96.  Friday afternoon.

I wake early at the moment, but get tired quickly.

I’ve decided this phase of writing must be nearing its end.  It has to develop into something structured (structural even?) and purposeful, hopefully with a sense of ending in sight.  I’m never good at endings, which is why my creative output continues indefinitely.  Multiple streams of output spanning years.  The films shot at the river have not ended but will have to.  I’ve finished collecting footage as there is nothing more to be seen there.  The editing, combining, mutilating continues, stretching out into the future indefinitely.  I never know why, or who will see it.  I went to the river yesterday and deliberately didn’t take the camera with me.  As a result I covered more distance in a short time.  I saw a large orange ship that I haven’t seen before, and met a friendly border collie, but it holds nothing more for me at the moment.  The river has a calming purpose for me, I think it always will.  It flows continually (obviously, I needn’t have specified that), is a constant in a changing city.  It has evolved, of course.  The water content is supposedly as clean now as it has been in centuries.  It still looks filthy though, and full of mud.  Tributaries have been sealed up, converted to sewers, and now only flow into the river after rain storms.  The rivulets on the mudflats change shape over years.  Industrial sites build walls and piers which fall into disuse and become deteriorating monumental structures.  Nothing is really static or permanent.  It all evolves.

Furlough is probably being extended again.  I should treat it as a dutch style artists’ stipend this time and not worry about work.  I might get a small discrete job this time.  I probably won’t.  I repeat a lot of this.

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