Sunday, 8 May 2005

diary ethic

Impractical, decisive weather, choosing whether weather or not. I don’t know what to wear. Rising trails behind cars and the faint gleam of a slick upon the corner, just where people rest their feet. Bollards with nightly glow in the overcoat of early afternoon. The time of day is an irrelevance to light-levels during this instant, climate-wracked May.

Forecast for nothing.

And if I am muddied by the thought of work, the financial coercion, then so be it. I feel a willingness towards repetition, an inclusive spirit towards dullards and regimes, but also towards origins and, more importantly, originality (and its lack).

Eating is not helping per se, I still feel hungry at all times of the day. A return to long ago.

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