I HOPE this is working… Ahh, self-doubt, now there is something to play with.
I WAKE at five and get up. I write in my journal until half past and link small sharks to eavesdropping. I am looking for a playful approach in and out of self-doubting. Is dissatisfaction a component of self-doubt? Or is self doubt some creeping dissatisfaction?
I WRITE with the (desntist’s) dentist’s office pen. The pharmaceutical company’s pen ran out of ink yesterday, it had covered many pages and possibly several months, scrawling on both (dies) sides of a continent. I sometimes think of pens as having greater meaning than convenient writing implements: the pen being mightier than the sword, we hope. It is a souvenir of time spent writing. It bears no responsibility for the content; but with a little rummaging, it can be drawn into the story. It came from somewhere. It had placement value as someone in the advertising world says. With the question of big pharma’s influence on the prescribing practices of physicians, it has weight. That pen had a nice weight that made it a good writing companion. In some ways the writing was spoken, the pen standing in for a listener. It never speaks, but takes note. It might make an odd mark under my influence. And it can refuse to go on, as it did yesterday, running out of ink amid a flurry of discomfort. It can be almost like a little receiver. And then as I write on the computer, I am writing to whom through what? The keyboard is some modified souvenir pen.
SO WHERE are the small sharks? They are in the water swimming around unseen and not threatening the swimmers on the surface. The small sharks were with an expansive school of small fish. I can see turmoil, fish swimming deep below. And can we hear the sharks evoking fear? Are they pens or swords? And even if I can’t eavesdrop on them, I can eavesdrop on conversations about them. I can learn day by day that it wasn’t Jeff who saw them, nor was it Arthur, but Tuko. She swam earlier. She’s more elusive. Her placement on the beach requires intentional tracking. She’s also an artist and a neighbor. Ah, artist is where the doubt dwells. Call yourself an artist and the pen stops writing. What did you say? The whole conversation pivots. If several were eavesdropping the room gets silent. Perhaps she will converse with me about small sharks, or about sharks and eavesdropping or about something entirely different that will lead my creative thread to some satisfactory pass toward further creative constructions.
SO WHAT about writing earlier in the morning like this? Will that allow me to have my say about something that interests me that I can carry around during the day and bring out as I meet people at the beach? Here, this is what I’ve been thinking about. What have you been thinking about? It isn’t for everyone. Some people will feel silenced by the perceived complexity of my thoughts. I am prone to scattered thoughts. I am also prone to collecting those pieces. Is it complicated? Mostly like an overheard conversation, it is banal. Misheard conversations might be an angle to pursue.
AND HERE are the first birds, I wondered for several weeks how early the birds start. They splice their voices into the frog medley. If they ate the frogs, would they be like small sharks among the school of fish. It is at least a quarter hour before sunrise when they start. It is the cardinals first and then come the doves. I guess I have been awake several mornings. Ask me later and I might not be so sure. Hear the doves? Doves
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