Sunday, 11 March 2012

settling in

all the way through the dishes this morning
which were different
up ealy
bathwater on routine so far
yet the hands eyes and washing up action
created a secondary unexpected but enjoyable wave
joking with myself as collected of dirty bottomed glass started to make ints way into the appropriate bin
my collection of jars
and the joke from this museum is
that i only need one for my water when painting so why have various picle jam marmite and olive jars some with lids s
make me so proud of my collection
now going in the the bin and when did i save up all these bear glasses will i ever use them
they belong to various beers which are no doubt out of fashion

and whilst all this is going on i was writing and will seek to access the mental marathon of potential morning pages that my fingers busy with silvered magical wiping tyhing scrub at the rings left by so much glass
and are satisfying my eyes that are playing in harmony with the tune of that surface is nearly free of brown circle

blogging at the morning sink
with musical intention competing with the aspiration to learn to write a song play piano learn the necessary to achieve the goal of grade1 one piano or and play spontaneous chords and write songs
and now as i type this that aspirational 'artist'
good thing says julia and i will come through unblocked write about and for izzy pop project a wonderful inquisiteive life for her
she will be dirk genntly and she will be a younger lighter madem ramotswe with the endearingness of my mum and of margartet rutherford and ireneee handle

my hand are drying out fro detergent nad on my rist is arthur muraski's watch
aah yesterday two people spoke to me from their grief a son who had died a sister who had taken her life and me buying wooden angel wings and passing out twice two quoted

angels take themselves lightly because
 they take themselves lightly

the gift of complete simplicity
(costing not less than everything)

the light yesterday was wonderful
and the farm is taking shape
and my heart and mind are hopeful of that momentary immortality when like frederick franck i am not thinking outside the box but i am out and my hand and all mys senses are etching into the soul of a piece of warm cooking paper the bead of life being flavoured by my being there caring and watching my hand listening with all the suchness succcess of being with my author authoritaive in my comfortable ordinariy extraordeinary freedom of acceoting whtat appears on the sheet blanket bed of my little white milk coloured warm sheet garden of god's now implanted trace of my eyes loving seeing being  seeing being love loving beeing seen and seeing love to be the love of been seeing be

ooh thae drawing is like this music it is flowing and i flow with it the cork of my attention

i must have set my phone to wake me as its little insistent alarm is ringing to get me up to go to church to do my morning pages wash my dishes remind me to live and it doesn not know as this watch duplicate of my firend does not know that arthur is dead and i can only pray that he is not but that he is in touch with me as i pray that arthur gee brian beadles and my dad how sad i feel dad that you are more distant than these friends uis it that you died musch ealrier when david told me ai was astonished 26 years was it so i would be in my thritites i am about to be 60
a kind lady said i looked hot

well enough of that i think

time for a cup of chai in my slightly unresolved getting cleaner kitchen

as i paused and sat back i noticed  a photo black n white of a sculture
of two people on books thrusting  a star up or more truthfully graping reaching for a star
me helping her to get it it is ours it is jesus star

above me in the attic it will be found in bin sacks and it is in two halves that slot together
inpired by the wod carvings of  someone who made totems and put them in the williamson
a hypehated name a girl critine moderson becker == no don't rememeber or what was it

i was most amused recently when in an sherlock homes no a poirrot his house keepr tried to remember a name she siad loads and felt it to be ritht yet when they said something quite diffferernt she said thats it

it is 8 and havent had that tea so here i go

the optimistic neural groove of gowth that sapling in me that is as you say hot just remined me to put a different piece of music on so now i am about to play birth of cool by miles davies

it has a joyful business i am back in the 50s befor emy birth it feels
1949 it says so be it then

a sort of chatty scrible lots of soup stirring pan bashing like inside hedersons kitchen woth john warmsley and my mum and my adolescent innocencce in what was then a fresh rebuild of hopefiulness afet a fire

my dad a gifted engineer with younger wife and
her in a modern blue smoked glass setting a lover of elvis he a mature canny lad

i look uo and see a postcard tucked falling behind a box that reminds me that i too am not young as my family are no longer children in a samll holding with doves and oil paintings with me running an easter workshop at crosby hall
first class honours degree robby a young boy and amy brand new and hope in all our hearts for a frederick franck adventure in making the river bed ceramics flow with great joy oh frederick you were making faves whilst i was writing a dissertation on sengai and wetern theatree andw we were differnt poles of the same christ heart r.h. blythe and other wonderful angels who had blogged theri mornign pages of wioonderful st francis christ hearted reconciliation of east and wet and african too

well whilst the pay dirt of my morning pages may still not have been tapped into paleotogocially gug through as layers of semiological meaning and asccoative zen humour ordinariness milligan wimsy oh wel was it whilst i washed the dishes and stareted to work through layers of glass and warm watery thought of being alive

ah there in the backgorund is the rooting for the furture miles we are able to retrospectively enjoy that milenium hight scoring almost blueness oh now we are twelves years in witht the millenium busstar shining in to the aps and adrian henris appenigns still to appen and yet hockney leads the way with the matisse possibilities of painting with a portable pohptshuop lapstop pallete i feel yesterday came in one long one for framing yet david to reintroduce the playful zig zag of steriotoican vision would give it a real naieve seeing zen buzz of blake playfulness

miles riffing is now doing what the album said riffinf yet it has the routinve tide pouring in to spoil the looseness the big banned sound with the sudden kitcheware drum solo aon


bath pinao practice then bass in church then

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