squaring up to the future

I’ve been writing this blog for a long time now – since some time back in 2007. And from the beginning I was determined that the content should all be original.

I’ve probably posted twice a week on average, and although I have quoted other people’s writing, I don’t think it’s ever really been the main heft of any blog post. As for photos, I’ve certainly used screen shots, but I can only think of a couple of pictures that I’ve taken from the web for purely illustrative purposes, which I don’t think is bad considering a quick check of the blog’s media library suggests I’ve used over two and a half thousand images.
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once more, with feeling

You know how it is, when you get a phrase stuck in your mind and it repeats round and round on an endless loop? Just at the moment, the phrase I can’t shake off is the quotation from John Cage:

I have nothing to say and I am saying it.

It’s pretty much the truth. But even if I have nothing to say today, at least I am saying it here with passion (flowers).

Passion flower

no more tulips

I recently wrote a couple of posts inspired by a bunch of tulips I had bought. I talked about the personality they reveal when they are picked and subjected to the constraints of a vase, and about the way they twist and writhe in a kind of dance of death.

Unsurprisingly, those flowers have now been discarded – even I can’t live with dead flowers on the kitchen table for very many days, however interesting the photos of decay may be – and I don’t suppose there will be any more tulips to be found at the supermarket until next Christmas.
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too early

I realised this morning that it’s been a long time since I went for a walk. That’s not to say I have been shut up indoors. Nor that I have been entirely sedentary: I may not complete my 10,000 steps each day, but I actually do walk quite a lot.

But taking the short-cut across the park in a rush to catch a train, racing off to the bus station, or scurrying round the supermarket in a lunch break don’t really count as going for a walk. Nor does tottering in high heels from the bus stop up the mile-long drive of a country hotel to attend a business meeting, however rural the setting and however much wildlife one sees en route. (I’ve noticed that many such hotels are on bus routes, though I’m pretty sure the guests don’t use pubic transport; I assume it’s so the staff can get there without them needing to be able to afford to run a car.)
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dance of death

Despite the supermarket’s conservative estimate of a mere five-day lifetime, the same bunch of tulips has kept me entertained now for a full two weeks.

Last weekend I wrote about how they are more expressive than some cut flowers, struggling to escape captivity in the vase and writhing in torment as they die.

It was a mixed bunch, of which the variegated flowers seemed to be the least repressed, stretching wide open, then folding back on themselves, scattering the sooty powder from their stamens and eventually shedding their petals.
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