Gates are great. Really though, aren’t they? I don’t have one. Yet.
They are really just doors with outsider tendencies. And as Ralph Waldo Emerson should have said, ‘every wall is a gate…’
So this week, I will do gates only. Well, at least until Friday.
Gates link to my self-censorship ponderings too, because, after all, isn’t censorship just a question of which flock of morphemes you let through into the field of play. On that front I have got as far as thinking that everything is by it’s nature self-censored because, as Will Self puts it, when you sit down to write everything is full of omnipotential. Why you choose to write, this, and not that – in part it’s due to self-censorship even if it seems to be at a subconscious level.
It suddenly occurred to me that the image of these gates might be the wrong way up. Who could tell? I don’t think they are, but let me be clear about something – to me, it matters like hell.