Diary

19th July
What a week it's been:
struggling to find the words
and find the form to contain the words
that will somehow create something as yet apparently unknown,
that may (or may not) resolve itself into a satisfying evening in a theatre.
In the middle of all this aridity I went to a creativity workshop,
which seemed ironic as it felt as if i didn't have any.
We met and we danced together a while
then sat silent, meditating a while,
and before each opf us was placed a lump of clay.
When did I last handle clay?
I have no memory of such a thing.
I didn't know what to do with it, but I knew I didn't want to see it
So I just sat there, eyes closed, kneading it
waiting to see what shape would emerge.
it was a kind of nest, I suppose, when I looked at it,
and felt a sudden urge to fill it with eggs.
It was kind of elongated,
so I put a vagina at one end,
at the other a penis and balls,
and I kind of trimmed the edges.
and there it is, on my windowsill,
not a pretty thing
but one
filled with possibilities.

Labels: clay