Going through the motions

31 July, 2011 – Knuckles up. Belly taut. Studied concentration. I stand at an angle to a chopping board which is set solid at a perfect height, a couple of inches pelvis high. I have removed the slenderest core from the fruit by turning it on the point of the knife, rotating smoothly so the blade cleaved through the green-tinged flesh at exactly where the not quite ripe ends. In my left hand the knife, spine upright, blade angled inward just a little. The right hand crab-like, all fingers and thumb, gently clamping the tomato in place. A highly controlled motion begins at the shoulder. The knife whispers through, only announcing itself with that clean knap on the board, then is drawn back to scythe another so that a precise terrace of red slices tumble softly, lie imbricated. Separate each, each perfectly intact.

Read books, repeat quotations

15 July – Sneakily plotting, most likely I kidded no one so much as me. I assumed that anything I wrote was incomprehensible, written plumbing depths of unfathomability and bewilderment, written to understand myself a little. One part of my gauzy sneakiness, hidden from me (perhaps transparent to others), was that I was taking a wonky, tremulous path, a free-form “let’s see where it takes us” escapade, embracing the spontaneous, hugging chance, while all the while I was holding tight to a comforting narrative.