“… {[method] in the [storytelling]} …” / “… love in the act …”

Imagine if you can

a plan of marvellous sorts:

writing being a solitary game –

as a rule,

in general,

always the same,

sitting in corner of emptied out room

with keyboard and monitor

watching so weirdly,

out of the gloom,

ever so soon,

never a single movement missed by the webcam,

never a fuck or a sad little

death –

imagine it were possible to take the writer out:

out of his darkness and his sadness and his fierce

clout of being right, and then being terribly wrong,

and the upsides and downsides of realising you’re

grand, and then feeling you’ll be

banned, ‘cos the censoring of honesty

is always a fear for the deepest sincerity;

but imagine, if you can, if you still

like the idea,

that each time we take a writer out of the

darkness of emptied room, and put them –

thru’ simple techie advances – into a

public space of fabulous voom,

we suddenly discover the social nature

of literature: the voice that all at home

and restricted and tied into curtains and

the ticking of night-time clock, and the

appealing of offspring and the disapproval

of wife …

… and yet all that is wiped away in a flash,

with the app and the smartphone and the CMOS

sensor, and the freedom to write as one walks

across roads, and steps along pavements,

and in amongst crowds;

and all of a sudden it becomes so clear to see:

to be a writer right now is to be free.



And so just imagine one more thing, if one more

thing is your

thing: imagine that in order to make a man whole,

a man who’s a writer,

a man of good soul,

all we need to make-believe is

convince him he’s being watched, and that messages

are being sent over and over again:

and so, little by little, slowly but sure, he begins

to construct the story of his saving;

he begins to construct the

story of his life.

And the messages are entirely of this good soul’s

own making; and yet, really, it ain’t a problem

‘cos really we all know – and

really always have done; and it’ll always be

like this, and it’ll always

be so –

the stuff we need to do in life, the stories we need to

grow … well … we’ve all known goddamn forever

what we really need to do.

We don’t need anyone to tell us.

We just need to listen to ourselves.

We just need to listen to our souls and hearts.

We just need to listen …

… and act.


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