|Posted by jrcrowther on June 22, 2013 at 4:20 AM|
So I am sitting yet again, typing and pondering in that order, which is strange since some thought first should elicit the words. Thoughts first surely before the page? No, it is the same gambit. The same order to assess my order. Typing gives some sort of clinical patina to the process at least. Doodling with thoughts, transmission to the page of emotion, a jumble, bumbling approach which maybe says all about me, my identity. It can be fun of course like the manufacture of a bun through the random selection of ingredients. Seeing what comes up to be cooked, placing the mess into the oven, selecting the temperature for melding, the time for the heating up and cooling down. Then the examination of the product. The visual examination of charred corners, of black sweet bits on the surface, of the sticky ooze down the side, of the swellings and crevices. The acid test then, tasting. Sliding into the mouth, attempting to savour all it offers, deliberately rolling it around the tongue, teasing the palate, inducing the saliva, twisting and turning the bolus. And when all is said and done, we have to have some sort of conclusion, since we are human and that is what humans demand. The swallowing then of pride, admission things could be better, a hopeful ‘better next time’ statement. Maybe retching though, spitting out into the garbage can, a clear admission of failure. See what I mean about rambling? Of course we can always buy a commercial package, a processed unit, an accepted standard. Where is the fun in that, where the pioneer spirit? I do not want my life wrapped in sterile plastic.