Dead Air Space?

I’m currently writing a dissertation. Supposedly. But my extended vocabulary seems to have left the house and doesn’t look to be returning any time soon. I think she skipped out hand in hand with spelling and correct grammar. I hope they are all having a nice time together because their absence has made writing anything a back-breaking task. The thesaurus has never had so much attention. It then occurred to me that I haven’t written on this blog since July. It’s been a creeping – guilt ridden – neglectful sort of epiphany - I knew it but was slow to acknowledge the fact. Therefore a substantial amount of crap has accumulated around the plughole of my mind. Which is obviously what is coming out first when I do eventually bother to put digits to keys. Highly problematic.

It’s also pretty ungrateful of me to let this just sit here. Access to the internet is pretty common, yes. Anyone can set up a blog, yes. But some people don’t have access, or such an easy way of channelling their thoughts. Mr Dave Eggers made me think this. If you haven’t heard of the Ministry of Stories – look it up – they’ve just opened one in Hoxton.

And some bloggers have interesting things to share, yes. But most of it is just people talking to no-one, to themselves or to a small group of people, clogging up server space with regurgitated findings and thoughts. (I’m in this gang. It’s not exclusive but we all have rule over our own little patch. Which is weirdly comforting.) Optimists – yeah those kids – would claim it is also an unparalleled source of self reference, a permanent record of our lives. Which seeing as the next few months of my life are going to be either horrific or the most liberating I’ve ever had, (hopefully a bit of both – I’m a fan of balance) I should probably start documenting it.

Well that’s a couple of minutes of your life you are never getting back – now for the slide show…

This was August :

The start of a dissertation:

The beginning of the end:

When you get past ‘outrage’ and witty slogans, it’s just a bunch of kids that want someone to give them a chance. I’m part of the first generation in my immediate family to go to university. Now I will probably also be the last. As much as I think university has been a bit of a bad fit for me, I had the choice. Grateful doesn’t even begin to cover it.

I’ve also recently been looking at how we use (or misuse?!) public space:

(Personally I was expecting it to read: This is not a giant litter-tray. Without accounting for philistines and miserable bastards.)

Shuffling around second hand book emporiums:

And fishing out some beautiful letterpress:

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