Monday, 7 May 2018
I've felt almost completely motionless for a long time. That's not to say I've done nothing, though I've barely written - it is to say that even in the usual motions my thoughts feel immobile and useless and my other occupations feel more or less meaningless. This will probably pass away. It seems that only under a distressing pressure the agitation to collect anything together emerges. Also, thinking of polarisation and of all this talk radio I've been listening to. It squeezes you into stillness. I went to a reading at Sussex where a famous poet read some excellent poems and then spoke about "artist colonies" and then read some terrible prose. The professional must be prepared to appear to work even when the work isn't there to be done. An emblem to surplus.