Again, the inability to write here. Staunched by other people (otherness, the presence of others, movement, noise etc), reconciled by none. It is in the sea we always find our joy.
I swam twice; once at the pool, once at the beach, then went to La Perouse, a sort of beach. Contact with water always feel nice, also a sort of primal joy rediscovered when we run and jump carelessly over rocks and cliffs. Or maybe it was myself having just drank coffee.
As the sun set, there was a lighthouse blinking at the far end of the island. I do not understand it’s message. I haven’t read To the Lighthouse, either. The poet (here) seems to derive his work from Woolf. His words make me drowsy.
Can – I
Dissolve – my
Self
Into the sea
Glen Hansard once told where he and his friend got so drunk in Dublin they got on a boat, fooled around, and was suddenly adrift to the rocks by the lighthouse. ‘See the lighthouse, is a warning, so you don’t come near then‘
So there they were, somewhat knowing death is pending on them, waiting to be smashed. And just as the waves brought us to the rocks, they too moved us away from death.
And then he went home, wrote a song inspired by that incident. And I too, went home, from the Opera House, alone no less.
I re-read Ariel on the bus and sometimes I think Plath isn’t really a good poet save a few – I think that good poetry demands immediacy – and the few that I liked are Lady Lazarus, Tulips, The Applicant, Cut, The Moon and the Yew Tree (always), Years, Kindness, Edge, A Birthday Present.
‘I didn’t want any flowers, I only wanted
To lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty.’
I have been carrying around a batik colouring kit and I hope it is made today.
Good morning. Goodbye.
perkaraperkara 