Monday, 18 February 2008
The shrill voice of the singer is irritating. It is not often I get a chance to think of nothing, sit on my sofa and deeply relax. I am trying to empty my mind of everything but it is difficult. Sometimes I think of only an abstract thing, like a colour. The colour will change in my mind until it is no longer a colour, but something that is not a colour. I can draw nourishment from this new thing. It seems to funnel into me. It feels like a funnel of cobwebs and there is some liquid pouring down the funnel into me; this has come from colour; this is relaxing. The singer's voice is penetrating. Relaxing is sighing. The voice is not sighing, the voice is stabbing. I am trying to think of nothing. I am thinking of thinking - oh no! That's no good. If I were totally empty then I could do it. Thoughts of work are creeping around the edges of my unperception. I think about avoiding to think about my work training manual that sits in front of me. My boss says, read one page every day before you sleep. I turn to page one. It says "So, you want to make tubes?" Close the book. Shut your eyes. Deeper relax. You don't want your boss to die. That is myself, reassuring myself. That's fine. Nothing going on here. Definately completely relaxed. I am just great thanks. I wish I could dance. Oh no.