The Paper-Ritual Of The Morning Paper — The Art Of Craft To Awaken You By The Winsome Joy Of Writing — Morning Papers XVIII

Rousing Yourself After Night’s Little Changes On Your Many Thoughts — Viva Me In Motion, I Hope You See The Worth.

THE LAST PAPER:

The time now has me that I should write of my method here, with my morning papers; and answering the call of my indifferent, yet omnipotent mistress of Time, I shall with my usual abnormal witticisms and childlike energy, puker up a piece all nice and had for you! The temptation to break into a sudden Yorkshire dialect is almost too great for me to bear! Oh, Happy Day.

I can’t recall the exact meaning of why I began these morning papers, back away in that tidy month of July, of this same year of two-thousand and twenty-three [The truer way of scriber years I might add — 20–23, is just two numbers together, and not the total whole] but that is how we all begin with — reasons muddy and deeply brimmed in that frabjous deep cola color, how all tales must, out of mystery and out of sheer forgetfulness and lack of care, yet the care is still there. To our advantages I will smirk, is how our tale shall go out, when the clocks have rebooted their last rainbow stripes just enough, for a pleasant death somewhere, in the presence of your choosing, in all due hopes that is — though I know… The reason was enough just to pad you on down there, hopefully evermore at rest, as you become the miracle to the universe, and return duly to that grand body; whoever, or whatever the forces that play us so starkly, it shall be, and death is the next path.

Yes! Perhaps that is it, a space for me to allow unfashioned thoughts, though funneled down into a topic, so I bode on majestically in all my Seer’s zeal, and daresay charm, wouldn’t you agree?

A Seer’s charm is also to mask and acquaint the canon of their thought to time; Morning being an ample prefigurement of that larger whole. Oh, the whispers of the grand and Oh, Brilliant is what dragged me here, though utterly willingly that is. How my arms are the spitting image of the gestural word! They dart all around whilst I write this, I suppose it comes down that fine line of writing selfishly-selfless by what I impart to you in this bizarre but Oh, so Brilliant fashion!

And by my act of fondness of this form, and for you to imagine all that is said viva a Yorkshire accent, I show you the worth of the Morning Paper; through that tender thing known as the creative process, the act of creation before you, ever word, practically untouched, which goes after my ruling of never publishing first drafts, but what is the point of being so magnanimous you can’t give yourself a moment to relax, and understand why you have chosen and created this abode of living, as I so do — and you do too! — in all mention to your own abode of living, even if it is sordid, hued in all sorts, or checkered in the mad-scrabble of life; Ah, such a fine game, very good for a Sunday afternoon, housed in a hobble, whilst the world around rains crazily, with the Fam as a company, Lush!

I’m certainly not the first to exercise the form of the Morning Paper, there have been so many before me and so many with me now who do so. Doesn’t have to be published, or made the Billard's dream, it can be private, just to circulate around you, like a fresh pint of blood, touching the system generously! It could also be a commonplace book, or a new form of writer’s invention, that you prescribe to yourself as being best for you. Try it! Though I do warn of quick flashbacks and aftershocks once you commence yourself to the inventor’s bug, do color yourself with heed, huh, mate? Lovely!

It would be fair for me to return to the substance of these pieces, at least in name and relation to you, away from auditory madness, and that is the morning; To say that many awaken with a mirage of thoughts, all jumbled together in a depressing weight — as Mr. Dangerfields says: The Heaviness! The Heaviness! — would be mostly few. Yes, I know some of you awaken as a clean slate, but not all of us are lucky or unlucky in your order! The Doctor here prescribes duly what she calls a beloved sense of the chaotic; I know the temperance of the Universe, the sheer force of Creation, and all that preamble time before something is created, I also know the sudden force that is Destruction — all gone in a moment, flaring away forever, it so seems. So I embrace the chaotic, and somehow, and quite perversely you may so incline, have tamed it, or rather it has tamed me, to a sense of order for me, in particular, and no one else; Which is quite a fine little thing, innit! I also find it really useful talking about yourself in the third person, tho’, Have the awareness of getting into feuds with yourself on really long strolls, out and about, it can get right messy, Talk about a sight to witness too!

Right, enough of my company, of this here-Seer, go, go-go now and turn your words into an act, this motion in your space, turning the superfluous into something more tangible, but don’t ever forget, it is a good relationship balanced between the two! Ah, Brilliant! Now out and away you go, until our next meeting in such a queer space. Ta-ta Now, Ciao!

COME ALONG WITH THE DOCTOR’S NEWSLETTER

THE MORNING PAPERS:

The Curation; Our Publication:

I HOLD MYSELF TO ME:

As ever, Dear Reader.