Everywhere there is an ache. I close my eyes, as I might as a child, and see the most psychedellic brown wallpaper. In the grip of fever – I observe some things, some thoughts too unfathomable to record on this primative tape.
The body exerts all its energy on fighting the virus, freeing me from concerns of the everyday. And I need only to read an undemanding book.
Leave the search for meaning to the trinkets on the mantlepiece. I have taken to collecting figurines of owls. I turn, pale-faced, to some kinda new year.
I haven’t written much,
in a while…