Ideas come when I walk. I love that first initial rush of possibility, anything could happen. At that moment I can create anything. All technology is at my finger tips. No holes barred. Nothing in my way. The concept is pure, unsullied by fear. I want to see what silence looks like. It begins with a library, like the one in Boston. Does it have to be a public library? Yes, I think so. I like their egalitarian-ness. Anyone can go in, to read, to browse, to sleep, to think, to pee…whatever. The cliché is their silence. That imposed silence by wagging finger. A librarian with a tight bun. Are they silent? Are there sounds to capture? Coughing, page-turning, snoring, that glorious sound of the date stamp. I want to capture these noises then try to make a transcript of them. Then get someone to sign those noises. Too complicated? I don’t think so. I’d need help technically. But the idea will be mine, is mine. I even thought about translating the transcript into braille. To read the words takes away some of the abstraction. It is a beginning. Oh, and did I tell you I was selected? Can’t say for what yet. Hush, hush.
I wake fearful. I try to get a grip on it. Today there is nothing to fear. A gentle day. A sorting out day. Then off to meet the Notary for the signature then a massage. Take it slow. Do all those little things. And read. I am enjoying the poetry, though writing the review hangs heavy. Can I do it? Can I do it well enough? Would she have asked me if she didn’t believe I could?
See what it looks like. That silence.
Today, now you don’t need to be afraid. Just read them. Get inside them. Let them get inside you. It is enough. Be true, be simple. What is the poet trying to communicate? Follow your instinct.
We are at least ‘talking’ though it isn’t warm. Not as warm as I’d like. Isn’t love enough? To warm you up?
I heard a girl wailing as I walked home. A group of kids were getting into a taxi. Would they go to her aid? Should I stop? I find myself blaming alcohol and take less notice then perhaps I should. Is it attention seeking, or genuine? I am loathe to break the membrane of my silence. Three of four sleeping on benches, one entirely cocooned in a white duvet. How is it to sleep to the sound of the sea? Are you safe? The benches must be so hard. Do you sleep?
Voices through the dark. They are coming from the little park beneath the castle. A little laughter, the gentle sounds of friendship.
Must work now. A milky grey sky and the rooks have finished their chatter.