BETWEEN FOUR JUNCTIONS SOL WOODROFFE Want to Want

I want to want to sleep at night, to arise early with the dawn, to sanitise and mechanise my rest, to beat a sturdy circadian rhythm on which to whistle diurnal melodies, like the mythical manual labourer.

I want to want to know the tricks of chess, to stare for hours at a piece of art, to lose track of time in a museum, to read with an insatiable hunger, not like the idle browser, snatching a sample on a full stomach. You know full well you won’t buy the real thing. What is it that you want to want?

I want to want to listen hard, to take note of cadences, to lurch for each syllable, to grasp the meaning in your intonation. I want to want to laugh heartily and quit coveting a cool and caustic wit. What is it that you want to want?

I want to want her alone, to learn to dance to her song, to move with her movement, to beguile nobody and be loyal to some truth, get angry at deceit and those who play fast and loose, to be guided by principals, compasses and a calling. That is what I want to want.