42. Thursday.

Every morning begins the same way at the moment.  I wake up at 6am, without reason.  The body clock is set now, for the moment.  Radio Three plays strange piano music.  There are softly spoken words inbetween, I only listen to a few of them.  I choose what to wear based on looking outside.  Cloudy … Continue reading 42. Thursday.

29.  Saturday.

Today is worse.  Bleakness, purposeless.  Winter wind and rain outside.  I’m not sure if I can function much longer like this.  Empty barren streets and alleyways.  More photographs of disrupted earth, but why capture them, does anyone want to see?  I want to paint the earth.  Acrylic paint is flexible, plastic, merging, blending, fake.  Tactile, … Continue reading 29.  Saturday.

103.  Sunday afternoon. 

Back into old habits.  In the same place, it’s full of people.  I enjoyed seeing people yesterday, am enjoying them less today.  It’s too noisy, I’m not used to being amongst crowds.  I prefer the sombre half-state of desertion, forgotten places, dusty grey streets, all those evocative clichéd descriptive phrases I fall into the habit … Continue reading 103.  Sunday afternoon. 

83.  Sunday evening.  You don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone.

Borders are closed, France, Netherlands, Ireland, Canada.  It’s like the siege in Passport To Pimlico.  There was a train derailment today.  They’re becoming commonplace now and not reported.  Are we becoming numb and desensitised to everything? Monday morning, Winter solstice.  I’m up quite early, it is still dark outside.  Sainsbury’s is already open, with it’s … Continue reading 83.  Sunday evening.  You don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone.

150.  Wednesday.  At that great Chiltern Court. Intolerably noisy.

I came this way looking for a northwest passage of sorts.  A next place, an escape from the concrete marshland, where the villagers are revolting.  I’m washing my hands of all their silly art school protest projects.  The rent increase is enough for me to turn my back on the place and look towards a … Continue reading 150.  Wednesday.  At that great Chiltern Court. Intolerably noisy.


Sunday afternoon.  It is dark and grey, the vibe outside is one of Soviet-era hopelessness.  Dark grey sky, dark grey concrete buildings, shortages, delays, only potatoes to live on.  The last thing is a slight exaggeration, but food supplies do seem sporadic, mysterious fake-sounding brand names appearing on tinned goods, and fresh fruit is scarce.  … Continue reading 81.

94.  Tuesday morning.

It’s snowing steadily again, and settling in the ruts formed yesterday.  The sky is a dirty yellow colour.  The day is peaceful so far.  A layer of snow muffles the sounds of people and traffic, in the same way that people put foam rubber or egg boxes on walls of recording studios.  I’m listening to … Continue reading 94.  Tuesday morning.


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