h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

fizz crackle crackle through the static ....

.

Now where was I ... ah yes ... and I realised that, in this case, I couldn't do that because my emotional centre was too raw, and I deleted the text, but I could see how I could get really involved in trying to tell a story that way, and, through the character, I could heal some of that emotional rawness and possibly communicate to others also. hmm.

Does that ring true to aspects of the writer's path?

And then I had an overview of various paths I could take, and I reckoned, with a lot of work, like really a lot of work, I could go that way, and tell a story, not as a great writer, but my own kind of writer.

But then I decided that the path with a heart, the path that would make me joyful, was to not tell the story that way. . Not that I'm work shy, but because ..... because .....

(internet cuts out)

only kidding. in that case. . the intermittent signal is real. now it'll be cry wolf. hahah.hmm ... karmic revenge. zap the Friesian Poet.

because .... because .....

......because of various aspects to do with my personal history, I have a great need to be in my own world, and write my funny weird word paintings, but they aren't the vehicles for communication in themselves. I love to share them, but they very oblique, like psychological fragments.



My point of communication is to try to put weird unintelligble texts into a recognisable context, and yet not lose the surrealism of psychological fragments. I love that surrealism.

I do it in real life because I sit in cafes with a laptop, a notebook and a pocket synth , so people are always asking me what I am doing . I usually say, well, its just an obsession, like chess, or something like that. .

And, finally, phew, here's the bit that's deeply interesting and relevant to a writing workshop , can I do this in writing??? Its still my dream to write tiny surreal stories, like one paragraph.

For example. A tiny (true) story called Town Birds which I'm writing ... starts like this ....

I like to birdwatch, especially in towns. I love to wander through towns watching the way that birds adapt to an urban environment. Sometimes during these wanders, I write bird stories.

(that's the recognisable context) .....

(then cue the surreal bit, not yet written, but involves gargoyles, pigeons and photographers)

(then back to recognisable context for ending)

hmm.

is this relevant to the AWW or should I go check in to the Carl Jung institute for travelling dreamers? .

Ah, all good stuff. You guys are so interesting, I can't stop talking to you. hahah. hmm. Now I have used up all of my intermittent internet time, until this evening, when I will finally get to the delicious sounding Post.

If you can:

You're doing well.

I don't think it's intuitive for me. It's a lot of thinking and writing, and rethinking and rewriting...

I'd like to be a founder member of the Friesian Poets, though!

The Frisian physicist and poet Obe Postma has translated Emily Dickinson into Frisian, but I cannot find any samples.

He also wrote 'What the Poet Must Know'. I think you'd like to talk to him, you two.

Here is a Frisian poet reading Frisian poetry in Frisian. There's a translation provided:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eVWnN29c9Tw

Good poem, too.

s'cuse me, I just fainted.

My life just slightly more surreal than it already is. . If that's possible. .

I must go and adjust my wings and rearrange my entire sensory understanding of everything there is to understand, plus extra things.

Ah yes and hey and loveliness and everything.

Its so great you know, having the times we have here on the AWW, and thankyou, friends one and all.



I have to go for a while, peoples of the poetic universe. Have to go lose myself in my inner world. I have to traverse some avenues of my life right now. Its my age. There are many avenues. Sometimes it feels like too many avenues, and I have to throw away all the maps, all the rules, and start over. From the wild heydey of surreal laughs to the tragic madness of my mother, not to mention all the pains and beauty and wishes and wonder of the world.

Plus hamsters s and and hahah. hmm

And I guess, for me, in the end, writing is the language of that precious inner world, that peculiar bridge of words which spans the void, all the highs and lows, creating that one sentence where the opposites find their essence, etc etc ... uh oh ... don't start me... and it doesn't really matter if the literary world or the critics or anyone see it as total rubbish, so what. hah. I just do it anyway.

Ah yes, .... writing for me is creating patterns out of all those poetic fragments of the mind, all the wounds and glory, all the failure, all the absurdity, all the wonder and the idiocy,

and erm... .. all that sort of thing.

Reading The Hours by Michael Cunningham just changed my life right now, and said it way better than I ever will. Took a guy from New York to write about Virginia Woolf, and the writing process, to say it for me. . Yes! yes! Not everyone's kind of thing, I know. That's OK by me. We all have our own way to go. I have to quote it here though, because it matters to me, and maybe some writers reading this might relate.

He's writing about Virginia Woof, about to set pen to paper.

Michael Cunningham

whoah! thanks Michael mate, I know that! I know that! Oh yes I do.

I must go write! yay! Friesian poets of the world unite!

Love you all

cc/H