22nd Dec 15
So many things to say. Chair scrapes accross the plastic tiles behind me in this cafe. Before I started writing I had so many ideas of what to write about in my brain. Now I start I don’t know which idea to use first.
I think the first thing is: people actually follow me on my blog!
TThis gives me a totally different feeling about my writing. It has added meaning … but I must remember it is still MY diary I’m writing … I’m still writing for me.
So, my diary, is about what is happening to me, today!
Well, I’ve just dumped a lot of “rubbish” at the rubbish tip, a surprisingly beautiful place, in its organisation … a skip for every category of stuff we have no use for anymore.
As l tipped the empty cardboard IKEA packages into the cardboard and paper skip, I saw them as precious materials to be recycled into something else…
… and isn’t that what we all are?… precious materials, that will be recycled into something else after we die …(indeed nothing is lost … )
and, taking that thought further , aren’t we, in one moment, (or, indeed, isn’t the moment itself?), precious materials to be recycled into a totally different form, (even though it may appear the same), in the next moment?
So, this is my diary. I have just eaten a cheese roll, (like a sausage roll except cheese,) here, in the Amsterdam Hema, (a shop I want to write a song of praise about), and I’m trying not to eat wheat , or all grain products) , hard not to when I’m finally on my own and writing my diary / blog…. in the Hema cafe …
( l like using 3 dots… it flows … more like my life, no clear cut endings or beginnings except in my songwriting and paintings )
… And I’ve also, in the past, made a website for my music teaching and it didn’t take off, even though my teaching method works like pure genius in the real world, and now as I write about me and about my life … I get followers! imagine that.
I feel one of my problems (but probably its one of my strengths if I work it right ), is that I’m a kaliedosope of things, a patch-work quilt of interests, passions, skills, ( a pure aquarius ) … I find it hard to categorize myself:
I’m a visual artist, musician, writer, therapist , poet, gatherer of ideas, songwriter, listener , teacher, inspirer, sculptor … the list goes on …
well that will do for now. See you tomorrow , or later today, in the next available, completely different moment! 🙂
I am Tony Chapman. … I am still trying to “make it” with my music and art and creative writing. I’m not giving up … this is the story of my journey from here on, AS IT TAKES PLACE these are my footsteps as I plant them… ahead of me lies an unbroken beach of warm sand or an unbroken plain of cold snow… well… first footstep…here l go!
I have found out from googling:
be conscious of it. Then you can make it consistent, a kind of umbrella over all the elements of your art/ music / writing or whatever you have to offer.
2. More later…
http://soundcloud.com/lieghonsea/market-song-written-by-jerry The specks of stars litter the night sky and I sneak beneath them feeling vulnerable to their stare like I’m a mouse and they are countless hawk eyes about to drop. Luckily I reach shelter before they do. And from the safety of indoors, looking out through the window’s glass I appreciate their beauty and apparent distance.
We caught an extravagant bus from Wyoming to Minnesota on the morning of the 10th of June as a ridiculous sun toppled the ancient Aztec buildings of Klaxton Town in a clear mist.
How hypocritical were the Geesha girls, standing by the the rubbish bins waiting for the solid Dustmen to come marching out of the sad, clear mist, stainless steel pitchforks over their shoulders, like so many exquisite Medusas, dressed in their solid golden tunics
Ecstatic roadrunners maintain theirequilibrium. as only the slightest of pauses is recorded for posterity in the outbox of time. “Take this ribbon from your hair” orders the Jackel, (the prime suspect in all cases of meandering folly). “l will not sustain the cucumber vollies. if you persist in that ridiculous demogrifying behaviour” Needless to say, he leaves without his hat.
he is sporadic and hyacinth-twisted, obscure and delightful, he weaves real, live rainbows into endless staircarpets and walks up them , to the moon.