"Live the questions now..."*

I was wrong about March after all. We've had some good weather and are still enjoying the sunshine after a stormy winter. At the start of the month most people thought the invasion of Ukraine by Russia would come to an end in the space of a couple of weeks. Here we are a week before the end of the month and the war is still ongoing. It is my feeling that when war is instigated it is never for reaching consensus. People go to war to take what they want. That is what Putin is doing. He is taking what he wants. Not everything is as it seems. There are some secret deals being made behind closed doors between parties that we - the public - think are in opposition but they are always in cahoots. The media plays its dirty old game of creating scapegoats and pitting one against another. But really, it is not like that. It is all a plot really, one from a best-seller.  

Meanwhile, the only reality is people are dying, women are being raped and murdered, children are being abused, neglected or kidnapped, and families are being destroyed all over the world, every single day. Material gain. Earthly loss. Instant gratification. Self-fulfilling prophecy. Vanity. Status anxiety.

Have you noticed? We even got used to living with Covid-19. The mask is no longer a piece of medical equipment used mostly by doctors, it is an everyday item used by all... or was, until they lifted all restrictions in the UK and most European countries. Someone somewhere has been making much more money than you could ever imagine: the rapid lateral flow tests, the PCR tests, the hand gels, the masks (single-use and reusable). And, where is all that material and its packaging ending up? Just because you put something in the bin it doesn't mean you have solved the problem. The county councils have no budget for cleaning the streets, single-use masks occupy the pavements. Then we watch David Attenborough  every once in a while and perhaps catch a glimpse of ourselves as a reflection on the screen for half a second. Only to always forget. Ahem. And what of Brexit? And saving the NHS? Another conservative pipe dream. Or is it a pipe dream at all? Perhaps what we are living through was the intended result. 

For some time now I have been an observer of things at large, including my own "industry" and I can validate that I feel so far removed from it all. 

The world is made of these things that I write about here but I suppose this is the world through my eyes and I could be wrong. Perhaps I am wrong. I hope I am all wrong. Just the way I was wrong about "rakı skies" in March. Not that there wasn't any of that smoke grey sky, there was. It just transformed into something better with the passing of days.

There are quite a few important "artist" anniversaries this year. I am currently doing some research on Argentine bandoneon player, tango composer and arranger Astor Piazzolla (4th July will mark 30 years since his death) as well as Turkish tango in general, and a few Italian subjects: artist, writer, activist and doctor Carlo Levi (29th November will be his 120th birthday); film director and poet Pier Paolo Pasolini (whose 100th birthday would have been on 5 March had he been alive) and, Olivetti (Italian typewriter manufacturer founded in 1908 in Ivrea, Torino). 

I might or I might not write about any of these things in the coming months. It depends on many factors: my mood, the state of the world, how good the weather is, and if I can be bothered to spend time away from my garden where I am growing a variety of vegetables, fruit and flowers. 

And strangely enough I have gone back to reading Charles Bukowski. People change with the books they read but the books they read change with time, too. It is interesting to see how much I have changed over the last two decades. It's as if it is all new to me. I was 17, studying for my A-levels and working at Cambridge University's dining halls as a waitress. Late at night I would get back to my room and read Bukowski by candlelight. He left a huge impression on me. Just as Down and Out in Paris and London by George Orwell... In 2023, it will be 90 years since the latter was published. A life time. 

So this is my bread and butter. All these things that feed my mind and soul. Words, sounds, images, plants, scents, birdsong. 

I have let my bluebird out. So what if I don't take part in that self-fulfilling prophecy? In that instant gratification. In that material gain. In that earthly loss. In that vanity. In that status anxiety. What happens then? Do I heal? Do I become a better human being? Only time will show. 

For now, it is all the better.  At least for me and this seashell that found me on a beach.