Twisted postures

‘I’m not myself today.’ Pregnant phrase. Who or what then?

Woolf: ‘I see myself as a fish in a stream; deflected; held in place; but cannot describe the stream.’

When I was younger it was often as if the current of another life – the success I should have been in the world – flowed over me, pushed me this way and that or left me stuck somewhere. What else is that current but the stories of success that the flow of capital uses to seduce us, having broken down the old stories of our lives? All day I translate business texts to make money to pay our inflated rent. They’ve set up a billboard for payday loans down the road… We’re degraded by capital, a force as concrete as the foundation under our house and as abstract and fleeting as stock indices rolling down a screen. It reaches us out here in the Broads, of course, infiltrating and compromising our lives: it owns us, makes us want to degrade ourselves before it, mocks these very words, tells me I don’t understand it because I’m not living in the real world, which is its world, a world that seeks to swallow all alternatives. We try to straighten out the twisted postures this life has forced us into so we can walk, breathe, think. We try to gather strength to unlearn its happy endings, to see through the screens it erects against the day. Yet here I am, translating business texts on my laptop to pay the bills, never sure how much I’ll make from month to month…

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