And this morning I walked from Marston to Banbury Road in the sharp morning frost, with every blade of grass like a grave-ornament, marking my paces. The fields are flood-plains, treacherous where the water wells up under the weeds, and there is the sun on a cold hard path, and here is the place where the brambles will be in the autumn. So many stones, so many trees. These roots are not a metaphor. I walked past the place where I would have probably died if I'd been able to find a surface on which to scratch a single word, but before that there was a trickle of water stopped still in its tracks, all the sand turned to darkening glass, and just before the stream there was a cat pushing its body through the frozen undergrowth at the side of the path where the brambles will be, and a small warm motionless thing not realising that its life was nearly over, and these things just keep on happening in any order they like, and putting the words together doesn't make any difference, any bloody difference, any difference at all.
Something is cracking
And this morning I walked from Marston to Banbury Road in the sharp morning frost, with every blade of grass like a grave-ornament, marking my paces. The fields are flood-plains, treacherous where the water wells up under the weeds, and there is the sun on a cold hard path, and here is the place where the brambles will be in the autumn. So many stones, so many trees. These roots are not a metaphor. I walked past the place where I would have probably died if I'd been able to find a surface on which to scratch a single word, but before that there was a trickle of water stopped still in its tracks, all the sand turned to darkening glass, and just before the stream there was a cat pushing its body through the frozen undergrowth at the side of the path where the brambles will be, and a small warm motionless thing not realising that its life was nearly over, and these things just keep on happening in any order they like, and putting the words together doesn't make any difference, any bloody difference, any difference at all.
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Pink is the new blog
So I'm not doing NaBloPoMo, obviously, because I can't guarantee getting enough time free to shower every day, let alone blog every day. However in…
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Sand on the run
There's feeling full of fail, and then there's feeling full of existential fail. I've spent most of today wanting to curl up under the desk in a…
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Markov distinction
While looking through the fragments I also found this one called "markov.txt", from which I infer that it's what you get if you put my journal…
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