A PLACE TO CELEBRATE

Dear
Reader,
The links on this page
are perhaps an easier way
to sample what has been a 12 month
continuous engagement with being alive –
by someone who
didn’t imagine the transition
from one life to another, from old to
very old, anchored to adrift as other than
disintegration.
It has as might be discernible
through this Journal become a more benignly
productive process of personal disambiguation. It has
in fact been a triennium of self
discovery …and rediscovery. The binding
of new ties. The building of new bonds. The gentle
breaking of old. In the distancing from what he thought
was who he was, an array of new appetites and capacities for
learning are revealed.
Writing what he is thinking about
has become more immediate. Drawing less
so, but still a direct expression frozen
in the media
available to him. Consumption of
the culture of place is leading to freshly
contrived transactions in idea, between text
and image, and image and image, becoming a natural,
increasingly
intuitive part of his reflection.
So fluent has this old and new media
authorship become, that he is never sure if it
was said or read, in words or images – or images and
images. Like you will be, he is
obliged to revisit – to reflect upon what
he said moving forward then backward but always
forward in the timeline of his days.To make sense of
it. To change it
so it does make sense? It is
in this engagement with reflection,
that 2012 another year in Nehwyreve, has set
itself apart from, but still inclusive of the years since
January 2010 that have come before it. Dear Reader
My life is a book of nonsense.
If you’re looking for wisdom in it you had
better bring a packed lunch (and a ball of thread).
If you are looking to find out the truth of one person’s
odyssey then know this – getting home is the end, going home
is the journey and I wouldn’t be dead for quids… not quite yet.
Ho!Ho!
Ho!Ho!
Ho!Ho!
Merry C’mas
Fellow Traveller.
On the Coast of Coromandel
Where the early pumpkins blow,
In the middle of the woods
Lived the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
Two old chairs, and half a candle,
One old jug without a handle,
These were all his worldly goods:
In the middle of the woods.

Edward Lear

You shouldn’t be sad because celebrations can be the realisations that mark the end of something good. A day, a year, a life that you didn’t want to ever end.  Endings are inevitable in Nehwyreve as are beginnings.Out of reflection on the end, comes the confidence
needed to take the next steps. When the understanding
of what will no longer be is balanced precariously
by optimism, and the anticipation of something
wonderful, and something not yet fully
understood, is emerging.As surely as the Sun rises up on the first day of the Third Life it will also set and find the man alone still dancing with himself ~ a solitary tango.
~Quick Quick Slow~

We’re born alone, we live alone,
we die alone. Only through our love and friendship
can we create the illusion for the moment
that we’re not alone.

Orson Welles
In a ballroom rooved by clouds
in an azure sky, to an orchestra of
the unusual suspects, urging me on
~ Quick Quick Slow ~ Old designers do not die or fade away but are reduced by time to an essence with greatly increased potencies.
Like Brands Chicken Extract.Autonomy is celebrated by this often
used four letter word. How many words rhyme with Autonomy? Deuteronomy, Harmony, Astronomy, Economy, Gastronomy…Ideonomy.

An immediate fami             ly of archetypes
they follow your for             tune, good and bad
wherever you go,de             manding nothing more
than acknow             ledgement. 

To have talked for forty three years
and to have resolved nothing but the inevitability
of our relationship is that strange thing called friendship
between men that is a better mirror than we can provide for
ourselves. An insistent interrogation of our self satisfaction.
The precipitation equally of doubt and wonder upon the lives
we chose out of all the lives that could have been.

It was a dream to be in London during
Brenda’s Jubilee and prior to the Olympics,
in summer not winter; for a short time with only
the agenda of confirming my love for those most distant
islands of my Archipelago. And to somehow pass my 69th birthday
without panicking. To be with Peter and Douglas in Notting Hill for
Douglas’ 81st birthday. To visit David, moving closer to the edge
of darkness than I in the prim perfection of Gibraltar Cottage
with Penny in Pembury. To say goodbye to a place that was
mine in memory for 20 years and embrace Helen; witnessing
for the last time life in this paradise of her conjuring.
Browns Hill Court near Stroud. Gloucestershire. And
to say that I loved her to a Princess in another
land far away… the heroine of a romantic
adventure in the virtual.

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