - result - no comprehension. Ideas like skeins of mermaids' purses - each polyp a new thought, but as my busy fingers pop each bubble the idea flows away, ungraspable, salty, a squirt of tears.

Then this evening went out to play music in Bristol. A quiet night - couldn't get settled, couldn't get the groove. Brain wanting to go faster than seemly. It might sound strange to admit to being capable of playing in public, but I could play if you chopped my legs off to be honest, just to spite you. It's that automatic, that ingrained. It's been my one lifeline over the last months. The one thing I can still do.

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Quote for the day:

"To read, to write, the way one lives under the surveillance of the disaster: exposed to the passivity that is outside passion. The heightening of forgetfulness.

"It is not you who will speak; let the disaster speak in you, even if it be by your forgetfulness or silence."


Maurice Blanchot, The Writing of the Disaster.

(by 'Disaster', Blanchot is talking about the ghastliness of the 20th Century).

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