It’s raining, and I’m lying on my back in a little caravan outside the Tate Modern. It’s a beautiful thing this caravan. Alice, the artist, worked hard to make it look right. After a few days I wish she’d worked as hard to make it comfortable. My bum hurts from sitting on this pretend cushion. I’m not used to just sitting down for ages like that either. How the hell does such a huge percentage of the workforce manage this sedentary life? No wonder they charge so much for yoga. My back is killing me and its been less than a week and I’m enjoying myself and not surrounded by people I hate.

I’ll be sleeping in the caravan on Tuesday night, at the top of Carnaby Street outside Liberty’s. Something about the security. We have to be in it to prevent people squatting. I think I might freeze to death overnight. I’ll have to bring a warm sleeping bag. And a pig to cuddle. I can’t really bring Pickle.

Today was lots of little, simple, pleasant interactions. People love to hear stories about themselves. It’s tiring though, telling them. You have to meet and read people, switch on all your intuition, and tell them a story about themselves the outcome and journey of which they get intensely connected to. You have to do it without getting cluttered by your own stuff. It’s offering guidance by improvising myth – another aspect of this need we all have for story. The tarot deck carries so many threads of the monomyth. These universal stories of rebirth and crossroads, forbidden desires and opportunity and action – we all connect to them so deeply and understand them instinctively. The cards are just prisms for thinking, and a distraction from the fact that in  truth it’s just bearded stranger intuiting general life advice and giving hope. The cards are partly just a prop to lend the story weight, and partly prompts. Outside of my curiosity and my love of symbols, fables, ancient stories and convergence, it’s important to remember to take care of the person you’re reading for. The reading can affect their thinking and their actions. I’ve read the cards for years for my friends or for myself, but I’ve never done it on such scale. After the next two days I’ll definitely have read into the hundreds. The days go by fast because I’m forgetting about my own shit as I key into person after person. I’m also forgetting to eat though, and I spent most of today with a splitting headache after drinking water work on an empty stomach.

Over the day there were some remarkable synchronicities. Lovers getting each other’s cards in the spread. Families getting the same big outcome card for each member. A 13 year old boy with his mum who opened his reading with Forbidden Fruit crossed by The Mother and went bright red while his mum burst into cackles. It’s an unexpectedly lovely way to spend a few days. I want to speak to the artist and see if the project can have a life outside of this week. It’d be lovely to do this at festivals.

Here’s a shot out the window taken with my shonky new phone. I wouldn’t mind living here…


Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

One thought on “Fortunes”

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