Words
The Confined Bodies of the Free Minded
I remember the first time.
I counted the doors and the gates.
I stepped across thresholds, each adding a layer of captivity with a buzz and a voice recorded warning that demanded haste.
Here you are.
I looked at the grounds in the sunshine.
The grass echoed green of the garden felt soothing and easy on the eye.
The sparrows fluttered in and then fled the imperious gulls.
Structures. Hierarchy in force, even here.
There you sat behind door 10.
No exit, no way to leave.
I felt the pain of confinement and wondered if you did too.
Wondered if this was something I’d get used to… if you’d got used to.
The wing felt like a stationary ship.
Static.
Anchored.
Landings like decks.
But this isn’t a cruise liner, this is a submarine burying us deep beneath the surface of it all. Cells for cabins… peephole portholes, portals to the life within.
Catacombs for the pale souls.
The sun doesn’t shine in here and you are prison pale, deficient in D and it calls out.
You smiled… a polite warmth.
Would you speak to me outside?
Would we know each other?
You were easy and I wondered how that was possible behind these doors.
You were human and beyond funny, full of curiosity and here in these pockets of connection, in this place, you seemed weathered and weary. Alive and astute. Respectful and resistant.
You are alive in this container, shipped out and striving to exist, to be you in a punishing tide.
I think I would have drowned.
This morning…
In the haze of sleep, in the growing hours, I dreamt. It was a smudge of a dream, a foggy premise, lacking any tangible back story. I was formed and fully upright, dressed and pressed but not looking like me. This other me, this avatar, was walking across a large square, cobblestoned and quaint like those Piazza, Platz, Plaza of Europe that host meandering markets. In the dream I was walking towards a political rally that had started across the stones on the other side. My stride was determined and steady. In the next moment a child appeared, a toddler, as if with me. It was not my child, for I have no children in life or sleep but the accompaniment seemed important, more relevant and I was inspired. The child was sat on the cobbles and I leant to offer a hand. However with resilient determination the child found its wobbly feet and placed one step towards the rally and then another. I watched this tiny action and it amplified in my sleeping bones. In a fleeting change of dreamscape scenery I was suddenly drawn towards the parked and traffic idling vehicles that dominated the main road. I leant through an open window of a car and I began to write on the dashboard these words….
“A tiny step from a child, a tiny step of love and hope will smash hate and fear…. A single tiny step towards love will challenge the war mongers and the violence of the war… this tiny step, unfettered with hate is the future… is the goal… to return to this single step of wonderment… of uncertainty, without fear”.
It wasn’t easy writing the words around the accoutrements adorning the dash but I felt fevered in my attempts to record and relay. In waking I wrote the dream down and considered it as a complete narrative requiring nothing more than a footnote perhaps. Or perhaps not. My feet felt like walking and I got up and said to my lover that we should walk. I woke up.
Stride forward dear friends… may your steps be fearless in semblance and soul.
Raw Material
I am 6 months old and sitting in a pram on the tube. I’m 2 years old and struggling with the mechanics of the toilet seat. I’m 4 and getting told off in nursery for cutting plasticine with scissors. I’m 6 and I have a football shirt on for the first time and the excitement of this story is blemished with any family retelling that becomes tantamount to fake news. I’m 9 years old and the Queen had just celebrated 25 years of being thrown on the throne. No hang on… I’m 11 and Margaret Thatcher has become Prime Minister. Or was it… when I was 18 and my new jacket, that I had for 2 days, got stolen from a nightclub in Cardiff. I was 26 and living in The Netherlands or 28 and cleaning caravans in Dawlish Warren. I was 32 and had just got married… to everyone’s surprise. I was 37 and walking out of a full time paid job. I was working 3 hours a week. I became a vegan, a bad vegan who cheats on his own dietary requirement. I was 40, 50, 60… I was passing through a portal to another dimension. I’m in bed with a secret lover and we’ve eaten a hash laced rocky road between us and I can’t feel my face… I’m dead and lying in a coffin and you don’t think I can hear you. I’m floating in a tank, I’m in the air, I’m being sucked downwards and it doesn’t feel good. I am fucking scared and there is no one to remind me of what it says in the Tibetan book of the dead. Which door do I take?
I’m sat on the sofa. It’s early evening or midnight. It’s dark and darker than I have felt for a long time. It’s now and then. Now right now… and then, back then. It’s here in front of me, eating me, sucking me fucking dry. And there it was, the truth. The truth appeared in front of me and the vacuous-ness of every thing was revealed. You’d said ‘everything is insignificant’… when I said look down there… when we where on Ysgirid Fawr… look how insignificant everything looks… you said ‘that’s because everything is insignificant’… you said that. And I agreed… with greed and delight I retorted that back at you and we swam in its nothingness.
I was watching football. One team of very expensive and well-paid players were playing against another team of less expensive and less well-paid players. It looked fairly even for a while and then the better-paid players seemed to remember that they were better off and acted accordingly. This seemed to allow the less well-paid players to understand their fiscal position and they accordingly relented and allowed the team of the well paid to score and score again and finally score once more. Everyone seemed happy. The outcome was as predicted and those that had predicted it took great pride in under lining their predictions. The playing surface was equal, the ball was neutral and the markings seemed suitably square. The officials were officially appointed and the crowd stood in partisan groupings. There were cheers and jeers, whoops and boos. The soundtrack was as expected. The result was expected. In truth… It was a dull affair.
And I kept asking…
What do you want to buy now? You bought a football team and the adoration of its fans. You bought them all and they paid you the dues you wanted. What now? Do you want to buy a government? Or did you do that already? Is it less satisfying watching the well paid politicians from upper class backgrounds rally their theoretical ramblings against the well paid politicians from middle class or working class backgrounds. Is it as cut and dry as that? Is it as cutthroat as a pirate’s cutlass? Are you the owner of the winning team? Do you want to be? Win, winning, winner… let’s get prizes, contracts, peerages, knighted… lets be on lists and listed, noted and lauded.
Am I a pleb?
No one answered. There was no one there. Just me. I was 54 and alone, or 52 and feeling lonely and relieved. I was falling in and out of love. I was losing something special and I let it go. I was 69 and I’d just paid off my mortgage. I dropped dead the next day. Stone cold dead. Dead. Me. Debtless and dead. 69 what an age. Not many ages allude to sexual positions but here it was stretched across my face, etched in stone and me cold in the ground or more likely blasted into tiny bits and kept in an urn that had the number 69 in gold letters emblazoned upon it. Some nervous young relative has me on their sideboard or in a cupboard under the sink. The 69 makes them feel ick when they read it…. It blinks a wrinkled ugly wink and reminds them of the loose skin that amasses at the back of the head of old people. The thought of drooping faces licking and sucking each other is repulsive to anyone under a certain unspecified age. I want to put myself together and climb out of that urn and shout I didn’t choose to die at this age, I can’t help your bashfulness at the thought of old people engaged in simultaneous oral sex. It would be a miracle. An anatomical A-TOM-IC impossibility but to see the look on that young awkward face would make it all worthwhile.
You got to smile… I hate been told what to do. Even dead and in pieces I resent the powerlessness of this situation. I’m 79, 89, 99…. Do you still have me or did you scatter me in a cow field full of fresh dung and orange flies? Did you?
I am invisible now. I’ve gone to a better place. He’s better off – they’ll say. He’s not suffering anymore. He’d paid his mortgage off. He’s better off out of it. Who was he anyway? Poor sod. I’m not even a sod. I’m dust, ash, frazzled bits. I am smaller than when I was two months old but more of a mass than when I was three months in the womb. When little me grew from a magic bean and grew all the right organs and bits to be whole and holy yours. Inside you is where I started, deep inside and then you had to push me out. And I never asked to be born. And I never asked to be dead. And I never asked to be read. That was your choice.
Loss
“Hope there’s someone
Who’ll take care of me
When I die, will I go”
It’s the first song on the iPod that lives in my car. Antony and The Johnsons are the alphabetically dominant band when the ignition brings to life the vehicle. The opening lines are irresistible and I feel compelled to hear the whole song once these lines break.
Today is the 19th September 2022, the day of the funeral of Elizabeth II. It is quiet on the roads as I head to my place of work. The small church near the beach, where we’ve been rehearsing, has a small car park that is strikingly empty this morning. There is an autumnal solemnity. The air is cooler, the sky different shades of grey and it is breathless, totally still.
And there it is, that feeling.
Mournful. I can feel it. Today as the morning unfolds I inhale a sense of loss. Not for the Queen, or her family, but from a hole that I feel inside me. I have lost some close friends over the last couple of years. They are not dead. They are just not my friends anymore. Each of these losses felt sudden, something suddenly broke and where a bond had held us over weeks, months and years, now we have drifted far beyond any communication channel.
“Hope there’s someone
Who’ll set my heart free
Nice to hold, when I’m tired”
I feel it. Today. As if there is a collective consciousness pulling me towards grief. As I am the first to arrive at the little church I take a stroll to the pebble shoreline and look across the channel. Even this tyrannical tide seems placid, reverent even. The finality of losing someone is when letting go is all there is. It doesn’t make matters better but simply redefines a relationship. It is over. Today as I heard these words I thought of painful endings. How I slipped out of favour, how I recalibrate, readdress or forget and carry on, sometimes limping.
How I hope… hope there’s someone.
It hung for a while this feeling. Then slowly others began to arrive at the little church and we were charged with our task to prepare for work. We are united in our common goal. We smile at each other. Then we sang, we moved, we laughed.
There are people.
There is someone.
“There’s a ghost on the horizon
When I, go to bed
How can I fall asleep at night
How will I rest my head”
Furious Words
I just saw the man that used to shout into a house through the letterbox at the top of the road. Today he was determined in stride and was accompanied by a younger and equally pale version of himself. His shouting used to sound either like a muffled diatribe or pitiful pleading. It was for some years a feature of the street. Presumably after a letterbox rant, I sometimes observed him sitting on the kerb, occasionally looking defeated, at other times eager to press an opinion in my direction. Once I had asked him firmly to get off the less that steady gate post at the entrance of where I live. I was not attempting to be more alpha or even confrontational. Moments earlier I had endured the actions of a young man on a motorbike pulling a wheelie and heading straight for me. I was vexed. When I addressed the letterbox shouter I was riled and he acquiesced.
He did not speak today or even glance my way. His steps were purposeful, his accomplice increasing the magnitude of their combined intention. I had been walking a loop of the park, a regular route. Here in this public space my thoughts are uncontained. There is a motorway of movement that has my mental traffic vying for clear road or lane changes. The loop is a tradition. I presume no one likes to turn back on themselves, although there is a section I need to both ascend from and descend to the house I call home. I like to think of this part of the walk as the stem or an apex of a speech bubble.
The words of these walks vary in colour and candour. I can’t always compile a complete sense of clarity but what I do know is the cadence of my stride pattern allows something to release inside. There was a time not many months ago when I was running, sprinting even, flooded with love and energy and gorging myself on possibility. My greed was unbound. At the apex of such powerful self-actualising I slipped and fell. I could not find my feet anymore. Frozen and frozen out I stopped functioning. There are reasons of course. Things happen. Life patterns change and potential slips away. The balance of everything is an indescribably delicate feature of life, or at least of my life.
Today I am grateful that my feet were pacing. I was grateful that the words came thick and fast and ideas and ideals swerved around each other in less congested traffic shifts. There was a sound track wailing in the recess of my memory. It’s nice to walk with remembered or self composed music, sometimes it becomes the best song I’ve ever heard. It reminds me of the way we connect to people, the sounds of something that seem to come from the soul. And whilst I walk with this beat I think of the people who have heard my ramblings and held open a space for comfort and contemplation. I did not need to hold open a letterbox flap to release fragile and, sometimes, furious words.
Maybe today as I and letterbox shouter walked past each other there was a realisation of the journey, a silent and unconscious recognition that we were moving and that was the most important thing to do right now, move and keep moving. These steps are progressive and reflective and I embrace them and I hope he does too and in that I hope there is some peace to be had for all of us.
He is still here
He is still here
In your words and distant stares
The marks upon the wall
The clothes behind the wardrobe door
He still resides deep inside
On your conscience
Diminished at times
But raging as a storm when night can fall
He still exists
In the space left behind
In the still and tranquil air unmoved by grasping hope
In picture frames in different times
Now beyond finger tips
And soothing words
He left in agitated haste
To pace the closing conspiracy of streets
And days later the malignant confusion left too
The house sighed a deep release
And you sat and felt fatigue
And guilt and pained relief
On good days the air sits still
And breath is easy
Heart in rhythmic measure
Somatic ease and grace
But days are disobedient
And strength and firm self-belief can fade
And you hide
Waiting for the tide to breach
He is still here
In your dreams
He is still here
In your heart
He is still here
Because you bore his pain
And comforted his soul
AFTER
After…
There will be more balance and appreciation hopefully.
After the smoke clears I’ll be able to see the bodies clearly
A chance for us not to let things slip back though it’s likely we will.
To continue to be more thoughtful about this precious planet. To continue to spend more time together, we have had some revaluation of late, that might not have happened if we go back on the treadmill.
I will create a new house so I can still play
We will build
Chaos
Business will be booming, theatre will be rammed, people will respect their friends and family more and appreciate seeing them, the sky will be polluted with fumes from planes and incomes will be flying back in... In my eyes this world will never be the same again, some business may have to close for the foreseeable future, people will be frightened to go outside and to get back to reality. We have adapted to these restrictions to the point that it has become our new reality of living.. It will never be the same, ever.
After there will be new appreciation for everything from before
There will be more of a balance
I don't know what I really want.
After is uncertainty.
There will be more touching and eye contact and appreciation of flesh and blood
There will be hugs, lots of hugs but also weariness. There will be questions asked...lots of questions. We will celebrate in each others company
There will be a symphony
Whatever happens will no longer reflect the person I was. The world won't ever be the same as it was... there's hope, there's always ways to live through and build through whatever this life offers us...
After there are possibilities and hope
Life in masks and the unknown.
We are changed
God knows what! I think people need to start standing up and speaking out and questioning how they want to live and be treated, rather than just acquiescing to orders.
More painting. Love + thoughts of building a woodland studio.
To act, to tread with care, to hold and to love, to stand up for what is needed. To make political choices with strength and love. To hold one another.
I hope to be time satisfied
There will be something else.
Both will meet, hopefully
Maintaining the new routine and revolving work around it. Spending time improving and solidifying knowledge.
For many the same struggles, uncertainty, now possibilities and kindness
We'll all be greener and keener (to meet and touch and hang out and discover each other again)
We need a rest
Who knows.. Perspective? Lost perspective?
There will be both
This is unknown
Who knows the world will be seen in a different way, get rid of the oldies, they cost too much
There will be parties and gatherings of friends on lovely beaches!
Will I remember how and if I so will it matter?
I’m finding it impossible to imagine.
I'll be grateful to hug my friends again, be in close proximity to people
I hope a wider proportion of people maintain their compassion and solidarity goggles. I hope they decide another world/society is not only possible but is actually there because they experienced it during COVID. And then maybe look for political change and representation that best reflects those ideals?
After there will be no going back to your inner and outer being in their usual places.
I would hug tight, kiss lots and minimise the distance if I may
The traffic noise and screams of celebration as the birds are faded out.
Who knows
Fairies
I want to find the space in between
Well there's a hope that some of this remains, some fear of looking ahead, of never hugging again. There's a purpose and a stronger sense of what I want and fucking great itchy pair of feet to keep exploring!
Hope. Caution. More tolerance of one another maybe? More acceptable of things out of our control.
Only time will tell
Who knows…maybe we can learn to share?
After - ?
After coronavirus I think the population will have shrunken and people will all be vegan and people will be really scared.
I expect I shall think quite a bit about sex ……
Cars
There is hope
We all need a rest
There must be more space for dreaming. For a continuation of the kindnesses shown. More time for expressions of love and caring and community.
We wait for our wedding same time same place next year - love overflowing before during and after lockdown
I will have to become re-acclimatised to the smog that will continue to kill our planet to satisfy human greed.
I dream we stay awakened, we give the thanks deserved, and hold each other longer in the knowing we appreciate everything as we should
Hope for a better world / fearful it will return as was
There will be Marxist acceleration-ism, with any hope
After there will be a god damn fucking shit storm! Possibly a global awakening.
AFTER seems like a selfish indulgence
Hope we can change our society and the environment for the better as people wise up to global corruption
Both will return
Awareness and change at least I hope
There is hope and a love so strong ...
I will never again take for granted my freedom to travel and visit with precious family and friends
I hope things will never be the same.
There will be some mixture of the two.
Arseholes
There might still be bees.
I hope our freedoms are still intact .
The ability to find stillness
TBC
I hope she remembers this time in her heart
I hope there is new ways of interacting found that means if you cannot work in an office environment you will be allowed to work from home, I also hope the reduction in noise and general pollution has made people realise what a beautiful world we live in. The skies have cleared, our rivers run clean. Mother Nature is blooming. I want this to continue.
I’m so frightened that the old normal will come screaming back in a heartbeat...
Fear, poverty for family and friends, limited freedom and travel, anger, resentment , blame , grieving, compensating. Research findings.
There are big hopes for “After”. I want to go out in the world and hug loved people really tight without fear.
We will meet again
'After' insinuates a clear end and a new beginning-which is not at all guaranteed
More of us will make our homes and plant our gardens in the cracks, pushing them ever wider and seeding better ways. I hope!!!
I hope I'll have caught up.
I hope we will still say hello to strangers as we do now
"After" seems too far away.
Some will falter some will fall some will rise and some will stall. I will make the most of moments. I’ll take the few steps back upstairs to switch that light I see from the corner of my eye, I’ll remember to make sure I watch my consumerism of fast fashion as not to support a highly polluting industry and I’ll try and be more compassionate to those who struggle to make these changes, I’m an ecologist and I’m struggling! Who isn’t! Its not easy but it must be done for an “after” to exist
Balance
I will not release my time back into timesheets and clocks
An opportunity
After there will be a return to normality x
I'm afraid things will go back to how they were rather than strengthen public services conditions of work
There may be a brave new world.
Yoga classes via bike
After there will be nothing
We will have wrestled power away from the fuckwits and remake our world and how it functions for everybody.
There won’t be any hiding
There will be appreciation for freedom. There will hopefully be a lot of relief and happiness. There will be more walks for me personally, where I just appreciate everything. However I also think there won’t be much change for a lot of people. Perhaps some people will realise that life is short and uncertain and that the present time is perfect to do things you want to do. That’s something I’ve realised.
After it is unsure.
There will be hugging. Lots of hugging.
I will see gross and amazing development and hugging a tree
We can only hope the now is sustained
I'll say collaboration
Actually collective spirit is more what I meant to say for after!
First hesitation, awkwardness, alert...then slowly slowly falling back into freedom. Hopefully appreciating time you have with other people, appreciating places and activities. Having awareness how we can contribute to safe the planet, giving nature the opportunity to recover. Appreciating the really important things in life! Being grateful!
I hope there is both.
I don’t know. A new negotiation - a not wanting to go back to what was. A creeping back of the Big Bad Ways - Noise; the rush of time; Demands; a new TickTocK order; pointless consumerism. New ways of BEing for some - a rejection of what was. Keeping more of a connection to the natural world. The park re-opened and with that, the meadow like grass was cropped.... it seems like ‘ Mans ‘ obsession for neatness, order and borders remains
After the initial lockdown is lifted, I have no idea what to expect. My industry is pretty cut off for the foreseeable months, maybe until next year. I’ll likely need to look into work in another industry for a while, picking up some remote freelance work where I can but even this is rare to come by. On the other hand, it’s been wonderful to get back in touch with taking in the local area by foot and making more time for what I love to do.
We will adapt again
After I hope
I hope for normality.
(106 voices)
Contributors
Alex Alderton Jenny Allan Ronnie Angel Makiko Aoyama Carl Arroyo Giles Bailey Andy Bailie Laura Bailie Jon Beedell Ceri Benjamin Steve Blake Agnieszka Blonska Abby Boak Laura Bolgheri Josh Bowles Rosalind Brooks Krystal Dawn Campbell Sarah Leigh Campbell Bill Chambers Iris Chan Jane Chan Justin Cliffe Jonny Cotsen Sam Dabb Margaret Davies Jony Easterby Chris Evans Anthony Evans Shaun Featherstone Dominic Fitzgerald Molly Poelk-Fitzgerald Sally Fitzgerald Sophie Frérard Sarah Geoghegen Carmela Gianfagna Mike Goode Gareth Grant Richard Gregory Becky Haycock Jo Haycock Adam Harvey Richard Headon Richard Higlett Andrea Hodges Ben Hoskins Wendy Houstoun Sonia Hughes Helen Ingham Philippa Irving Joanna Ja Catriona James Bethan Jane Aleksandra Jones Steven Jones Emily Klein Chan Hon Kit Ingrid Lagouanelle Amanda Lambourne Laura Lee Pau Lina Emma Lloyd Donna Males Cedric Marseilles Olga Maya Frea Miles Linzy Na Nakorn Jodi Ann Nicholson Katy Noakes Sam Oldershaw Sion Organ Catherine Ostara Marega Palser Chelsea Paterson Maria Peters Jason Pinder Veronika Pochkhua Anja Pölk Bob Pontin Merel Prescott Peter Rawcliffe Huw Rees Marc Rees Stephanie Roberts Su Roberts Dee Rogers Natasha Rose Doug Rutter Imogen Salmon Luke Simmons Syamala Skinner Siobhan Stensland Pete Telfer Shona Thinius Rachel Trezise Allison Vale Adina Valerio Ben Pettit-Wade Dave Wakely Jason Mark Walsh Tanya Whittaker Clare Williams Sarah Younan Chris Young Jay Yule Anna Zabezsinszkij
NOW
Now there is…
Less outside but more inside..
There is just false teeth in the whiskey.
Time for creativity and self growth.
Much more thought, I have to make a list of exactly what's required… because someone else is doing it.... saving a fortune this way. Having to find other things to do… a walk, jigsaw, crossword.
There is just a tree now
There is a distance
Now there is a lot of restrictions that we cant do, we cant socialise, we cant be near other people, people are constantly washing hands, people are fighting to get some sort of income, a lot of self employed people are now on their arse, police are stopping people from going anywhere which is not essential, some people whose escape was the outside are now stuck indoors. Even though it is all in good measure, our freedom is gone.
There is dodging, avoiding, hiding
Chaos
There is calm and the realisation that more is accomplished when one tries to do less
There is a lot that no longer feels relevant
Not a hairdressers appointment available
Crossing the road to avoid contact
Sedentary inaction but happy stillness and sunshine...oh and time, so much time but it moves swiftly without much happening.
There is considerable confusion and frustration and anger towards the government and saddness
Silence
There is hope, news skills, learning in the making, meditations, letting go of what was my life...building a new life. I don't know what that means but I don't care.. building, learning, I'm letting go of what no longer serves me
Peace and solitude.
Spring, life online and family.
Now there is pause
Painting and Love
There is a strange weird AI world going on and I'm not sure I like it
Patience, there is frustration, there is the wanting to do more, help more, do better, be more still, do less, resist indifference, bake more, ferment things, move more, dance more, take time to be present more, connect, love, scream with joy, move, move, move, stretch the fibres of my being. Listen. Learn.
There is an abundance of time it feels - time rich,
There is existing in a bubble at my parents house.
The unknown world inside of me.
Time and improvements (Slow improvements / Little wins / Little losses – Less time berating over the losses and more time focusing on the wins).
A personal calmness. Home is home. Worry for others especially the young
There is people avoiding (and digital silence / or noise and repetitive media blather and even more despair at being 'run' by incompetent charlatans than there was before
Calm
Now there are online digital performances
Pause. Reflecting, questioning.
There is this
A more thoughtful and controlling life
There's a background of monotony to the days. Try to remember what day it is... Be sure to get out of the house.
Now... I'm not sure
There is silence or birdsong, and the first ever owl
An awkward sort of bow or salute or wave in close contact with an urge to hug the random stranger you just met
There is a different situation where the same narrators (Dominic Cummings et al) are attempting to turn narrative into reality. But there is also a grassroots, experiential situation happening too. More conversations more care, respect, compassion and solidarity are naturally occurring. Another kind of human nature, which isn't all dog eat dog is playing out. People are wearing facemasks, but maybe they are wearing invisible compassion-goggles too. Seeing stuff that was always there, but for the first time in a long time, of maybe ever? We don't know what this all means yet because it's still playing out.
Now there is in here.
Distance
Fairy
There is nothing
Uninterrupted dawn chorus and evening song and chirping in between clearly heard all day long.
I rejoice in my freedom with time
There is a stillness that was longed for but not realised back then. A chance to create for myself without judgement (my own). Tinged with guilt that others haven't this. Leaning into a series of emotions, which there's more time to accept.
Time; to reflect, to accept, to make peace. Grief of the loss of a brother, but also what went before, and that may not exist in the future. Also, a strange confidence that the anxious mind - that people often don’t understand - is almost an expert when living in lockdown!
It feels like there is still time. In fact there’s plenty of time.
Now ‘people of difference’ have the advantage. The socially awkward, the queer (=contra), the autistic, the introspective, the unambitious, the dyslexics, the lonely, etc etc. People who struggled before have special powers, it seems to me. We (I count myself as a person of difference, of course) are, perhaps, more able to adapt to the prevailing sense of uncertainty and strangeness.
Now there is freedom! (Albeit constrained)
I think quite a bit about sex
Birds
There is hopefully always the here and now… I am fuddled, befuddled and determined to ignore most of it and become Alice in Wonderland… in a beautiful world of sunshine and love and incredibly good brave people. I am becoming more and more of the child I once was… I am joyous in the small things and furious with the crap… Love is the answer Mr Lennon said and so did Jesus by the way.
Now there is tree-hugging
A new cycle of cleaning things. A new species of fretfulness. Time at home. Different dancing. Lists. All manner of cognitive dissonance. Worry for friends. Hard social interactions at a distance. Walking up the middle of the street. Strange new gloopy time. More talk. Modest lunch in the sun. Welcome quiet.
There is slowing down. Time to listen to the birds and watch buds bloom. A yearning to connect through letters and calls in place of hugs.
We will ‘jump the broom’ connecting with technology
I can smell the flowers, watch the birds, bees and butterflies enjoying the lockdown.
Now there is a more natural pace
There is more to life than money
There is sensitivity, and the floorboards creak louder than before.
Peace and quiet
There is only the moment. To think about
Disgust at the needless deaths
Appreciation and simplicity
Space
Fear, a cancer too long...
There is unrest not knowing when I can get overseas again. This makes me sad.
Now there is a chance to change things.
There is monotony
Arseholes
There are flowers
There is a more introspective experience going on. A chance to question what is actually going on around us and possibly look deeper into ourselves. It’s a shame about the stench of fear though. And the ever so blurred truth.
There is confusion and often arrogance, perhaps defensive
Time and space
There is silence - no traffic on the roads - no air pollution. I swear the birds sing louder - I hear the sparrows bicker outside the window in the morning and the blackbirds sing in the afternoon. I now live in the present - no other clock than my own body. I look inward, I repair things around the house with time and care now that I can afford the focus
Space and time.
Fear, loneliness, silence, time for? Finding, Zoom, FaceTime.
The world feels simpler considering how busy my life generally is.
Now seems to be a good thing.
All my bad habits magnify
We hold our own until soon
Now there are moments of joy in a strange world of mistrust
There is no shame in ‘failure’
There is a break
Don't want to over explain it but having to deal with anxiety constantly is really tiring and I've often thought, I wish the world would stop spinning, just for a while so I can get myself together a bit - hit deadlines, rest properly etc. And then it happened in the form of the lockdown, no pressure to socialise or have meetings, just peace for a while. Now I'm hoping the lockdown will last a bit longer so I can finish the manuscript I'm very late with. I wouldn't mind if I had to write off the whole year.
Now there is an anxiety for the future
It's life in slow motion. Time to reflect. Time to enjoy the leisure time and care more for one another.
There are no groups of friends going anywhere because you are not allowed to.
There is a chance, a chance we might all realise life is precious and the planet is 100% affected by our actions. Now we can think again and act rather than speak
Focus
Now there is space and time away from expectations
There is time
Now there is seclusion
An overreaction consisting in making civil servants the heroes of a poorly managed crisis
Now, there is water.
Yoga classes via Zoom
Now we compete
There are buds blooming in slow motion.
There is mute
Now, there is a lot of fear, a lot of uncertainty. Personally for me, I realised how much I actually don’t like staying at home. I’ve grown a love for meditation and therapeutic walks. There is also a lot of self-reflection, and refining in our daily schedules, things we took for granted and things we wish we could do right now. And I imagine it’s similar for a lot of people.
There is a void.
There is socially distant, daily allowed exercise from your home address.
Now there is Covid and a dessert where holding hands and kissing is illegal
There is clarity, space, freedom.
Space
Waiting, Stillness, Pause, Fear, Appreciation....
There is time to walk and sit and think and read.
Now there is Time. Being in Natural time - the Nature Time - the Body Clock time
A slower pace. A peace in the air - to listen to the Natural world - and realise how LOUD birds really are. Not minding so much about waking up at 4.30 am. A reminder that ‘I’ am a tiny piece of the Bigger picture. Time to write letters by hand - Hand writing! (remember that!)Acknowledge people. Speak to family that I haven’t spoken to for too many years.Feel how close the Past is to now. Feel how now Now is NOW. Feeling every emotional shift. Seeing and feeling the Fullness and the emptiness of the river. The night sky becomes ever more intriguing. Seeing how quickly Nature reclaims the man-made spaces - parks become meadow like and the birds and other park inhabitants roam freely - I roam freely - enjoying the emptiness of the City spaces and jumping over walls into closed parks. The strange Space-Negotiation-Dance we have started adopting when walking down a street. Seeing both an Open acknowledgement in people when passing, and also the closed- Innes- a Fear. Noticing how openly drugs are being dealt and how life for some has not changed at all. The frequencies are being accentuated in society’s strata. A new Ritual has developed in the form of clapping on a Thursday at 8pm. Observing how the NHS has become politicised and the media campaign that surrounds it. Moments of clarity matched with moments of uncertainty. A time to un-pick, review, what has been, what is, and what may be... Realising I don’t miss many of the things that used to occupy my time. Feeling how warming it is to communicate with other people. Being a constant gardener
Now I am in my eighth week of quarantine, I have adjusted more to the slower pace of being at home and not having any of my regular work. There have been complications, finding out I am ineligible for any of the governments income schemes but luckily managing to receive a grant from the Arts Council of Wales’ Covid-19 fund. Though thankful for the grant, it felt like a kick in the teeth to know my income isn’t recognised by the government’s lockdown response.Finance aside, I have been in the lucky position of being in lockdown with my partner. We’ve not wound up each other too much! We’ve cooked from scratch almost everyday, taken part in god knows how many virtual pub quizzes and made hilarious attempts at dance aerobics in the names of daily exercise… It has all helped keep us in check during isolation. The sound of nature replacing heavy traffic in the city centre is something I will never tire off either.
There’s a new normal
There is just the right amount
There is loneliness, 4 walls, the wood-house which I don’t want to leave anymore.
Now there is This
(106 voices)
BEFORE
Before there was…
Chaos
Constant busy-ness and noise. Too much.
There were plans for a wedding
There was smelly polluted disgusting air that was hard to breathe and I had to take my inhaler with me wherever I went.
There was ignorance.
Money is everything
Before there was kissing.
People would gather in big groups of friends to go to parties and public spaces
There were corners to turn and goals to meet
I know there was something but I am having a hard time remembering what it was.
There was dismay at Brexit
Chaos
Greed and materialism,
Normality - whatever that truly means
There was dancing, theatre and song ...
There was knowing. I could plan a trip and book a flight to suit.
A kind of chaos.
Eclectic-ness.
Arseholes
Neatly mown green spaces.
Normal
There was rush and hurry, with an underlying unidentified longing and an often unacknowledged sense that something is not quite right
Concern
Before there was… That
Not enough time with my 2 year old daughter
Routine, distractions, a world clock to live by.
So much noise, so much hurry.
Love, family, travel, theatre, Samba Galez.
There was not the worry to pass on a heavy possibly deadly disease to parents and loved ones by visiting or hugging them
Before we held each other
There were many and varied joyful meetings,
There were widening cracks that we spent time carefully navigating and peering into in horror
Pressure
A conversation without a screen
Before it was fun and buzz and hugs and coffee times.
There was no before, we hadn’t had the chance to all be sat still and forced to stop for 5 minutes. To think for 5 minutes.
Distraction
Rushing, alarm clocks and deadlines
Certainty
Before there was freedom
There was very little consideration for public services in general
There was wine.
Yoga classes via car
There were resources
I was about to become an international superstar.
There was no farting at the team meeting
There was freedom, but there was also comfortable routines we were in, things we were used to doing, waking up going to the shop, not really appreciating anything. There was also a strong desire for me personally to stay inside a lot of the time. And being able to go outside and have shops and places to visit everywhere you go was something that a LOT of people have always had so they didn’t realise how precious it was and how life was without them.
There was noise.
Freedom in the mountains.
There was Europe, which I didn’t realise how much it fit me and surrounded by nature, plants, trees, green and the culture which resonated with me
There was stress and anxiety. Confusion and claustrophobia.
I'm reluctant to do this now as the first word that came to mind was "struggle" for before there was....that made me stop and think and I'm still pondering on why that word came up.....
There was being with friends and family we took for granted! You were free to choose to go wherever you wanted.
I was teaching Judo to children.
There was...Tight Tick Tock Time, A FuLL diary, An endless list. Trying to fit into a structure and often failing. Socialising in often LouD places. Feeling a bit guilty by going out walking when I should have been doing other things...Always thinking of the things ‘I should be doing’.... - the things that there never seemed to be time for... Buying and consuming things that I don't need. Forgetting birthdays and other such things
Before the lockdown, I was working as a freelance production manager and sound designer in theatre. I had just completed a run of a play in Cardiff and had moved onto production week for a new show in Newport. The whole team were so excited to get it up and running. As the news on Covid-19 developed in March, there was a collective unnerving sense amongst us all that it just wasn’t going to happen and everyday life outside of our bubble was slowly closing down. We had almost completed our tech sessions, readying ourselves for a dress run when the news hit that the theatre was closing down with immediate effect. Though justified and totally the right decision, it was devastating. The theatre company had worked on this project for 2 to 3 years, all leading up to this week. Everyone huddled together, all with a sense that this play will come back when the time is right.
There was ‘normal’
Hugs and love, smiles and spontaneity, laughs and warmness
Routine
Hugs
Hours on the train. Steps to walk constantly up and down. Money pouring away on coffees, stupid pastries, dismal lunches. A different type of anxious time. Bodies taken for granted. Pubs, pizzas, galleries, plays. Hard social interaction in person. Competition. Music with others while learning to play together. Cavalier political rhetoric coming from every direction. The abstract threat of a crisis.
Too many choices and too much stimulation.
Fresh batteries in the remote
Very much in a rat race...on a bit of a treadmill. If it's Friday we shop, regardless of what was required.
Working for the man aka slavery.
There was a tree house
A community
Chaos
There was a world were we were completely free, a world that we felt we could do anything we wanted, be who we wanted without any thought in the world.
There was proximity (between humans, lovers, dancers, performers, audiences, commuters, barefoot against smooth dance studio floors)
There was frantic stressing and constant work, gigs. The continual pressure to say yes to everything and fill time constructively
There was a lot I was looking forward to.
A Plan
There were lingering hugs
Routine, action, functionality and possibilities
There was noise
First there was my loss of jobs...all in the entertainment industry. Then despair, fear anger. The feeling of uselessness.
There was corruption and greed.
Rehearsals and business.
There was life
There was life
Tree house building, painting and Love.
Sitting side by side, being arm in arm, convening around a table, sweating in a club, dancing with older hands.
There was so little time it felt - at times time poor,
There was life in New York City.
The world outside of me.
Work
Chaos
A pathway, well known and accepted ways of cause and effect
People watching (and hanging out in crowds, and making crowds and entertaining them )
There were live performances
Commuting, hustle and bustle.
Before this there was that
Life
Before there was my local pub! So tiny that social distancing would be an impossibility.
I knew what I was doing
There was karaoke and argument from The Railway
There was ritualised contact upon meeting people like a handshake or a hug/kiss
Before I felt that the general public were being fed a narrative that "their" mood was one of unhappiness and lack of a collective humanity. And that the only way to end their unhappiness was by thinking narrowly, for themselves and those closest to them. Over time (as the media poked the nest/stoked the fire by platforming the puppet masters and neo lib architects) the answer lay in negative change and words i.e. leave, them, no, etc.... were believed to hold the answers. Thus hoodwinked, UK voters returned the favour in brexit and election polls
There was out there.
There were hugs and kisses
Fairies.
There was work
Industry lorries growling, honking cars, smoking vans admits booming bikes.
I was stuck in the monotony of life
Rushing and spinning through days and months without depth and purpose. With a slight fear of missed opportunities without fully knowing what these were.
A wake when someone died. When it’s someone close it’s never that easy, but to not be allowed have one makes you realise how incredibly important and valuable a part of the grieving process it is. Imagine: that a ‘wake’ is a luxury, a privilege!
I worried that time was running out
The ‘show’ was run by and for the majority, the normal folk, the regular people.
Constraints
I thought quite a bit about sex
Cars
Before there was Then
(106 voices)
The Kettle Speaks…
The kettle speaks to me in whispers.
The fridge sighs.
The plates chatter.
The cups chip in.
The cutlery makes scything remarks.
The stairs groan.
The toilet weeps.
The bath mumbles that the shower is for fools.
The toothbrush calls.
The mirror offers a stark critique.
The door creaks.
The cupboard under the stairs makes promises it cannot keep.
The rotting windowsill reveals too much.
The boiler grumbles.
The pipes gargle.
And I.
I sit.
I sit in silence and wait for all of this to be over.
Run
I started running in Berlin whilst in self-isolation. I decided to slip out in the early morning to exercise before people were around en masse. I’ve never been a runner, well not a distance runner. A distance in this instance means more than 100 metres. Cycling has been much more my thing, mostly leisurely. Team sports had interested me for a time and on reflection perhaps that was to do with the sharing of the exercise as opposed to the doing all of it. Running was a surprise. I say running it is more akin to jogging, a lighter less strenuous version.
I was uncannily quick as a moon faced seven year old. I unexpectedly won four out five annual sports day sprints up until the age of 12. No one was more surprised than me. It had some kudos back then, being the fastest runner. It didn’t last, teenage ambivalence and rapid growth spurts amongst others evaporated my super powers. Those temporary powers had never extended to distance. Inadvertently for a short time I was considered a potential all round athlete in the making.
As part of a dreaded school cross-country run in Cardiff I spotted an opportunity to shave a few miles off the route. As I jogged gingerly back towards school alone I was spotted by Mr Lewis, the games teacher, jogging to meet the pack. Impressed with my apparent progress he asked me to keep up with him as he blazed across a field on route to the schoolyard. With lung bursting gulps and spluttered dignity I did my best to maintain the ruse and got myself selected for a South Wales cross country event. It became one of my first experiences of imposter syndrome. I didn’t represent the school again. Not at running.
These memories flood back as I head outside early doors and into the morning chill. I reset my Casio stopwatch and begin those first strides down Bailey Street. The decline adds welcome momentum before I attempt to cruise effortlessly through the city centre towards the river. Lockdown has cleansed the streets of early commuters. There are occasional wanderers, undoubtedly key working in some shape or form and my aim is to maintain an impression of stealth.
Along the river path is the place where the cadence regulates. Feeling out the springs in my feet I attempt to place them precisely, leading with my chest and calmly breathing. This breathe that ignores the rapid rhythm of the heart is the most difficult to master. For some reason I imagine circular breathing as if I played a wind or brass instrument. I haven’t found the exact score or harmony as yet despite my orchestral goal setting. With the pace set, the mind begins to free itself and I am in full motion heading east and towards the first glimmers of the rising sun. It sounds so simple. It is. It isn’t.
How can this be good for you? When my feet ache and my heart thunders. How can this motion, twice as fast as walking and half as slow as cycling, be healthy when the fibres in my body seem to plea for recalibration? Yet once started stopping never seems to be an option, the pain of defeat weighs heavier than that of completion.
At the end of my longest run, a 10K with hills and spills, I thought of Mr Lewis and the cheating little fucker that I was. I think of his advice in focusing on the heels of the runner in front. I imagine him running there in front of me. At some point I wanted to shout ‘Mr Lewis stop! I can’t do this’… but then it became apparent that I am doing this… and no one is making me this time.
Now simply I run and I wonder why?
Love
I feel that I have often fallen in love with the wrong person. Not that the person is in themselves wrong more that the timing is wrong or that the person in question is already loved by another or still possessively marshalled in some way by an ex or that I am in the wrong position to be falling in love in the first place. It’s hard when people can seemingly illuminate dark corners of my life, and breath something akin to kindness and warmth into me, not to fall in love. It’s hard not to let that love take over and dance inside. My latest love is such a case.
When asked how I am I often use the expression all right. “I’m alright”, I’ll say whilst slowly imploding. These words are often in response to the much maligned “How are you?” It is a question I have often used, we all do don’t we? Its use is as much to warm the mouth up for more purposeful banter than for genuine inquiry. It flows easily off the tongue and arrows towards the recipient to anchor them to your gaze and any attempt to start a conversation. People sometimes use the “How are you?” motif to launch their own monologue. This is not a tactic I use. I ask because I hope you will answer and I will listen. In this way I don’t have to worry about what I might have to say or what might be released from the pit of me.
On this occasion, when my latest love asked me how I was during a Skype call, I responded in the obligatory fashion. “I’m alright. How are you?” This normally works well enough. Not on this occasion. My response was challenged, questioned and it was noted that this is what I had been saying for some months without any real commitment to opening up. Fuck. I hate it when this happens. When someone who is paying attention works me out. Now I am looking at the screen and stumbling over my own words to readdress and rephrase the “I’m alright” retort.
The screen is an ambiguous snapshot into the world of another. I have not been alone these months due to this screen yet there are times when I am at my loneliest after looking so attentively at it. There isn’t anything in our universe that has two dimensions. Yet the three spatial dimensional things we see via a screen are flattened into two dimensions. They have no depth. The tools we use during these months remove the depth from the interaction. This is surely warning enough.
However I’ve danced online without stepping on anyone’s toes, I’ve farted during a meeting online without anyone knowing, I’ve dated online and ended up in bed by myself without any regret in the morning.
Through the screen my new love looked me straight in the face and would not let go. How was I? Really how was I? Where does one begin? When I saw a counsellor for a few months I apologised for talking about only myself. Whilst visiting a dietician I fell in love with the person that looked at my food diary and subsequently told me what to eat. When coached I was initially disappointed that life coaching wasn’t about someone shouting instructions from the side lines and that I needed to open up to work things out. I like to think I am a good listener but I don’t like listening to myself.
“Tell me what's going on?” was the persistent line of inquiry. Oh my… here I go. It helps doesn’t it to let people in, to talk, to share, to open up about the big and small things that guide your soul. I felt heard and appreciated and human and loved. Someone asked and wanted to know, really know. Someone was prepared to persist because clearly something didn’t appear right even in this two dimensional form, no matter how much I kidded myself or buried myself in other people’s problems.
Last year before going to Poland to work I bought a t-shirt from Amnesty that champions the slogan – Love Is A Human Right. It is, and who could say it’s wrong and what authority would they have? And so love with the wrong person at the wrong time can only be measured against what I believe wrong to equate to. In this instance there isn’t anything. Maybe the wrong can be held by others. I’ll relinquish those reins for now and compute that maybe love is only ever right.
The largest blaze can start from the smallest spark
The largest blaze can start from the smallest spark, a spark that could so easily have been snuffed out by a sneezing mouse, a spark that could be blown out by the gentle breeze from the wing of a butterfly launching from the stamen of a dahlia.
The spark would have to, in a single moment, catch a lone sheet of paper or a collection of waste items dried in the sun and flammable by nature. The spark would have to seize the opportunity to reach something incendiary and quickly convince that said item to take on a flame. Negotiation time would be… limited.
(Fast) I sometimes wonder if the lint in my belly button might combust into flames.
The spark becomes flame… (fast) and even then the flame is vulnerable. Like a starving chick it needs feeding and it needs it fast. The flame stretches the reach of the spark and grows a little more resilient under the right conditions. The flame laps more gently and more persistently at possible colluding objects and materials. The flame licks more seduc.tively and can be irresisssstible. The flame grows hypnotically, it’s prey is weakened. The flame… excites.
The flame becomes fire. A fire. The fire can still be fragile. Can still be subject to burn out but with careful persuasion the fire can become all encompassing. The fire can reach and react. The fire can sense it’s strength and when the heat rises the fire draws breathe and spreads.
The fire can rage and make everything a swirl of colour with amazing shapes that get larger and more seductive.
The fire is alight. The spark has taken, the flame matured and the result is glorious. And for its intense time the fire is all. Glorious, destructive, damming and grave.
And you watch… as it grows… and like a dog you don’t know how to handle… you freeze, as it licks you all over.