Quartered

I don’t write as well as I used to, I stopped writing and began e-mailing about a year and a bit ago, I like to write terrible stuff, romanticism, just, long rambling sentences about nature, that’s what I enjoy, it’s very hard not to sound overtly contrived and cliched, which is why when you’re out of the habit it can be hard getting back up to speed, but there are good thoughts here and there, a good utterance is worth quite a bit I think, there’s a writer on here who just writes Haikus, his stuff started off awkward, but he’s become used to it, it’s improved his other writing skills, my favourite of his

‘Keep me bedside, mom

don’t let the heat escape or

my dreams will go, too.’

Beautiful isn’t it? There are so many good writers on here, so many good minds. Who needs traditional literature? The writers here are much more engaging intellectually and aesthetically.

I forget how long a year is, different worlds and all that, it’s nice that the seasons still come back round, I suppose it says something about a person where they start, where does it for you? Summer for me, I don’t really know why, I prefer Spring to Summer, might be because Summer is the end and the beginning in the Southern Hemisphere, December-February.

But yes I love Summer now, oddly most Australians I know detests it, I remember when I first began to like Summer, I was a Winter person up until then. I don’t have a very good memory, but, some things stay with me in lucid detail, I’ve got this one very distinct memory of walking home, I don’t remember what the sky was like or if anyone was around me I just remember the sunburnt grass underfoot, the thick heavy scent of it.

Certain things evoke senses they don’t affect, I’ve noticed on very hot days that even the sun seems to have it’s own scent, so present and real that you could almost taste it, but then, you’d be walking along with your tongue out and even if somebody was kind enough not to judge you straight out, when you explained to them, that you were trying to taste the sun, that would curtail them entertaining you any further. People are dull aren’t they? I was discussing this with James last week, how little of what we discuss, what we say to one another we could ever hope to say in public, not because of something inherently offensive in the subject, just, the lack of understanding. We’re both very adult about it too, we don’t expect anyone to agree with us anymore, frankly that’s being very hopeful, but we do expect people to understand, unfortunately that’s usually more thought than most people are willing to expend on something which I suppose by necessity isn’t something they find easily agreeable.

I say it a lot, but, there’s a reputation that being different is a positive thing, special in the esteeming sense of the word, however anyone that genuinely approaches things differently will tell you they’ve had to fight all their life just to get people to understand, where’s the joy in that? Fuck being special, I want to be understood, I try hard, really hard, to communicate my point, my reasons, I’m never dismissive or insolent about it, I can’t bear people who are to be honest, if there’s one thing that irritates me in a discussion it’s insolence.

Occasionally you meet those who think that an idea or argument that is nigh on incomprehensible is a desirable thing, those who try to obfuscate their points with dazzling words and phrases, argumentative contortionists, and when the other party fails to understand they’ll behave as though they’ve won, but, in an argument, what’s the point of saying something that can’t be understood? There is none, it might as well never have been said.