Sunday, March 29, 2009

stomach cramps in brighton

I'm working on this new book now, but I forgot about this part. I keep trying to squeeze past myself, if that makes any sense, and on to somewhere clearer - but there are no shortcuts. That's what I forgot, that there aren't any shortcuts. Its a long way all crowded up into a tiny space, like intestines.



I went to Brighton the other week for a couple of days to clear my head - or vacate it for new tenants, so to speak. But the head is really crowdedl. Chocolate-orange liquer doesnt help either. I just gave myself stomach cramps. No, I lie, I did get a about 10 or so wonderful tipsy moments with Marvin Gaye, dancing around my room. And then came the stomach cramps.

My window let out to a little balcony, and the balcony was wreathed with fairy lights, and I could see the sea. The window kept jamming though, and although it was warm for England, for March, it got very cold and I had to call a manager to help me close the window. We had to both pull on opposite sides really hard and at the same time. She gave me an extra room upstairs because of the guy next door and his near-apocalyptic snoring. It was amazing, I have to tell you. I was like, somebody wake up that bastard before he chokes to death.

I called up a friend and asked him lots of philosophical questions one after the other like it was about the book but really I was just lonely. And afraid of writing. And some people are blessed with lovely voices, late night voices. I say weird things when I'm tired. Though afraid, I did quite a lot of work. And I walked up and down the seafront, and up and down the pier. I ate on my own and went walking around aimlessly and wrote sketches, and I felt something really deep, like love, for this very old man eating fish and chips carefully, alone. The meal seemed so important, even though it was off styrofoam. Things should be important.

I sent an angry text off into the void. I bought little man a very grown-up hat. I realised how tired I am, but very excited... to be making things! Making things! And Brighton sparkled all over and I felt young, and serious, and important, like a fish and chip dinner eaten off styrofoam.

Alone, in silence, I discover that my body is misaligned and achey, and that my mind has acquired sharp and rusty edges. But I'm alive. And I'm free to feel these things! I realise the difference, now, between joy and happiness.



Peas,
xxx

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