monologue mayhem mischief managed
all aboard the m train
Start writing…
… that’s the instruction on this here blank page, that I so want to spill my whizzbang brain onto, yet seem to be haemorrhaging wiht it all. A bit like if an egg timer had sand ALL the way through, and couldn’t be turned upside down to signal the direction of time1. I am both so full up and yet so empty of knowing where to begin.
I think Patti had a bit of this, as revealed in her book M Train. You just pick a letter and start free styling with that letter.. Murmer, mutter, muster, muppet, mammoth, margaret, margate, mathematics, mathematician, matter, master, mantra, malla walla willa wolla bing bang… groove, yeah, that’s somewhere. That’s a trail of thought. turned upside down and with a tune to it. Jack Sparrow was also onto something wiht parleley, parlelellyleloooo, par le nee, partner, par... snip, parsley.. its picking a constant (and as it happens, a consonant) and letting that form the initial structure, then letting the mind go wayward.
Actually there’s a point there. Structure. There is structure to found in routines. I am seeking this at the moment, in one way or another. I think it must be the winter months that have sucked me into the slumbersome slump of sloth, my mere existence reliant on that beautiful moment when the duvet pulls up and the cold ready day is exhaled. Contrasted by Caffeine to convince me otherwise. But that doesn’t mean my mind has similar actions as my body... Oh no, on the contrary, there’s a million things whirring round this little (well, actually surprisingly large) noggin of mine. To dunk into a few…
Gender theory; the formation of white holes; the comparison of hampstead heath to Narnia; relational spaces; dogs barking; the confusion of dating apps; shaved heads; people as colours; where to find colours in winter; nuances in self presentation; being loud; being quiet; dancing; gratitude for good friends; the moon; half moon; total eclipse, Jaffa cakes.
Gah! We were going so well. That list was gaining momentum and almost made sense. Sense. What is sense? Why must we make sense? In a stream of consciousness all of this makes utter complete sense, beyond the formal structures of A > B > C. Nah, let’s keep it weird. Let’s keep away from ROUTINE + SENSE + STRUCTURE. Lets keep the substance of it all and…
… that’s it ! Find rhythm! With rhythm we can settle into the potato days of winter, and allow those firecracker days to explode when they’re ready. I know the first half of January was a cacophonous display of colour and creation for me, out of nowhere. Believe or explode.2 Surely we’re all on our own clocks, we’ve all got our own rhythm. I think my rhythm relies on changeability, it needs variety. If there’s one thing I love more than routine, it’s breaking out of routine. Which is likely beyond the point of routine. But actually, by listening to this pattern as a rhythm, I can allow myself to be a bit more in tune with my own nature, using certain rituals to help navigate the days (eg 11am coffee, or outdoor exploring each morning, come rain or more rain or on the lucky occasion, shine), and punctuate the drifting daydream I am drawn to. But by listening to to my instinctive rhythm, maybe, maybe, I can soften into my natural state and these bizarre stagnating slump of overthought and underproduction can be altered.
Are you still with me? Am I still with me? Before we ascend into an m-themed visual tralala, I’d love to know do how you get out of creative blocks, or how you kickstart yourself into actually doing the things you know you want to do. HOW, please, HOW?
… i’m not going to proofread this monologue so I hope it makes absolute nonsense to you, and it helps you feel a little closer to sanity than me. for all enquiries please expect a response within three to five business months.
MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMMMMMMWWWWWMMWMWMWMMMMWMWWMMMMMWWMWM
mindful + L = MIND FULL
mind + E = MINED
mind ∇ = puiw
my monologues might mystify mischievous, even. odd.
carlo rovelli is very good at talking about this in The Order of Time, but I prefer his book White Holes, but you should probably start with Seven Brief Lessons on Physics to get a taste
patti smith ! somewhere in just kids, also in teh song that goes The night is a mongrel, believe or explode. Google will tell you the song. this isn’t a formal essay.