The Spoons That Are My Ears!

I've been criticised in certain quarters for my criticism of Swansea. Maybe I should clarify my position somewhat. I intend to leave Swansea in six months if my situation here doesn't dramatically improve. That's closer to the truth. The improving of my situation relies entirely on my own efforts. I need to upgrade my life in the same way I've recently upgraded my blog. What it boils down to essentially is: money. So finding a half-decent job is an essential first step.

It's been a very hard week. I am currently in a situation not radically dissimilar to the narrator in Knut Hamsun's novel Hunger, apart from the actual hunger bit. I need a new place to live, and until I find one, my few remaining possessions must remain distributed among my friends. To these friends I extend my gratitude: Jo, Stuart, Monica, Jessica, Huw and Manuela.

On the writing front, things are rather sluggish. I'm working on a new Borges-inspired story for the customised Greek edition of my Infamy book. This story is called 'The Hemisemidemiurge' and is a sequel to Borges' acclaimed 'Pierre Menard, Author of the Quixote'. Possibly one of the most audacious pieces of short fiction I've ever attempted! Riffing off Borges' lesser work is one thing, but extrapolating from his masterpieces is quite another! We'll see how my story turns out in a week or two...

I'm also starting work on a project that involves taking the Sereia de Curitiba show on the road. The idea is to put together a performance utilising the spoken word, displayed pictures and live music. Rhian Edwards has agreed to take part, and hopefully there will be gigs in London, Porto and Lisbon, maybe elsewhere too, depending (of course) on funding. Livros de Areia are approaching the British Council early next year to apply for money. Money, money, money. If it's too tight to mention (as the song claims) why does it always appear in conversation???

Another project I'm planning consists of a sponsored bicycle ride between two Iberian cities. I'll say more when the time is right. Time, time, time. Why is there always too much of it or never enough?