Wednesday, June 27, 2012

This so rocks

So I saw someone the other day I hadn't seen in a good while. Apart from many other things, this person said "you should write more on your blog, Anna. I like reading it". What the very fuck? How is one supposed to respond to something like that, I ask you. (I said, "thank you".) I mean, a lot of the time I write things in my head and then, well, then they're written and I find I don't seem to have the need to write them anywhere else. Obviously, this does make my written output considerably small. This may or may not be a good thing. (As it happens, a lot of the time I have conversations in my head also; and then I never seem to have them with the person I conversed with in my brain. This may or may not be a good thing, as well. The jury is still out.) Anyway - some very nice bloggy people used to quote some Clever Dude or another to me a few years back (I cannot for the life of me remember who it was) as having said, "I have nothing to say and I am saying it and that is poetry". Now, I don't know if that is true about him (it's worth a ponder though, certainly), but I do feel that when I have nothing to say, it doesn't usually add up to poetry. In fact, these days it doesn't even seem to add up to bollocks - for I do the saying in my head (as I mentioned above, yes). This song, right, I came across when I'd first arrived in London an amazing twenty-four years ago. I had two friends who were there already when I arrived, or let's call them people I knew rather than friends, for in the past five or six years I've started to put more of a qualitative value on the word friends (see what I mean? Keeping all this in my head might just be the better choice), and so one of them had bought this record (I mean the whole LP - A Vinyl LP, guys) second-hand somewhere and said, nah, it's rubbish, I just bought it for the David Bowie song they cover (Man Who Sold the World, incidentally, and from what I can recall, the cover was not bad at all. Must see if youtube has it). And I've got to say that, young as we were, that was a totally rubbish thing of her to say, for I still think this track rocks, after all these years (there was also an outstanding one called Jacques Cousteau. That does exist on youtube, but for some untold reason, the vid features The Spice Girls. No, really. It's weird. If you're really interested, these hints should be enough to guide your way). M-once-in-NY-now-somewhere-else - your fault, k? K. And you, dear Reader: so glad you're here. Thank you. Goodnight. We'll be here all week. Try the veal. PS Why oh why will Blogger not stop tinkering with a goods item (blogspot blogs) that didn't need improving upon? Now I don't even know how to put paragraph breaks in my writing. I hate and loathe the new "beta" wanking fucking version of blogger with, and I quote, "the heat of a nova". So that's telling you.


Reading the Signs said...

I'm glad I'm here too. But I don't know if it rocks. Well at any rate it don't rock me. But you posting more does rock, and therefore the dude who suggested it does. Ah give it time. And a glass of something. I am smoking again, did I say? But I don't eat veal, and neither should you because you're a vegetarian. Having nothing to say may not be poetry but having nothing to say and saying it comes closer.

Be seeing you. Heh!

Anna MR said...

It don't rock you?!


But listen, look what you've made me do now: you've made me post another thing. Your fault, obviously, for talking about smoking again (you lucky, lucky cow).

And what on earth is going on with the bloody new beta-blogger-thing? I honestly cannot make it do paragraph breaks, which is very embarrassing to say the very least. I mean, here's me, I used to Write My Own Html (yes okay, I only ever did italics, bold or embedded links, but still), and now I cannot do a paragraph break to save my life. I am trying to deal with it now like a trooper, writing as if I meant it to be all one long block of text (I read such a good novel a while back, did I tell you about that? An Ukrainian writer, buggered if I can remember her name, and I've lent the book to a friend; the book is called Field Guide to Sex in Ukraine, or something quite close to that. Anyway, she writes these gorgeous sentences several pages long, although she does manage the odd para break even within those sentences).

So if you can find out what the devil is going on, please, and how I could fix it, I would be much obliged. Thank you. Yes, no veal. But be seeing you.