My computer, may she rest in peace, is back at the shop. Her third visit. I am on a borrowed vessel here, a machine with exponentially more power than my own sweet baby. But it is not mine. I cannot keep it. My darling will return, I hope, soon, perhaps a little changed, but still close to how she was.
Perhaps this is timely – I am about to switch off and disconnect for twenty-four days and three hours (and some minutes, I’m sure, and seconds). No blog, no twitter, facebook or flickr. No email (not even a single one of the four email addresses who are my galley slaves: they can fish for all I care). No net. No phone, no work. Just eyes open to the world, siphoning in all she has to offer. I will write and travel, photograph and make field recordings of the birds and grasses and the sea slamming at crumbling shores. I will look around my home and garden, perhaps with a new appreciation, perhaps with despair at all that remains undone.
I will be back: I will not be able to stay so real for long, I’m sure. The moment that this cluster of journeys and returns is over I will matrix myself back aboard, let those digits stream down the glass as if hurled by some green raincloud and demolish these remaining years in the continued ranting about the collapse of civilisation, the environment, the economy and bad ice cream.
Sean Monaghan - Writer 