(Dec 29/07)
I think about Moyle’s more often than not; too much so, actually, yes…too, too much. I am thinking about them now, this very moment, but not with great force of concentration or fitness of mind, that I leave for other thoughts, other things worth thinking about. Thoughts are like soiled hankies; snotrags balled up and shoved deep into the rectos of a pocket. One should always have a spare pocket stitched into the lining of one’s coat, it makes the pocketing and retrieval of snotrags less time-absorbing, allowing one to dillydally at one’s will and with the rarest impunity. The absorption of time is a menace, not worthy of the time it took to write: menace. Godforsaken godlessness whereby the days pass one after the other unnoticed. The menace of it all…yes, the menace…unthinkable indeed.
(Dec 26/07)
Another porcine grey day: the day abutting yesterday, the day of Christ’s birth. I have two new books to read, Elfriede Jelinek’s ‘Greed’ and Haruki Murakami’s ‘After Dark’. I have stories to tell, but not yet, not before I live out this story, the story of my living.
(Dec 27/07)
My plants are dying a slow waterless death, wilting and curling up brown at the edges, such a shame indeed.
I think about Moyle’s more often than not; too much so, actually, yes…too, too much. I am thinking about them now, this very moment, but not with great force of concentration or fitness of mind, that I leave for other thoughts, other things worth thinking about. Thoughts are like soiled hankies; snotrags balled up and shoved deep into the rectos of a pocket. One should always have a spare pocket stitched into the lining of one’s coat, it makes the pocketing and retrieval of snotrags less time-absorbing, allowing one to dillydally at one’s will and with the rarest impunity. The absorption of time is a menace, not worthy of the time it took to write: menace. Godforsaken godlessness whereby the days pass one after the other unnoticed. The menace of it all…yes, the menace…unthinkable indeed.
(Dec 26/07)
Another porcine grey day: the day abutting yesterday, the day of Christ’s birth. I have two new books to read, Elfriede Jelinek’s ‘Greed’ and Haruki Murakami’s ‘After Dark’. I have stories to tell, but not yet, not before I live out this story, the story of my living.
(Dec 27/07)
My plants are dying a slow waterless death, wilting and curling up brown at the edges, such a shame indeed.
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