1 September 2012
Flat. Free to run across an even surface, balance. Now I want the woods. Dark corners, recesses, murk and mud. Feels familiar and close and musty and bodily like musk, swamp and dirge, cloying and viscous and wrong. Aural, a variety of sounds, a variation of screams – from the throat to the mouth, bitten and bruised and sleeping with the window open in the middle of a summer’s day. Breeze cool on bare skin, outside may be better, more noble but inside smoke curls all pretty and things smell rank and fun and fleshy as papaya. Forget the track, park full of strollers and fruit, stay inside and watch the trees shake in the train breeze for nature. Then back to the red inside your eyelids. White ceiling. Day passing.