Journal

Or not.

It is like being at sea but inside a space. The space opens up a little, but this might not be a good thing. If the space is big enough to contain the sea it is hard to imaging what else could be in it. So it is me and the sea, the sea and me and we begin a slow dance.

We can imagine an interstice, a space of unlimited action with no effect / all effect no action.

Yet again, another scene can be imagined and by no stretch. It is the space below the bar we are trying to contort ourselves underneath while a group of onlookers go about their business waiting for the car crash.

Trying to tell a story in a gale. The wind blows the words back and then it is not all that easy to stop oneself from repeating them like a mantra from some demented cyberpunk sweet dream.