Friday, 20 October 2006


The bland moment: all services, all surfaces are manufactured, the world's made up for me. I'm a faction, mockumenting my discursives and vocatives, my over-voices. A recent night's footage includes a greying green room with a triangulation of dormer, a pinkish bed-cover. The shadows hide crane-flies. I put a few things together with hyphens.

So that was my little lebensraum. But as you age, time contracts, space has tiny contractions. Try to calm down with bits of memoir and my coloured pencils of rhetoric.

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