yes...

yesterday was funny in respects, the bar i sometimes drink in has a night called 'busk & booze' accappella folk songs, acoustic guitar covers of oasis, human beatbox. plugged my laptop into the pa, a minute of digital flatulencethis morning met for coffee with a friend before she went back to cornwall, incidentally chatted about family myths and talesat home a phone call, my grandmother died today, she was married for 68 years. i feel nothing yet. when a friend committed suicide last year, this wrench pulled apart my world.maybe i'll have more to say later.

broken

events unfold, mistakes, inaction.nothing else worth typing here, what to say of the day i live.wakebuy newspapermake coffeeread paper, drink coffee, listen to radio 4leave housespend moneycome homeeat expend hrs doing nothingsleeprepeat

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textuality

Words once spoken are dead to the speaker. what is written is not what could be said, the text can always be edited before another reads it. in the moment words can be spoken without consideration.though having written this what consideration has gone to inscribing it now. self referential bollocks basicallybecketts not i & breath on tv, not good.the only human contact today is speaking to an answer phone, the only voice heard on another answer phone.

i'm sat here in ...

i'm sat here in the front room, the bass thump of a party echoes down the street, then about 3.30 gmt, a firework, rather noisey, not an uncommon happening in this town, explodes into the sky. now first light of this day is presaged.seems with live journal u can find pretty much the type of community or person u want, evidentally a lot of angst out there, then remembering my teenage years, what can u say. still the banality of these words. boredom. i need a cigarette, and i'm all out

silence

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Dead Ways

Footfalls count to journey's end this burden of sorrow, burden of grief. eyes held to mark the sky hung heavy cold about skin. about around company progress through mire and more. heavy march of time weighs about. footfall cease and tell. written as is told, unknown unknowable memory. as is this here this now, silence envelopes grey sky weeping. if told of you a moment spent within the transitory state of being, where would you be ?being here, trail of tears in leaving home sadness carried the day. being here to journey there, down and out, down again. passage marks marked way. times memory in leaving here. radon fracture buried heavy in time. ascent of transition. eclipsed moment of abandonment. ghost resonance walked away along aside. the haunted presence landscaped into dream. cease and fall, cease to fall succession fall. hill of dreams, sol niger zenith transit terminal. becoming rememberance.

banality

toop toop ping.the connection crashed, how to write beyond the mind staggering banality of the day to day.watching friends on lsd, shows the utter bankruptcy of this show, the most cynical & manipulative tv i've seen.the ultimate episode, where they are slaughtered in a live special.blah blah blah.

windows + wine

am sitting at the window where i have been sat for most for most of this week. sat here watching the 'pedestrains acts' of people passing by. i live above a shop on the one street in totnes, its only a 1/4 of a mile in length. looking down, generally unseen. wondering if De Certeau was right in his conclusions, they led me on a 'walkabout' for over a year, some good work came out of it, the Dead Ways txt & sound piece. more english 'ape-toff's' eliminated from the tennis, soon all of them will be out, then able to rejoice. my period of self loathing can come to an end, i apologised to the person i had wronged, the act which induced this state.beckett is on tv tonight in the uk, so i will be off to a friends to catch some of these, though it's his prose i prefer, esp. the later work of the 70's & 80's.i find myself online now at early hrs of the day, now waking up near six, i have a job interview tomorrow, so i might be earning soon, would be good to actually not to worry about money.well off to watch beckett soon