la chambre

Yesterday Q and I swapped bedrooms which I think is one of my all time favourite past-times. Room alteration!

As a child I would regularly undertake such a process. It would require documentation. I drew up room plans, to scale, each article of furniture accounted for. It would take me a weekend and the night it was completed, I slept the heavy, calm sleep of the rejuvenated and purged.

As I write, a moment of perfect timing: the choral music of Tavener (sic). It'll make you meditate no matter how hard you are fighting.

My bedrooms have become the most pared back spaces of my life.

But now I can rest a little easier on rubbish nights. Q had taken to climbing out of his bedroom window to meet the rubbish truck. I would be woken up by intuitive tugs: Q's voice outside at 5.30 am talking to the guys. A little unnerving to say the least.

On the weekend I stripped wallpaper in my hall way. In other words, maps of paper countries and continents flukily took shape and spread their boundaries. But, have finally done with the rank as shit salmon painted wallpaper that was offending my very soul.

s' aviser

'to rumble'

ah, I think my life has begun to rumble again and, as a gorgeous friend of mine noted recently, the cues of fear are shared with that other emote-grip, excitement. I'm sure my nostrils are flaring and my eyes are darting even as I write.

The rumble is the sale of a dear little house with a whole lotta baggage! I am loving that I have absolutely no idea as to the shape, quality, or soundings of the future into which I and my loves are about to be dropped. Or, less abruptly, placed.

Mighty Q is obsessed with the world atlas. Every day, he asks me to draw him a map of a different country.

Se remettre en marche

So time is waddling on and I am plumping myself up on a diet of ideas, phantasies and potentials. Sometimes, stones chink together, people-stones, and everythings sparks and fractures a bit and little idea-fires smoulder away, flame up, burn down, and then the re-gen starts to shoot green spikes. The last couple of months, this is what my bubble has been harbouring.

Quelle coincidence?

A couple of nights ago I had one of my rare, vivid and remembered dreams. My childhood home burnt down because a ladle in a pot had been left on the stove. My distress woke me up: I think I was yelling into my mobile, trying to go through the steps of an emergency call. Then, a conversation with my co-owner of this house, and I am suddenly gripped by the idea of selling this home, my home, and being a bit domesticity-vague for a while. The ironic emphasis being, that I have recently been organising myself loans for renovations - bigger gestures of nest-building and via a series of sparks:

un arret
l'arrivee
allons
la chance

some bridges may be burnt.

I recently came across this snippet, wired to the virtual ether:

. . . I was the only thing to break down on Monday, but I like to do that every once in a while - things always seem rebuild themselves on a more secure footing . . .



Recently the walnut tree in my garden had to be dismantled and it was a beautiful thing to watch. I am not sure if my own on-going process of dismantling has always been an attractive thing but, perhaps for once, I feel like I am about to become the active one in its initiation.

Just like Lego.