Rakhshan Rizwan reads from Paisley

Whilst aimlessly Facebooking this evening, I happened upon an event in swing (well, it had already swung by the time I saw it, but it had 'gone live' to the world recently), and I'm so glad I did. Rakhshan Rizwan was reading from her debut collection Paisley from The Emma Press, and chatting to her host Emma Wright, founder of said press. You can (I think...) view the reading by clicking here: https://www.facebook.com/TheEmmaPress/videos/159614752058509/

First off, I want to say a bit about the reading as a concept. In this time of lockdown, the gig was held over an online conference call facility, but, put simply, it detracted from nothing. The poems sparkled with the same jewell-light that they would do had they been coming in live, over radio, or whatever. You still got that 'extra magic' of seeing the author interacting with their own work and the audience - which is always the great privilege at readings - and even, thanks to the generosity of the participants, some questions and answers, too. In some ways, I actually preferred it being online. Sometimes while traveling to events, especially in a big city, I can tend to arrive there fatigued and nervous, and can't always give the artists one-hundred per cent concentration. Not so when I'm watching it at home! I did miss chatting to other people who were enjoying the evening, tho, especially one person who I often get to chat to on the train back from Manchester after Peter Barlow's Cigarette extravaganzas... Anyway, this isn't a 'compare and contrast' of reading types - it's just to say that I felt all the wonderful buzz and inspiration I normally do when I go to a reading, that everyone did a bloomin' good job, and how lucky I am :)

I enjoyed the poetry, too. It started off with a poem about time, which is my favourite philosophical preoccupation (just reading that phrase will do strange things to your temporal perception, so I'd call a doctor if I were you...), that conveys such an important truth about 'organisation' - of society and therefore our lives.

When I hear a 'broad title' (i.e. a title that's named after a topic/issue/concept, so as to give it an expansive gaze) such as 'Migrant', I often worry that it's going to take on a kind of polemic tone, be very preachy and flat, but Rizwan absolutely avoided this in her poem of that name. Her work instead found new, touching ways of exploring ideas surrounding migration. One 'cheesy' line gives us an essential, immediate image ("Leerdammer cheese sits on a slice of toast," making me think of the things that unite us all in humanhood), whilst the next one zooms out to the wider injustices played out by many in a society that is, unfortunately, more divided than it should be - "I shed pounds working two jobs in hopes of securing a paper-thin ticket home." For context, this last line brings together much of the poems tangible quality, the idea of the length of grass, the movement of turbine blades in air, of snow's weight - it really holds you tight into its being, so you feel it, and hear what it's saying.

Next I want to say how repetition is used well in many of the works she read out tonight (indeed, repetition is discussed in her QnA at the end, so do watch 'til the end to gain the benefit of insight). In 'Eve', the speaker 'carries' and 'brings' with her many visceral things ("fragments of pain," as Rizwan calls them in her preamble), and the repetition of the act of toting terrors adds it up, like a physical weight, in the mind of the listener, and if it makes us feel uneasy to hear the poem, just remember back to the first lines, and how "the misplaced smiles of acid-corroded faces" are not just words, but realities. Also, in 'Urdu/Hindi' and 'Paisley', there is a significant amount of repetition - of the titular words themselves. As you will know if you read my blog, I have a weird quirk where I don't like repetition very much usually, and I think Rizwan just balances on the tight rope over 'Too Much Chasm' (it's a real place, look it up). It helps one focus on these concepts, I felt in a meditative way (not in the sense of 'drift off to music' meditation, but 'intense, re-centring' meditation), and the repetition served as a kind of 'Om', a primordial calling, getting us to listen and be there with her as she speaks.

So, yeah, I definitely have another book to add to my Emma Press wish list :)

Hope you folks are all staying well under lockdown, and I urge you to take my life advice (suitable both in and out of a crisis); find what brings you joy, and do it (barring things that cause harm to others!). In my case, poetry readings bring me joy, and I just want to again say how lucky I have been to listen to this one, and thank you for reading!

Peace, love, and light.

[a link to some of Rizwan's work: https://themissingslate.com/tag/rakhshan-rizwan/]

At Times

I know the internet (and life as a whole) is not so full of positive stuff right now, and here at Blogtastic, we don't mind adding to it. Oh man, what a strange time. Personally, I've been feeling pretty depressed again for a couple of weeks (unrelated to Covid-19), and my head has been feeling like it's full of scrambled eggs. Then my physical health has taken a bit of a dive (I've got a fever, and aches, so I'm currently self-isolating), and my head feels like it's full of cotton wool. Thankfully, it's not even comparable to a normal flu yet, so I feel confident I'll be back to normal after a not too serious period of layoff. But there's so much worse happening elsewhere, that I'm ding-donging between trying not to focus on it (or at least keep it in perspective compared to other causes of death), and being really sad about it. Yesterday, for example, I heard an update on the death toll in Italy, and that shocked me. I know and love a few ace people in the north, and have been thinking about them a lot, wishing them well, and to hear of such a lot of death got to me. I know their lives are radically different at the moment, and they are putting a brave face on things, so I hope that continues, and that mental and physical health bears up under it all (and that goes for the whole world).

Everywhere here has been ghost-towny for a while. The badminton group I go to had about fifty per cent fewer participants last week. That was weird, because normally we can't quite fit everyone on a court (even when four are set up), but this time, there were a load of singles games on only three courts (I mean, yeah, it was nice to be able to play singles, but you're aware that you can only do it because other people aren't there, and that's probably illness related). At work, it's pretty typically odd. I mean, there's never a normal week where I am, in terms of if it's busy or not, or when it gets busy, if indeed it does. Lately, the weeks have been alternating between getting much better, and feeling like it wasn't worth opening up (and so much of this is filtered through my warped perspective by the way, so isn't reliable, but it is how I feel). And the main thing is that it's not foot traffic that makes work weird, but the conversational focus, you know? Just constant rabbiting... It's not getting on my nerves, as such, but it's wearing me down somehow. And then there's the shopping obviously. This, along with the cancellation of sporting events, has been one of the things that's changed my viewpoint from 'this is similar to avian/swine flu, it is being over-hyped and will not be as bad as people are saying' to 'oh shit, this is definitely worse. Even if the virus itself isn't worse, the effects on society certainly are'. So much shelf space is completely empty in shops around me. I was focussing on fresh fruit and veg on Tuesday, and there's plenty of that, but absolutely no pasta or rice, tinned soup, beans, etc gone... I even looked at normal handwash, as we are down to our last tub at home, and there was nothing. Not even bars of soap, or anything antibacterial. It is striking to look at, perhaps a fifth or a quarter of the whole place cleared out. And I can remind myself that, at the moment, I do not need these products, and if I feel 'squeezed' at all, it's only because I have been spoiled all my life, and, even when I've had no money in my account, I've had enough to see me through to payday etc. Now there's a thought in my head, though; what if people carry on in this over-buying behaviour? Like I say, it's stupid thinking. We'll cross those bridges when we get to them, and I'm sure things will stabilise soon, but I'm just in that frame of depression where paranoia pipes up a little louder than usual... And again, what about the people who aren't as lucky?

Anyway, that's all coronavirus stuff... I also wanted to talk about what I've been doing that's nice. Some of it is vegging at the minute, watching episodes of one of my favourite ever programmes, The Larry Sanders Show. Also watching a good few videos from some of my favourite YouTubers, Funhaus, Internet Comment Etiquette (thanks Alex!), and Red Letter Media mainly. They really do absorb me, and make me feel happier. There's been a lot of YouTube focus on the latest DOOM game, which both makes me yearn for an up-to-date console to play it on, and also made me re-visit the original game, which still puts the willies up me, I can tell you.

Also, connection is as important as ever, so I've been keeping in touch with as many of my friends as possible. This is another area in my life in which I am so fortunate. Many of them got in touch with me, and made me realise what a lucky fella I am, offering to get supplies for me if I can't get out and stuff. I sometimes find it hard to socialise. I don't get why, but my mind just recoils from it, or spins on and on until I distract myself with something else. In this moment, however, I feel like my time is more my own (I'm not working for a bit, nor am I doing much for my dad, as I don't want to pass anything onto him), so I feel much more comfortable dropping people lines. Silver linings, and all that jazz.

My own time... This puts me on to the most important part of all: writing. I have submitted to a new competition (quite an interesting little poem, one that ended up seeming very topical indeed), have heard word about a submission of mine from last year (not a competition at all, but a fantastic opportunity to have my work broadcast on local radio :) ), and, y'know, have been working on other stuff. Obviously I've not got my blogging down to any regularity, but I'm doing this RIGHT NOW, and blah blah blah. Reading, too, has slowed a little since those halcyon days of early January, but I'm still doing a bit! I finished Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde (which will feed into a project I want to do later in the year), am carrying on with Ian McEwan's The Child in Time, have read a couple of pamphlets by Francis 'Drumming Up Poetry' Boua, have really enjoyed Sea Goat Who Screams Poetry's Twittering, Sheppard's latest sonnets, Writers' Cafe #18, Ailsa Cox's 'I Never Had a Mother', and quite a few things I can't remember because I read them in bursts from various different websites. So it all adds up, and I don't mean that in a bean-counting way, but, you know, you do feel more whole, and therefore more able to give more of yourself to your own work when you've been reading well. As a whole...

Anyway, there's actually some good news in this post. Here at Blogtastic, we can only apologise profusely for that, and assure you, dear reader, that normal, harrowing service will shortly be resumed.

Peace, love, and light,

Martin x

Irony o'Clock

'Time'

I was recently lucky
enough to go to Italy to one of my friends' weddings. It was a lovely time, and if you're friends with me on Facebook then you can have a gander at some of the pics I took. The purpose of today's post, tho, is to look at what went on during my connection at Munich.

I had about an hour in Munich to spend before my regional flight to Trieste, so didn't feel I needed to hurry. Almost straight out of the arrivals gate, I saw this wonderful wall (not a Wonder Wall, I hasten to add), pictured above, in front of me. I sort of smirked and thought, 'hey, language... That's one of my main interests,' and carried on walking. Then I realised that I was looking at words to do with time, and time is one of my biggest preoccupations, too, so I stopped, went back, and took the photo.

Just out of shot (to the Zeit), was (is?) a wee entry hole, a doorway without the door. I nearly walked off again, because this white-walled area looked like a security station. I got a bit bold, tho, and thought 'well the worst that can happen is that I get looked at oddly by some airport staff, and maybe asked what I'm doing and/or told to piss off', but the possibility of being rewarded by embracing the spirit of adventure, which I am so often too scared/unable to do, spoke louder to me. So I edged my way towards this entrance-to-what, and, without wishing to spin this out to ridiculous levels, saw that what was inside was actually an exhibit.

I was genuinely very excited. As I've said, it was ticking two of my main interest boxes, but also there was the thrill of living in the moment, listening to my gut, and being lucky enough to have this mini-museum there for perusal in what I thought was just going to be a grey old run from gate to gate. To your left - as you went in - there were three mini sand-timers that you could spin round, and I took the opportunity to 'childishly' interact with what was on offer, and watch their contents trickle.

I was still aware, however, that I couldn't spend all day here. I wasn't sure if I needed to get my bags back at Munich, then check them in again. I wasn't sure how big the airport was, how long it'd take me to find where I needed to be, or how big the queues would be around the place. When I thought about it like that, panic revved its motorcycle in the garage of my gut, so I decided to take pictures of all the info boards and read them later. As I turned my camera on and waited for it to warm up, I read the first line of the introductory panel. It outlined the broad strokes of 'the' philosophy of time. I got that pre-tingle one gets when one feels horny and has decided what porn one is going to watch - and I couldn't wait to get to the money shot.

I readied my camera, and was about to focus the first shot, when an airport employee stuck his head through the entrance, said something in German, saw my blank expression, then said in English "Sorry, we are closing."

He apologised again and escorted me out.

Clocks Going Backwards

I've just seen a Marie Curie video explaining how their Nurses are going to be working through the 'extra hour' that we're going to have when the clocks go back tomorrow. Watching it, and one of their adverts that was just played on TV, it took me back to what they'd done for my mum.

They came to verify her death. They were very nice. They took off her rings and stuff, and prepared her to be taken away, then they came into the front room and sat with us. There was a lot of silence. I was in the role of brew maker, something I was almost doing on auto pilot in the later days. They sat on the couch and I can't really remember what we talked about.  One of things I was thinking then, and still do, is how it must be to witness all this death.

I thought it was unfair that they'd have to keep going through all that loss, and all the reactions of loved ones [a wide variety of emotions from deep sadness to anger, I'd imagine], but now I think it's much like a surgeon's job in some ways. Death's a part of it [obviously more so in the Marie Curie nurses' case, as their work deals with the terminally ill], and when that's 'accepted' before the event, then maybe you can focus more on the positives that are the job. For the surgeon you know you're trying to prolong life/improve quality of life, and for the Marie Curie nurses you know you're providing dignity and comfort to the dying and their close ones.

And I'm not saying that all those deaths become light like feathers and are no longer felt. I'm sure some of them are just as heavy as the first loss they ever felt. Every one is different, and I'm sure the range of responses reflect that. Actually, I don't know what I'm saying really. Just that this advert made me think. This whole changing of the clocks for most people I talk to revolves mainly around whether they get an extra hour in bed, or whether they're having one cruelly wrent from them, but for people working jobs like this, bearing it so well, it's quite amazing really.

Anyhoo... It's a couple of day left til October's over, whether sober or not. Macmillan are going to get quite a bit of money from my supporters, which is great, and I just thought I'd draw a bit of attention to another charity that did a lot for mum and the family. Maybe if they start doing kooky month-long fundraisers I'll do one of them...

Peace out x

The Wagon

Some more sadness in today's post, so maybe don't read it if you're feeling fragile. Here's the donation page anyway, though: https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/Martin-Palmer5

Don't worry. With regards to the title, I'm not trying to pull the same stunt as I did with 'Big News'. When I mention 'the wagon', it's not the booze wagon I've fallen from, but the blog wagon. Don't worry.

I just haven't been able to blog the last couple of days [don't cheer too loudly, please]. I've been busy [obviously...] and wanted to be present with someone special, rather than tell her to hang on for half an hour or so while I clatter away at the keyboard. There's not much else to it.

I was going to blog about mum, who is the reason I'm doing Sober for October in the first place. I had this giddy thought half way through my shift on Friday, that I'd soon be seeing her again, and I felt that swelling of the heart that you get when you're excited to tell someone something. Then, within a second, it was over, and I remembered I'd never be able to see her again. This contradiction gave me mental whiplash, and I was confused as to where the thought had come from, then annoyed that I'd tricked myself with such a beautiful dream, and then I thought, "What's the point in going over it?" I just think it's hard not having that someone around that you trusted to bounce ideas off, especially as this relationship was getting stronger the past couple of years. I hope you don't mind me just blurting all this out.

It's certainly not all been doom and gloom here, though. A visit from close family and friends through the week has, though momentarily, changed the character of this house again. The old cliche, perhaps, of 'home' over 'house'. It's not just strong female presences that make this place seem full of life again, and neither is it 'simply' a case of other people's love filling the space once more. Well, if anything can be gleaned here, it's probably that I'm the least likely person to be able to draw a meaningful conclusion from this situation, so I'll just remain happy with the facts.

Speaking of which, I was talking to someone down the pub yesterday [I was on coke, then lime and soda by the way...] about the importance of time with loved ones, and the gentle joy you find. This bloke had lost both his parents inside a ten-year period, and time hasn't made him miss them less. I was telling him that it's a shame we teach people the value of the present, the power they have to express love, to spend time and effort with/on special folk. Some people can't get it, though, until loss happens to them. With that, my friend walked off to the bar. Anecdote over.

Post over.

Over Half Way

Ticking off the days.

You say you want a revolution we-ell you know, this link isn't going to help you achieve one. It will give you the chance to do some good, though: https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/Martin-Palmer5

Wellity wellity wellity [stop that], I'm over half way through the Sober For October challenge. Apart from a lot of complaining, some persistent withdrawal symptoms and a boredom issue, it's gone alright so far. I would almost say I'm enjoying it, but not quite.

I'm in a weird situation with my daily blogging ritual. There's a tension between trying to update you with things that [I think] are noteworthy about my personal experience of the month and also trying to make it not about me with more general musings on the concept of it, then even more removed information about alcohol and the culture of drinking. I find it hard to avoid making reference to such a milestone, though, and I'd like the chance to gather some thoughts [such as they are].

I was about to be downbeat, because donations reached such a sudden standstill. Since this is the first time I've done an online donation thing, I don't know what's 'normal', really, though this slackening of pace definitely doesn't feel promising. Anyway, as I said, that was before. Yesterday I had a couple of mateys of mine who wanted to make offline donations [which I've added to my JustGiving page already], and one of them gave me a really nice card to say well done and keep strong, so now this is a happy post.

I know in some ways what I'm doing isn't a massive thing, you know. It's not doing an ultra-marathon in a hot air balloon bunjee jump over a shark infested pond [or whatever the kids are into these days], but I can't deny that it means something to many people, and will do some good when Macmillan get the moolah. In that sense, it means a lot to me too. I've got the memory of my mum, the strength of my friends and family and the knowledge of a charity receiving help to drag me out of my usual cynicism surrounding the efficacy of things and into a positive frame of mind.

I was also talking the other day about how the mind reacts to sums of money in these instances. When £250 was all but reached in a few days, I was amazed. It's more than my weekly wage, and raised in much less time. After upping the target, though, it raised the anxiety that I wouldn't reach it. It became less about the reality of what the money 'means' and more about the process of pushing to reach the goal. I don't know if I'm explaining it very well, but there was a shift between the early overwhelming gratitude toward a sort of voracious attitude. I suppose it's more understandable considering I'm not going to see any of the money myself, so therefore I feel like it's a more qualitative attachment.

Well that's about as much sense as I'm going to make, I suppose...

Wine's what I've really been craving lately but, as always, you guys keep me ploughing the sober furrow. Thank you!

Peace, love and light x

That's Better!

PlayStation Two, top left, and games, right.

 PS2 = a fun, massive drain on my time

Boooooks!

 Books = time well spent, enlightenment, a different kind of fun

September-time Blues

The thing that really triggers it for me is the adverts. Sure, there are those on TV, but it's the ones that pop up when I'm on my laptop, when I'm on my own and feeling more vulnerable. Young folk talking about 'your next big step', standing in front of some big, beautiful building as students mill about, smiling, chatting and buzzing silently with knowledge, promise and Jagerbombs. God I miss university...

Last year was the first year in my life, since I was three, that I've not gone into an 'academic year'. It wasn't too tough, though, because I had just recently finished my MA dissertation and had yet to graduate. This year was more like cold turkey. It's not the ideal time to get nostalgia-based blues of any kind, not when there's such sorrowful suffering in the family and the rest of the world at the moment. But I felt like putting this out there. I don't want to make others feel bad, but maybe it'll encourage others to think about education or their life or whatever.

I still remember first moving into halls, how I had three plastic litre bottles of spirits I'd brought back from Salou that September and how I tried to make new friends by sharing some of it with people in the same halls as me. I remember my first lessons, the feelings of awe at tutors, the attraction to those in your class who 'got it' in their way and made you look up to them because of it. I still remember the sometime loneliness, but also the fantastically oddball days and nights with friends I still love today and the freedom to be your own person in a way you couldn't imagine, even just a few months ago in sixth form. I remember losing my virginity [ish...]. I remember the greenery on campus. I remember the uni shops, the bar, the computer rooms, the odd spaces they'd try and shelve us writers during our lessons... I remember pride, fear and disappointment during/after assignments.

I remember so much. It's not really gone. It's made me who I am now and, crucially, who I will be. I'm not sad because it's over, I'm happy it's happened. I'm appreciative of all the luck, love and hard work that got me there, too, and I know it's silly of me to feel down about not being as young as I was.

Would still like to re-live it though...

Pages: 654
Approximated word count: 357,828
Approximated words per day: 980.4
Hero: Sisyphus

RIP Diary-a-Day 2014 and thanks to all of you that gave support along the way.

Peace and love.

More on Me Diary

Here's some more rambling about my diary project. I started it on New Year's day, and the idea has been simply to write about every day of 2014. If you want to read the past posts on it, here's the first, here's the second, here's the third and, if you can see this message, you're reading the fourth.

I breached the five-hundred page mark not so long back. I want to be prouder of this than I am. It seems like a big milestone, but of course the project isn't about size (yet I can't stop referring to it... What does that say? :p ). In a moment of procrastination I even calculated, however roughly, how many words I'm up to: 281,136. But that's just a meaningless bit of trivia...

I think the only really important development I've had since last time is with my routine. I got to the point some time in October where I felt myself yearning to write the diary every day. It wasn't a case of 'oh I'll have to do that later' or 'I'm bored, what can I get on with?' Instead I felt that 'physical flutter' where you know you're enjoying a project, the process makes sense and it feels natural and pleasurable (steady now) to do it.

It took me about two days after that realisation to slip back into letting the work pile up, and I went over a week without writing it. This is pretty disappointing, but I can hardly describe to you the blackness of the well I had fallen into, so I can't really be too hard on myself. I'm almost dried off from that, so fingers crossed it doesn't happen again any time soon.

When I was catching up last time, I wrote sixteen sides in one day, which was a fun, if tiring, exercise for an ol' graphomaniac like me. It gave me this great surge of writing momentum that, now I have caught up, has thrown me forward into the realm of Blogtastic posts and beyond. So, to sum up, since I last wrote about my 'journal journey', I've learned that you never stay on top long, but perseverance gets you to where you want/need to be eventually.

There's one thing I've so far failed to find in my work on this - my 'right time' to write. Lots of writers say there's a good time for people to write, some find it's in the morning, and apparently those who like writing in the early afternoon are in a minority. But having linked that, in What I Talk About When I Talk About Running I'm sure Haruki Murakami says something about stealing every few minutes in between shifts and after work to write his first novel, and that won awards. So maybe it's not so important when I write (especially for this journal work. I'm under no illusions as to how un-literary it is), I just feel in my bones that I'm 'too disparate'. I was hoping that this diary would foster in me a sort of Pavlovian response (see desk - WRITE!). I suppose that nearly happened, it's just that depression 'happened' again shortly after...

Now that the year is beginning to end, it poses new questions about what's next. I reckon my next diary assessment post will be my last. I can't see myself having that much to write about, with less than two month's worth of work to go, so that's probably going to be that. I'm already thinking about what I might do next year, but I'll talk about that during the summing up session, I suppose.


In the meantime, I'm going to try (yet again) to keep on top of this (I remember when I thought I'd be able to write every day no problem...). Also I still want to get back to previous production levels on Blogtastic (quite a few of my drafts are now 'past their best'), and make sure I don't go so long before posting again over at HashtagBeer (I let about three weeks go by without posting recently...). Also my reading's suffering a tad. I'm reading some online articles, the odd poem here and there, but I know I'm letting myself be seduced by crappy TV and other bad habits. It's just not a great period of time for me right now, and I'm not sure why. There's been one great development, though: reading out some of my work in Liverpool at the Storm and Golden Sky reading. The people involved couldn't have been nicer. So why the stagnation now? Where's the drive I had only a few weeks ago?


On a previous occasion, I asked whether this journal writing has been getting in the way of my other projects. Maybe I'm in a bad mood, or maybe I'm just looking for excuses, but I think now that the answer's 'yes'. It's not just the actual process of it. I mean, it can take a long time, but only really when I've got a huge backlog to clear (wahey!). Also, when I'm not doing the writing, I'm often thinking back over the day, sometimes more than once, trying to make sure I remember important events. Dedicating this kind of brainpower, especially when there's not that much to go around in the first place, has been debilitating in terms of mulling over different things I want/need to do creatively. I believe I've been inhibited in the sense of 'attitude' or 'mindset', too. I'm thinking in particular of the question I just asked about where my drive's gone. I feel as if there's been a kind of wall around my thoughts. Often, when I'm having one, it sort of bounces back inside, in on itself. Could being retrospective even on a day-by-day level stifle so strongly a person's struggle to externalise? Well, right now I reckon there's at least a good case for suggesting so. Either way, there's not long left until the new year now, when I'll let myself move on.

Procrastination Help

Free for you to print out and keep, Martin's Procrastination Help game. When you're writing an essay, or any other important task, it often seems like the whole world is frantically waving at you and trying to get your attention. You don't want that, you're trying to do stuff! The idea of this game is to not do any of the things on this list, then you're winning. If there are any ticks in the boxes, you've failed. Avoid those ticks and get that work finished!

• Worrying [   ]
• Grooming [   ]
• Surfing the internet (Facebook in particular) [   ]
• Reading (don't kid yourself it's relevant) [   ]
• Tidying/cleaning [   ]
• Rearranging desk/bookshelves [   ]
• Eating [   ]
• Masturbating [   ]
• Trying on clothes to see if they still fit [   ]
• Starting new projects [   ]
• Vomiting [   ]
• Walking the dog (exercising the animal and/or doing the yo-yo trick) [   ]
• Arranging/re-arranging socks [   ]
• Snacking/getting drinks when you aren't hungry/thirsty [   ]
• Looking through old receipts [   ]
• Inventing new syllabub recipes [   ]
• Choosing music/channel surfing [   ]
• Practising your musical instrument/harmonica [   ]
• Football (unfortunately) [   ]
• Shopping (especially for wallets) [   ]
• Acting the fool [   ]
• Taking 'selfies' [   ]
• Gaming (includes Fantasy Premier League) [   ]
• Being ill [   ]
• Personality tests [   ]
• Character quizzes [   ]
• Buzzfeed [   ]
• Exercise [   ]

I hope you have as much fun playing this game as I did making it, and that Blogtastic has once again improved your life immeasurably. Ciao for now!

Continuing On From

[dated 17.6.2014, minus minor revisions]

I'm sure you're all ravenous for more analysis of my journal journey. THIS was my last post on the matter.

I'm now past the two-hundred and fifty page mark, though the paper i'm writing on now has fewer lines than the pages in the original pad (admit it, you love this kind of enthralling and entirely necessary detail...) so that's not as impressive as it may sound (heavy stress on the 'may'). My discipline is definitely getting better. I think the longest i've gone without writing up is probably three or four days (if work, drunkenness/hangover or total lethargy has stepped in) which isn't too bad, especially when you consider the three-week period i let slip last time...

Again i'd like to iterate that i feel this habit has increased my prolific-ness. Although, thinking about it, that's a pretty ill-evidenced statement - i'm only concentrating on the positive evidence... But take, for example, a new novel i started. I had a few days where my discipline was great - writing bits of it on consecutive days rather than sporadically. That being said, there are many days, i suppose, where the journal is all i write. So perhaps i'm not writing more fiction, for example, but at least you can say that i'm writing more in general.

One of the things i've noticed about my development as i'm writing is greater awareness of structure. What i mean is, there have been times where the process of recollection was so laboured that my brain was focused solely on the act of writing. Now, however, i increasingly find myself so at ease with the tasks of remembering and writing, that my brain can add the task of structuring into the mix. In 'real terms', this means setting things up to create more drama (i.e. "i'll get to x later") and stuff. Plus there's the increased playfulness with the narrative voice, inviting more concerns over authenticity and madness of the narrator, so that's nice.

It's akin to things i've felt in fiction before. It used to be the case that i could only focus on the writing, and my thoughts progressed ponderously, but with more and more practise it became the case that i could think forward and backward through the story and come up with spanners for the works, etc, as i was in the act of scribbling it down.

You may ask the question; is the journal actually hindering production of other pieces? I don't think so. I think that's a question of overall attitude, not a directly blameable thing. There have been other projects and whatnot - they may not be all steaming ahead, but slow and steady may win the race (i bloody hope so anyway...). I'm keeping going every now and again with the HashtagBeer reviews, though i've let the dust settle on Blogtastic lately (it's been nearly three weeks since i last posted. That's rare, even for me), i've been trying hard with my university assignment Ontolangue (poetry), trying to keep reading plenty (A Clockwork Orange, Chess and some Mansfield stories) and whatnot. Overall effort is good, i guess. I'm not satisfied with it, but not too disappointed.

The main problem for me at the moment is, of course, the World Cup. I'm not trying to excuse myself, i realise this is a choice i'm making, but i'm basically watching six hours of football a day, which makes writing time harder to come by. What a great spectacle though, especially that Nederlands game. I wouldn't be surprised to see a Nederlands v Germany final.

Anyways, i'm not really talking about the journal anymore am i? What else is there to say? Just that i'll keep on going, i suppose. You can see i'm always trying to be aware of what's going on in terms of my writing and other life events. I hope that's going to prove to be recipe for success, as opposed to a recipe for faecal cake. Believe me, they don't taste as nice as they sound...

An End

Today I handed in my MA dissertation ('manuscript' as it is better known in Creative Writing...). It represents not only the culmination of many years of work and thought, but also probably the final university assignment I'll ever hand in. I love education and 'the' educational process, but for me a PhD represents going on to teach, so, aside from the money argument, I don't think a PhD is for me. Plus, if you're wondering, though I love the idea of teaching, I'm not responsible enough. Or talented enough, lol.

I've written before about how certain times of year, representing for us Western further-educationeers beginnings and endings of major cyclical significance, bring to mind past memories as well as future hopes and anxieties. Well this time, as I handed in my collection of poetry titled 'Ontolangue', I didn't really feel the heaviness of the situation. I mean, sure, there was the anxiety of the fact that I've handed in a big part of my life and I don't think it's of a great standard, but for the future that I can be in control of, there's nothing. There's just 'freedom'.

Aside from the household/personal issues I'm dealing with, and searching for a job, I have a degree of freedom that's unparalleled since before I started my MA two years ago. Back then, I surprised myself how professional I was, reading regularly and writing often. I'm keen to get back to this 'open plan' living. I have to catch up on my diary project (that I intentionally suspended while Ontolangue was finished), but am looking forward to my 'itty bitty poetry', my sci-fi fiction and, y'know, all the stuff that pops up when you think you're in control.

Socially this means a lot of meeting up with friends (so beware! If I know where you live I'll be paying you a visit), watching all the footy I can and hopefully re-going to readings, especially Storm and Golden Sky, which I was enjoying before certain shits hit certain fans.

Hey, the future's pretty bright. Let's look forward!

Peace and love,

Martin x

[Dated 1.9.2014]

'Slow Watches'

Interesting idea.

Life Notes Notes

Hopefully some of you read my new year post where i talked about starting a new diary/journal (any difference? I dunno, same roots at least...). Maybe some of you reading this remember it, but basically i want to write about every day of the year. The reason i'm bringing it up now is because i reached my hundredth side (y'know, fifty pages, one-hundred sides...) recently. That equates to roughly seventy-four earth days, i.e. 1.35 pages per day. Do we actually have any stats fans reading this blog? I sure hope so!

Mainly i wanted to share some insights about how the project's going so far. I'm not necessarily going to share every hundred pages - i don't really know. I'm playing a lot of this by ear, if you couldn't already tell. First off, since i just dropped the stat, i think i'm writing too much about each day. This is made worse by my wavering commitment. It has wavered to the point of, at one time, three weeks going by un-diarized. This means that some days have been almost completely forgotten, which means that the diary entry has been very small.

Sure, sometimes i comment in detail on how little i remember, or how annoyed i am at forgetting things, but in general, when you can't remember something, there's not much to say. Any of you folks who know about stats will realise, if my average is near to 1.5 pages a day, and some days i've not had much to say, there are some days where i've said a 'heckuvalot' (scientific term for 'shedload'). In a knee-jerk sort of a way, i think this is too much.

But that has been one of the points of this endeavour, that i look at how much i'm writing, and the 'quality' of it. One could describe 'quality' as vividness of writing, which will obviously be low if i talk about a whole day in one sentence, although one sentence can also sum up a great emotional force that was prevalent throughout that day, so 'it's swings and roundabouts'. It's tough, and there ain't never gonna be no right/wrong answers, but like i say i'm talking about 'simple' 'feelings' here.

There have been some 'big days', such as a trip to Yorkshire with my good friend J.W., where i have written many pages, and some days that had 'big moments', usually a football match i'll admit, that i can write in half a side. I think what i'm reinforcing is that the 'piece' dictates its own rules, and that it's the writer's job to try, to tinker and to reflect, but above all to listen to the material, find out what it wants and move on from there. I'm not saying i've edited these pieces. As of yet it's all first draft stuff. I don't even know if i'll type any of it/all of it up, but my point is that the more you write (in general?), the more aware you are as you are writing (of course some times you are so in the moment that this is not the case, but please remember i am essentially writing 'non-fiction' here, not getting too led away by a muse). I suppose what that means is that you can become annoyed with yourself more as you write. As i'm half-way through a paragraph on what a lampshade looked like, i feel myself urging myself to get on to other more pressing issues. But sometimes details is important...

Hmm i wasn't originally intending on drawing this back so consciously to writing practice. 'At the end of the day' i was (and am) trying to increase my writing stamina, and to self-reflexively assess the way i look at the world. I think both these areas have improved to an extent, although sometimes concentration is poor. And, especially when i have weeks to catch up on, the task seems daunting and i put it off. So there's still a maturity issue, i suppose, but mostly when i'm not down the well of depression i can get myself going pretty readily.

Ah i dunno. I'm certainly not here to tell you how to write for crying out loud. I don't even know that myself. I'm life's big struggler... I'm just here to tell you how this 'experiment' is going. I hope you get something from this. I sort of have. To be fair maybe you should just read some books about writing theory...

This is what there is from me.

Peace and love.

According to Recent Estimates

Today constitutes approximately 0.00000000002% of the universe's history.

On the Probable Futility of Keeping Your Self out of Your Writing Picure

As you may know, I recently read Al Alvarez' The Writer's Voice. As with all good books about writing, it threw up many questions about the self, the world and the word, but the thing that really made me think was biography. People are absolutely mad for, and will voraciously consume biographical detail about authors; trying to pry into their lives, either to unlock something within their texts (as in the study of Literature), or just because they're nosy.

This is unappealing to me. And not because of some lame 'privacy violation'. What bothers me is the focus it takes away from the work itself, either in the sense that people would rather read something else about you, as opposed to from you, or in the sense that such information can bend and warp meaning in your work. At a recent wine tasting (no, I'm not a Tory, I was working), a customer expressed her disappointment at the prices of the wines being listed on the sheet. This extra context, for her, meant that she couldn't enjoy the wines for their intrinsic merits, and instead could only make relative judgements such as 'it's not worth the money', for example. It's not a big leap from that to writing, I feel. I want my work to be 'waterproof', to stand fully alone and be (hopefully) enjoyed for what it is, rather than let it leak in 'real' bits of my life that will obscure its inherent message.

As usual, though, there are many problems here, some of which I have hypocritically blundered through in my post here. The first one is all the detail I've already revealed about myself (that I work at wine tasting, for example). I could have taken it out, but not only is that 'how the post came to be', it also sets up a (rather poor) 'joke' about Tory poshness. So it stays. Even at the risk of revealing certain political allegiances... The second problem comes in terminology - what did I mean by "'real' bits of my life"? I was literally meaning 'true revelations', rather than the fake ones I sometimes put in for humour/other effect. But does the way I phrased that not suggest that the act of writing inherently involves putting bits of your life in? I'd say so. As David Shield says in Reality Hunger, "...all writing is autobiography: everything... including criticism and fiction, writes you as you write it" which puts it nicely. And even if it is a made up life, is the author not living it on some imaginative level? Maybe I'm getting too metaphysical here, but I do want to stress the difficulties of writing and not revealing things in your life - that's where most inspiration comes from right? Think Plath's Bell Jar, Larkin's High Windows or Beethoven's 'Moonlight Sonata', as a pitifully small sample.

What are the options anyway? I've thought about deleting profile pages (or maybe inventing deceptive ones) and, in the unlikely event I'm ever published again, keeping my author profile as 'Martin Palmer is'. This might come across as arrogant and, to prospective employers/collaborators, unprofessional, but that's a personal sacrifice made for the work. I remember someone saying to me about my profile in Edge Hill's Question Mark vol 2, "You've not said a lot about yourself, look at everyone else's!" Well, I think perhaps I put too much ("Martin is a third year student of English and Creative Writing. Predominantly a scriptwriter, he also enjoys creating fiction, poetry and life writing."). So yeah, there's either abstaining from, or messing with, the profile. The former will make you mysterious and not-quite-there, but the latter, whilst meaning you'd have to perform a little on the level of a clown/jester, still runs the risk of tainting your work. And the things people read into it would be stranger, so I don't think that's an efficient strategy, as amusing as it might have been to list my occupation as 'Moonraker' or some such... thing... I don't know.

Another option could be the pen name, but my initial knee-jerk reaction to that is that it's my work, I want my name on it (complete with fist-banging-table motion). There's also an increased administerial duty here which, being a lazy sod, doesn't appeal. The benefits, though, would include a fresh biographical start. I wouldn't want to invent a new one, like Ern Malley or Rene Van Valckenborch because I wouldn't be writing as a new persona. I'd still be me, but no-one would know and therefore the work would stand or fall on its own worth, as opposed to some contextual consideration. Worth looking into for future projects... Need to come up with a better name than Nitram Remlap though...

Really, this is not the best medium to be judging myself on in terms of biographical detail. It's a blog, and this post is a personal essay - of sorts - and thus more susceptible to me 'being in it'. Also, it's not 'art' or literature, so the motivation for me to keep myself out isn't there as it would be in, say, a poem. In general, though, is there any point in trying to cover our tracks and make art 'self-sufficient', i.e. free from its creator/s? Sure, when we're still alive and our energies are more mercurial, there's less 'call' for biographical scrutiny. We are still in the act of writing, not just about inspirations from life and things we understand, but also writing in order to find meaning or revelation. After death, though, the call increases. People either miss the artist on a personal level or, maybe, the work becomes popular and/or the subject of research (i.e. by Literary academics). And these biographers know everything about everyone, no matter how far in the past the evidence is (could give any example here... Coleridge, there you go).

These days a biographer could dredge up all kinds of stuff from our ever-increasingly self-documented lifestyles, from how often you've complained about the sniffles to every single TV programme you've ever claimed to watch. So what's the point in trying to be nobody? There's a tome of biography hanging around all our necks with no lock on it. As soon as we're dead and the bounds of our life have set, you can be boiled down easily. If you tried a pen-name it will be cracked and then you're not just over-contextualized, but over-contextualized as the person who tried to avoid being contextualized, i.e. a failure. So this post has all been a load of rubbish then... It's unavoidable, really, to be tied to your work and run the risk of people using your life as a key to unlock (possibly spurious) 'hidden messages'.

Having just finished Elfriede Jelinek's Her Not All Her, I've found some possible ways to progress, though: master your own myth. Reto Sorg's afterword to this book is a very stimulating few pages, and here I muse upon't.  Sorg is guilty of the 'boiling down' I mentioned in the last paragraph when she says of Robert Walser (who the play 'is about') that he was, "...a naive genius who used his writing to reveal his existential position, whose career fell apart almost before it got started, who entered an insane asylum despite being sane, and who gave up his passion in order to live out the remainder of his life silenced as a writer..." Seems almost abrupt, non? She balances this out with an interesting thought on the topic of legacy; that, "...Walser himself contributed to the Walser myth." He did this, Sorg argues, by maintaining a, "...stoic view of his own life as a writer... as one who turns his everyday personal life into his subject." This, along with making "the context and act of writing into his theme..." produces an "overlap between the real person and the fictional character" which "becomes the vanishing point of his work." To sum up, "he invented himself in the act of writing and at the same time made himself disappear." So the ways to move forward are to either 'manipulate the myth' or give up altogether. After all, if you produce nothing, then it can never be ruined by context.

But that's never gonna happen!

Bye for now folks (and apologies for this being such a long post. Please share any thoughts you have, or even just tell me that you made it to the end and I'll congratulate you).

I Have Been

No Man but
On the other
Side Every
Man. Living
In my head
In a prison
Close to un
Conscious
Maybe super
Conscious.
Who can say
When being
Every Man
and No Man.

What's Going On?

I don't know, is something going on with the moon? Maybe the sun too... I dunno. I certainly think it's something to do with the skies. Solar flares?

It's just that nothing's really going on. Town's quieter, there's less going on online... seems like lethargy has just crept into everyone everywhere. I've certainly nearly stopped altogether.

Anyway, how are you guys, still alive?

Anyone out there?

Hellooo...

Seriously

WTF is time? Seriously, what the fuck? Where does it get off telling us, being all 'high and mighty' constantly?

I'm looking at this clock on my desk, and it's like 'yeah it's ten to twelve' and, friends, I kept it real. I was like 'no it bloody isn't! It's when I say it is, and now I say it's time to mess around on the internet, casually work and disregard traditional notions that I should be in bed or actually contributing to society in any way.'

Yeah, that'll bloody well show it!