As I considered what I wanted to write about tonight, I realised that a pint and a half of beer does not aid the little grey cells. The world my sub-editor and I put to rights, has no real artistic merit, nor holds any interest to anyone who has not consumed equal amounts of beer. Despite that, 2 hours later we still were having impassioned debates about the idea that as creative writers/poets/artists, our job was to show the universal truth within that particular moment.
So what's the universal truth in this particular moment? How do I express it without resorting to cliche and sap? Don't know. I know I tend to tell the truth when I'm in my cups and I suspect that is why many well known writers and poets were known for their love of a tipple (or 10). The alcohol makes a bit of space between the stuff happening in the head and one's intellect. Things appear a lot more manageable. Of course alcohol is a lousy anaesthetic, and I don't drink if I'm distressed. But it is nice to indulge in a bit of intellectual bullshit every now and then. The trick is being able to create that space without recourse to substance.
I've been able to borrow a digital camera for the summer, which is just great. If I'm up to it tomorrow, I may take the camera out for a quick trip and see what happens. I also will need to pick up the foamboard from the College shop. The big problem I see with this project is that although the blog and the pictures and foamboard squares will document a journey on many different levels, I need to find the universal truth in the experience.
Tonight, I just don't know. Tonight, I've had one and a half pints of beer and I still feel disappointed in my results and truth be known, a touch lonely. But as I listen to Carmina Burana, and I think of the future, the year ahead and beyond, I am hopeful.
So buckle your seatbelts, make sure your tray tables are in an upright position, and on behalf of the captain I'd like to welcome you aboard.
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Bank Holiday Sunday
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