It’s nearly the end of 2014 and the world and his wife (or something less egregiously sexist) are blogging about the year just gone. I was reading this rather good blog t’other day, findingtimetowrite.wordpress.com, and I found a cool idea for assessing one’s 2014 through a very specific lens: namely, the first line of the first blog you posted each month.
So I tried it.
The results were quite dull, to be honest. It turned out I didn’t like having to choose a particular line, by default.
But I did enjoy skimming old posts for the sort of line that JUMPS OUT from the page. So I put my own spin on the game, and I made a found poem with chronological scraps from my blog posts, season by season.
And here it is…
On a day like today there is cake,
Ten seconds of toe-tickling or
an accidental pin-prick.
Dear People of Planet Earth
I’ve grown cobwebs.
Occasional pinholes appear.
I’m a terrible knitter.
When my daughter was little
(a cup of sweet tea when you didn’t expect it).
But I digress.
What do you do with all this – all this life,
all this shit – if you don’t
write it down?
Here’s something I hate.
By now you may be wondering
how to be interesting.
All the good stuff will happen tomorrow.
The moon has moved on
to a new piece of sky with
I’ve just been a-Googling and
The hairs on my neck must be lazy.
I have fallen through the hole in the
paper. I like the number
Congratulate yourself. You wait all
day for a pirouette and then
three come along at once.
A little too much about snot.
David Cameron in his underpants.
It’s been a long week.
All the bells and whistles please.
I turned some water into
wine and verily I did drink it.
I’m feeling a little peculiar.
Somebody’s left you a shit in the pan.
Bliss is fragile.
Everything will probably be okay.
It must be peculiar not to exist.
Don’t neglect your hot meat.