There are a bunch of clichés swimming about in my brain at the moment. All of them related to time, forelocks, and fugit-ing tempus.
People are asking me for things. Namely ideas to be developed and outlines to be submitted, and this all requires of me a certain level of
rabid obsessiveness quiet and concentration.
On this mountainside I can easily access the conditions required for solitary work, but there is also a necessary amount of unplugging from social media required. Although if truth be told, I spend very little actual time on social media. But for how I need to think right now – which is all manner of weird and arcane, I do need to withdraw into another time and place.
In fact, in order to get some things done, I’m structuring my days so that they’ll resemble something even more like the 20th Century than they do now, (although that may prove to be unavoidably anachronistic). A time when people were simply unavailable at certain times, and there existed an old-fashioned, undistracted experience of boredom. A fruitful kind of boredom which sprouts daydreaming. In other words, I’m structuring my rhythms to be a lot more analogue than they are at certain times of the day and the week. Not having a tv helps. A lot.
This means that I while I shall still appear here, it may be random, and less often than usual. For a while. But who knows? I may end up here even more if I find I need to catch the overflow of words and energy.
At the risk of being irritatingly opaque, I’m attempting to negotiate the spaces in between things. There is the desire to provide hope and beauty, but also not wishing to provide more lite for consumption. I want to create more than just another form of prozac for Dark Times. In order to do that, in between sundry obligations, I need to create a little vacuum, an echoing void in which to deliver wild imaginings, and heart-woven spells. An empty sea to send out solitary stories in bottles stopped up with hope.
This impulse is also, in part, why I kept the name of this space as it is – ‘Dark Side of the Broom’ – for the sake of transparency. That yes, there are roses, a cottage, a garden. But there are also midnight whispers, fierce creatures, and shadowy places. And that none of these are to be feared, ultimately.
To you dear reader, I raise a cup of beauty, filled with very good wishes. I hope that you might bear with me as I move between life here at Rapunzel’s, and worlds that lie beyond.
And now to work.