Tuesday, 29 June 2004


I am walking to post a letter. I recognise no one. I shield the address on the front of the envelope, no-one must see where it is to be sent. No one must obtain a handle on who I am, for that is my task both for myself and for others. I must establish myself and establish others.

The achievement of this is an impossibility within the framework of the high-street, predictable bastions we have all seen and I need not promote through description. Needless to say, the greengrocer is closing down. The red steel girders of a youthful, skeletal KFC dominate over the parish church. I don't even know what a parish is.

There is the church. There is the steeple.

Look inside.

But where are the people?

No one talks, everyone walks and looks and stares and every glance, every movement is a proving-of-things, a determination-of-desire, an installing-of person, ridden with hyphens and pomp, falsities and reclamations.

Community has changed, has it not?

I'm no sociologist (I am barely even social) but the notions of role become increasingly transparent and redundant when etched upon the faces of those who hide beneath baseball-caps in a dull city summer. The phlegm that is given to ground from the lips of the lost holds more than DNA and the fear of venereal disease. There are truths, innit.

You don't know who lives in your street.

Those people talk with different words.

The influences they exert do not adhere to postcodes, or distance, they are just as likely to knock on doors eleven thousand miles away (yes, I talk of you) than they are yours or mine.

I have never seen him, keeps himself to himself.

I am being persuaded to the extremes, because I am lost.

But! A movement!

I buy vegetables in a wholesale collective, craft overpowers art, the postcards in the shop window promote book-groups and storytelling.

People are searching and looking. People don't like being told that what they know, they actually knew. Things have changed. You know nothing; you knew nothing. They don't like that.

With faith throughout, people are malleable/ They bend in the wind and strengthen

They resist, exclaim and return / To hold a crying child in their arms once again

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