Blogging and not blogging

Reaching my 100th post I thought I would attempt something new…

(“Start successfully blogging?” says a voice in my head.
I ignore this, so it adds:
“Getting more than 10 views?”
But I am not engaging with an inner critic, now.)

…namely, putting the first images on this blog.

 

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For anyone reading…

(“Both of you!” Quips the voice)

…who may be unfamiliar with my situation :

I am struggling really hard to keep going, through severe levels of chronic illness (see Losing my Muse ).
Being down on one post per week: I experience difficulty managing even that frequency.
A great deal remains for me to do: in placing my unpublished writing online. It will take at least another year, probably longer.

My computer is so old I cannot find a scanner to work with it, for uploading artwork.
Never had a camera, either. Hence I bought my first smart phone.

Unfortunately, due to neurological symptoms, it is tough learning new things. Short-term memory is affected, and the ability to follow sequences of instructions.

Thus, despite knowing that photography involves terms such as “ISO, f-stop, aperture, shutter speed,” etc: I am unable make them cohere together in my mind. Therefore I have been reduced to a basic point-and-click approach.

Looking for beauty in my environment I decided to take a few flower pictures.
Here are some initial efforts, as a total beginner:

 

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It is often breezy in the West of England, where I live. I had not realised how much flowers are moved around by the wind, until getting close up to them.

Though once an artist, I have no confidence at all with a camera.

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I hope to return next week: with more normally abnormal philosophical ramblings.

 

 

(daily notes/photo/photography/lostness/mental health)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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An alien dream

 

Lostness  (4)  1976

 

Rain patters in an upturned dustbin lid.
One street ruptures into another.
Which way next?
What to do with freedom when you have no money?

 


 

 

Dream

 

An alien walks into a crowded cafe. Its internal organs are visible through transparent flesh. People stare.

I shout:  “Hey waiter! Get me one of those.”

A laugh goes around.

I wake up saying:  “They really do have a ‘special’ for today.”

 

 

More notes of a teen dropout

Lostness  (3)  1974

 

The loss of art

 

Picking a flower kills it. Art has wilted on my fingers. Something missing inside me. No motivation. No flow. Took up my old sketch-pad, but could not get anywhere.

My mind lets me loose in dark waters. An artist can lose his light.

This head feels like a pillow of blood.  Yet so much left to express.

 


 

Viewer:  “What does it all mean?”
Artist:  “Exactly.”

 


 

Message from psychobureaucracy

Dear Sir

Good neighbours need no fences. However, in your case, steady soul-erosion spreads until only fearful and angry ghosts of you are permitted to wander, alone, through estates of north Bristol. Then, one day, it is over. A last gasp as helpless as the first.

Regretfully we inform you that the reason for this correspondence has been forgotten.

Please do not reply to: Department for attrition of the poor.

 


 

With age scorn will come.  Under the smile: the teeth.

 


 

 

Though from women’s eyes I see myself extinguished by a blink
or skewered on vibrant thorns of laughter
still I hope love may visit me one day
after life spent arguing in its favour.

 

 

 

 

Notes of a teenage dropout

Lostness (2) 1973

 

Am I ever to draw again?  My ability seems lost. All that lies between this hand and the paper is effort.

I think I lack talent. Which is tough for a dreamer. I fail to see a way for art or writing.
Living has no appeal.

The window is open. Sounds of night through shifting curtains.

 


 

 

Death wins over life. In the end. Perhaps evil wins over good?

There is no justice in the world. Justice only comes from us.

 


 

 

Suffering continues everywhere.
The foetus hears a cry
in its red lair.

 

 

 

 

Lostness: Introduction

“Daily Notes”  (“Attempts at a journal”)

 

Began in 1978.  Consisting mainly of various thoughts, ideas, questions and opinions. Some are just sentence-length, others a paragraph or more.

Fragments from the years 1972 to 1978 will be posted first, for the sake of completeness.

I give these notes the overall title “Lostness”.

Since I fell ill, in 1987, almost thirty years have gone by.  Now I am slowly and painfully typing-out my writing in the hope that, rather than being “lost”, it may actually be found, by a few people, while I still exist.