Tuesday, 20 January 2015
The snow is very deep today. But most days you get up you go out in the dark and you walk in the dark till the light comes up and you leave the light and behind you a long trail if flotsam and ahead of you flowing over the air or in the flotsam which is all around from all the other people and signing a line and managing to cope without the daylight in your little wooden precinct you think perhaps it was only earlier when the light was coming up when there was something like a triangle under ground as a foundation and every time you move or are still it is there just like your nice face. It is there, and each sleep takes you closer to every movement you make that takes your sleep and makes sleep a moving thing. A moving thing that happens and takes the sleep off detaching it, slippy oil and eyes that you scatter and throw into the flotsam on the road to work and sleep where your thrown out oily eyes squint back pleadingly or in fact they reassure you because you see in them a sublime simplicity and never take them back. When all you want is what you know: that the journey from yours to work is startlingly complicated. You want your chucked out eyes to look on in sympathy understanding the hardships of everything which is simple and attributed vacantly to humans.