Analogue Rhythms.

My paperblanks habit is possibly getting out of hand.

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.


12 thoughts on “Analogue Rhythms.

  1. When I was a kid and the phone rang when you were not home, nobody would know, nobody would hear. And the caller had to try again some other time, because you couldn’t leave a message either. And nobody cared, because they didn’t know their phone had rung…

    I appreciate my mobile for cases when a horse trips, falls, and breaks my arm in the middle of a field, but other than that it’s just a bloody nuisance.

    Today is Monday. My absolutely quiet, empty house day of my own. Aaaah. Need to make the most of it while I can focus.


    1. The days of simply not being available. So true, Pia. And the expectations around our lack of availability were different too, hey? Not so long ago I had someone complain to me that I was ignoring them, because I went out of my house without my phone for 4 hours. Whereas once it was assumed that you were just busy, or out somewhere, I think now not being constantly available can seem strange. LIke there’s something amiss. And we can be at risk of taking a lack of response personally.

      There are times when I am hugely grateful for the immediacy of communication now, (your example of being out with a horse exactly illustrates that), but the downside of it all is that it can be a little oppressive. I find I need to “disappear” off the radar at least once a week for a few hours, to escape the constant blip and beep.

      I hope your quiet Monday was fruitful…I do love those days : ) xx


  2. Ah yes. I’ll see you in those spaces or rather I won’t, but I will know you’re in them and so am I. A long-time, dear internet friend and I often talk of maybe bumping into each other (or other women deep in the ‘making’), while we’re ‘in the woods’. Catching a glimpse of one another across a clearing. I look forward to seeing you! X


    1. That quiet solidarity counts for a lot – the deep-in-the-creating glimpses of one another. From the edges of this great tapestry. I look forward to seeing you too, dearest Jo. And I shall be thinking of you. xx


  3. I get this. From another inbetween, I salute you. And I wish you beautiful wildness, mad and weedy boredom, long slow time, and all the heavenly music of silence.


    1. Thankyou Sarah…this beautiful wilderness is filled with many happy wanderers. When I create spaciousness, I can hear the deeper songs that I need to hear. And knowing that others can hear them too warms my spirit. Sweet, wild, and starry wishes to you. xx


  4. oh, sweet delightful and ever-so-shadowy you!! i’m just packing my satchel and heading out myself…to the in-betweens, which are beckoning ever-louder.

    and yes — there will be murk and menace among the wildflowers and mist-shrouded moors….such delicious possiblities!

    see you there…i’ll leave a flask of tea and packet of chocolate biscuits in the crook of the elm, second from the right, just over the wibbly-wobbly bridge. xoxo


    1. Lovely Mel, you make the wild paths feel even more welcoming. There’s a few of us, hey? It makes it all the more delightful, and it also assures me that I’m bumbling along in the right direction.

      I accept your tea and biscuits gratefully, and I leave you a jar of homemade blackberry jam, and a large loaf of warm bread. Look out for wee notes, that may appear in that elm, just for you. Much love to you. xx


  5. Yes, I understand too. A longing for how things were, when we seemed to have both real connection, and real solitude. And as for TV…oh how much better life has been since we left it behind. I don’t ever want it back!


    1. It’s become a craving for many – that longing you describe. I love being here because I do feel that the connections are genuine. But it’s much harder now to create that solitude. And the busier things get, (for things have gotten very busy), it seems the more deliberate we need to be in creating that. It used to just arise. There was a surplus of the stuff for me growing up, but now it feels like some kind of rarefied delicacy I get to nibble on not often enough.

      And I heartily join you in not missing tv. I’ve been without one for about 5 years, and we don’t even think about it now. xx


  6. how funny…i was just feeling nostalgic for the ability to be unavailable that we all took for granted in my childhood and younger adulthood. the lack of expectation that one would (could) be always available. the lesser obsession with that multi-tasking rubbish. the beautiful quietude of homes without 24/7 telly. etc, etc…

    as it seems most of us, at the moment, are navigating a space in between the olde and new worlds by choice or wild necessity, i suppose we’ll still be connected at some level that cannot be seen, but mayhaps can be felt…

    perhaps we should agree upon an “instagram flag” or beacon-picture. a black cat might not be inappropriate, or a mysterious moon or star image. i think i like the star idea, myself. so if any of us find ourselves a bit lost at sea, but don’t wish to break out the big wordy digital stuff, she could just post a picture of a star on IG. and we’d all see it at some point, and know, and send love…

    the stars are there, even when we can’t see them.


    1. You hit the nail on the head when you mention expectations around availability. It’s part of the pressure, I feel, to always be “on”.

      Our generations straddle these olde and new worlds in very visceral ways. We hold those body memories of different, contrasting rhythms. And I find that fascinating.

      I love your “instagram flag” idea – a star, a light, a signal. The Star is also my favourite tarot card – the one with which my heart resonates the most.

      I’ll still be around, (and I’m in the process of writing you a letter, which though sorely interrupted, is happening). The need to carve out solitude is also an impulse towards preserving soul-nourishing and inspiring connections, of the like I encounter here. Love and warm wishes to you. xx


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