Words That Change

Diary of an Unborn Writer #62 – Cosmic

In Uncategorized on 20 June, 2010 at 23:08

Some events shake you – meeting a man who was born in the adjacent maternity ward to me and my sister. Albeit four days after. A very interesting man. We’d known each other at primary school and would bump into each other during drunken excursions in Guildford. That smothered jewel of the south – smothered like so many southern towns in boredom and prosperity. We made a good living there as teenagers with alcohol. In gangs and back to houses to smoke weed and revel in music. This was J and I and now we were meeting at a wedding in Kent.

There’s not much more to say about it, but it shook. There was a wonderful moment when myself and J, his mother and sister were retelling who I was to his Dad. I had been round to play at their house several time up until the age of eight and so knew thme all from a different perpective. His sister who used to take her knickers off in front of us, was now a trainee barrister.

We were telling this story. Yes – this is Simon, he is a twin and was born next to J….and then it clicked and five of us stood in combined wonder nodding our heads and agreeing: “That really is amazing.” And it was.

I also that weekend met a girl who I had asked out for coffee the same week I asked out another J – the beloved of some five years – our for coffee. This girl couldn’t make it and J could and we ended being as close as two beings can be. Funny to see this Swiss girl at the wedding and reverberating back to a kind of clock reset. Naturally I reminded her of our near-liaison. She declined a leisurely walk round the garden. It was seven years since that coffee and seeing her through the night I was glad I made the right decision.

“-”

Home and Sunday and contemplating the week. Of work, of tasks let go to be picked up. Performing, pressured, feeling the heat.

And gradually it’s wearing me – more through perseverance than passion – into a more effective man. I dont say this lightly. I am becoming better with tasks and a literal effective power is being written into me. Giving force to feelings, though it does feel like a boot camp and there’s a fair ton of shit you have to learn to pass you by. We’re making it OK though and the worthwhileness of the projects I am finding, is more in the quality of their execution that philisophical purpose. By this I mean that I have given up trying to work out if this is doing any good and try to make it as good as I can.

There’s a small “let-go” when you’ve got something nailed. A plan or water-tight proposal. It’s almost as if, after considering and defining, you offer it to the divine. “Take this small offering, it’s the best I could do, but through me make it better” goes the unsaid prayer. And you will see a relaxation. The prayer is no longer you and the work can be more detached.

This is what I am learning in three months. Relaxation in precision.

“-”

This diary is on a tender note. I am not sure how many more of these there will be. It depends on a) enthusiasm of comments received and b) if this can fulfil its aim and become a nourishing community. It would be great if you would feel so moved to tell your friends about this page. Email them a link or a sample of writing that interests you.
I would be most grateful.

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  1. Reminds me of a school reunion I went to a couple of years ago. Brought up all sorts of shit I’d never imagined was there.

    I’ll spread the word. x

  2. Please don’t stop writing Octopus, I love dropping in here and reading your diary. It makes me feel inspired and helps to be creative in my own art again. Blogs like yours make the world a better place…

  3. Oh…alright then! Thanks for your comments lovelies. More is on the way!

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