Another slow day, beginning, ending, (because it must) waking in my horrid abode, a void, humanlessness itching with humanity.
Before dusk I went out to get some wooly sunlight planning to check my email account at the library, Solhenitzen insulating my breast. There's an Icon marking my page and in it we both look unnecessarily beautiful though there was such cause to at the time that the photograph was taken. That I found on the adhesive felt scattered with small, grey stones on the mezzanine roof in sight. I couldn't sit there until dusk fell, wanting to feel the light seep away from the high street, warm enough. There was stew to take out of the slow cooker and a video to take back to the Angel Row Central Library. Circling like a shark at depth, blue-black and maroon, I set off the alarm twice stretching shoulders, finding a suitable place to stand still and standing in the tubes range causing it to buzz constantly like a sidekick. Today I am Atlas.
My writing takes on the pace of my adrenaline, tick, tick, Tick, tick. The roses are getting dusty and I need to spend a little time working on the parts of my Everyman ( ! ) that are unique so Im reading Russian and thinking about Virginia Woolf how I will share her out impossibly between my temporal selves with the vintage disrespect that I keep by for emissaries, politicians and my literary rivals, subsequent and preceding heroes or anyone who doesnt deserve contempt but might change for the good after a bit of a scare, or could get depressed. Ive told you that I succumb to the tempting arc, revenge, but there is something biblical about that kind of retribution and I should stop it.
Maybe a passing anarchist will understand.
You will let me write fallacy here wont you?
Fallacy.
Ooo yeah. Nice.
I needed to be honest about something.
Al said that Id need to read To the Lighthouse in 60 page blocks. Alix, I thought it was that we were sixty miles apart? Alright, you said 60,000miles and it was youre concept, (all this before the last fight). Was there a distinct time when didnt even disagreed with lovers?
Where lies the difference between perception and interpretation? [ shall I surprise you with my Existentialism or not? Evidently I wont though I will certainly surprise you with my grammar ] This, without ontological confirmation, would never be a disagreement [ were it not for interpretation? ]