THE FLUIDITY OF THIS, THAT AND THE OTHER (# 74,870)

This is being written from a hammock that swings from side to side, but only so little as to not disrupt the rhythm of the fingers belting down on the keyboard. If you were reading from a hammock, you too may appreciate the sway, without it ever becoming a capsize.

Movement affects what we write, read, eat, think, do and say. It’s been argued a thousand times over that a static mind creates stuck thoughts or unthoughts. Playing the contrarian for a second, we could counter-argue that being stationary focuses us from distraction, of which we have grown collectively addicted to in close tandem with the rising star of technology.

Can we be still and moving at the same time? Surely this state is the most conducive to the exploratory side of life. To write under the conditions of opposing constraint and freedom, simultaneously.

Yes, a kind of literary equivalent of flatlining, dead + alive = adead.

The truth of the debate is to experiment and note the changes from one control state to another. To spot the unseen overlaps and understand why they produce writing the way they do. Is it all do to the writer, or can conditions create great writing out of us acting as automatons in a process?

I realise as I write and the hammock slows to a halt that the only rock is now a tiny to and fro, back and forth, as my elbows lift to reach the furthest keys. This is a sporadic spasm, as opposed to a steady rhythm. It tears away any external influence on the flow of words gushing out of the brain and into the fingertips.

Throw in the meteorological elements of heat and wind, as forces of movement, adjustment and noise, plus the isolated lead breaks of bees, wasps and gulls, to the symbol swish of the breeze and we realise that no writing state is as we initially noted. There is always more going on.

So, please lock yourself in a hermetically-sealed breadbin and enjoy the rest of the day.

DANTE KARAOKE AT CLIFFS OF HELL

I’d like to thank the 30-40 brave souls who spontaneously bellowed out Dante’s Visions of Hell, through a loudhailer, deep down into Halzephron (Cliffs of Hell) Cove at Stage: Cornwall Art Biennale, at Halzephron, Gunwalloe, Cornwall, last Saturday.

We may hold another night, tonight, Tuesday night, depending on the weather behaving itself.