Friday, 25 June 2004

There is something in this

I move inside from the streets full of early morning promise (the threat of action) and think of the girl, with effort this time. Normally she exists in my stomach like the stone of fruit.



Inside looks different, there is something intangible here. It feels like appropriation, it feels like what I should see, it lacks reality. It reminds me of creation and falsification, of depths and tragedies. It warns me of absence, and that I was outside. It reminds me of outside.



She is there.



There are no spaces inside the house, no neutralities that belong to them as much as they belong to me. I have registered every perspective and garnered every outlook, sealing and defining them within framework that only I admonish.



Where is the girl?



The tower blocks that stretch away beyond and above me upon my path to work, hold unknowns in every window, a million windows; a story for every one. There is nothing in the house like this. I know it all; I assimilate, reproduce, extend and protract the dualities of things, the ‘me’ and ‘them’ purposes that coincide with, overlap, reject and exclude each other. The tower blocks to me are a landmark for tired eyes, visual narrowing, neon concrete. To him, and him, and him, and her, it is home.



Does she sit, or stand?



Inside equal a reinforcement of outside, a secretary for illusions nurtured away and away and further still, back to a time when this was not known of, and now and then all that is known is that there is the world. Without, nothing changes. With, nothing changes.

This intensity forces a recollection, a throwback to the time before, a stark resolution (though only written upon black in chalk) in which the previous state brings us to the current state which only elucidates on the nothingness of the previous.



There will be reproach for you my darling, just show yourself.

Where do you hide?



Outside is something to believe in, it is the misery of smoke filled street laid out before a heavy dawn; this is the chance to be lost. I may only think of her when inside, but she will always remain outside.



I think I shall shut the door, I have left it open. We are getting a little cold.

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