I have almost finished the novel, the one with one character in it, you, and it has been a struggle to keep you alive through some 700 pages of meeting no-one, saying nothing, going nowhere, eating three frugal meals each day, sleeping 8 hours a night, dreaming emptiness, feeling neither well nor ill but neutral, and sitting at the table you call a desk, pecking away at the typewriter.
Perhaps we should take time off from ourselves, adopt a sense of there being another world in which
to live, where we might hold each other and be at one with the Sun.
Please disregard anything you see on message boards: I’m not
sure anything can be trusted now the atmosphere has turned its back
on what we thought was Spring, and Winter is alive again.
The little things matter.
They add up.
Life is cumulative.
Sometimes it piles itself upon you and it’s too much.
That is a very nice safari outfit you are wearing.
Do you intend to look for elephants?
I Was Never Very Strong
A Peanut for a Head
Welcome to the New World Order
Our Day Trip to Shenzhen
The Waking Girls
Sideboard Upside Down
Your Policy, Your Doom
A Negative Trajectory
The Moss Slide
Although you may be “a little bit down” remember it is only work
A box of books is a world to explore.
Or – more correctly – “worlds” plural.
The bus driver left everyone standing at the stop “for sport”.
To be cold or ugly or forlorn or all three may well be the contemporary position.