am i strolling a little too close to the the sandy shore of jounalville?
each time i restart the play i give up for i deem the play rubbish. why is that? am i apathetic towards it? have i lost my ability to write? (did it ever exist?) is the concept too vague, leaving me little to latch on to, like a paperclip used to spread butter on a slice of bread on a warm day? my inability to write at the moment concerns me. it makes me question my future; my rather presumptuous and totally undefined future, somewhere within the vast spreading and diluting world of writingness. its not just the quality, but the ability to produce. just anything. the grasp of inertia doth indeed have some sway over me. lord, doesn't it take a while to get going.
i was standing on some uneven rocks on the sea front. i wanted a place to sit and write, to mull over this ever deepening problem. two potentialities arose - sit upon the rocky ledge of despair, against the wall. Or aim for the ledge edge, as it were; legs a-dangling, nothing but sea for many a mile. by the time these options made themselves apparent, however, they had presented their inadequacies. the rocky ground was far too bumpy to ever be comfortable, and, legs a-dangling, in this wind, i would risk a dangerous danger - i would be ill advise to jump in after the inevitably wind-swept notebook, which i would soon lose beneath the waves. what i wanted was a quieter spot than i had found all day, let me escape this day wherein the summer beach goers alone had descended upon the town. i saw ice creams, sea gulls, scooters, dogs and leads. an indiscernible babble, the summer soundtrack. i needed to get away from this world i seem to find so uninspiring, where my writing remains so stale. here i was, stood against a wall on a bumpy rocky sea front ledge thing, failing to do this.
i was just about to go when two boys arrived. now i couldn't go, for it would seem like i couldn't stand them, or they intimidated me, or some such reason. i now had to stay for a short while. they peered off the ledge down towards the sea. down there was another ledge, over which the tide was just about pushing the waves. a subdued wave would curiously venture onto the concrete ledge, half-heartedly spread over it, like an upper-class woman in a dressing gown mounting a leather sofa in a provocative way to impress an indifferent dinner guest; before trickling into the sea. this ledge ran all the round the sea wall to the beach. i think i knew what was going on - these intrepid explorers, kid A and kid B, were going to scale this ledge, challenge the threatening rising tides, and make it round to the other side; to victory on the beach.
'the water's a bit high,' said the taller kid.
'how are we gonna get round?' said the shorter kid.
'we can't, that's how.'
that's how?
