Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Five week forecast















More lazy-ish days in the London heat. I took Bondi to Harmondsworth this afternoon for a plunge in the stream. He waded about noisily for a time, but it didn't seem to really cool him off. After some encouragement he lay down mid-stream and let the cool current embrace him while he attended to the dragonflies and dandelion balls hovering all around.















I've got a sketchy timetable for my trip up north. First a weekend in York where Chris had done his studies: Bondi & I will drive up and Chris will join us via train. Then we'll begin our Hadrian's Wall walk from Newcastle-upon-Tyne to Carlisle. Chris will come back up for a second weekend in Newcastle, which also happens to be his family stamping grounds. After that I think a little more mosying around the Yorkshire Dales and the Lakes District and back to London.

Early September will be time to do some classical promming - especially with Phillip visiting from Sydney. I'll then go back to Sydney mid-September and stay 4-6 weeks to organise a better UK visa (which is something you cannot do from inside the UK). So if anyone has a room to let/spare near Newtown area (preferably with wireless broadband, and car-parking easy to manage) between mid-Sept and late-October I'd love to hear about it!
It's another warm sticky night. Chris and I each radiate heat, so I trek downstairs to finish my book: Alexander Masters' disturbing biography Stuart: A Life Backwards, telling the tale of a man on the social margins, who discovers at age 11 that violence is his ticket out of the harrowing circumstances of his early years, and unravels with great ferocity through to the end of his short life. It's all overlaid with conversations between Alexander and Stuart, in their chafing collaboration on telling this story.

So I'm not going to sleep any easier. After Stuart I'll be thinking of the troubled lightbulb-eating, self-harming kids who disappeared amongst whispers when I was at school; of the wild-eyed people who wandered in off the street while I worked a night-shift at a city cinema: they'd kick a wall a few thousand times, or tell you the same story they told you every
other shift they found you; of the countless more
that drift invisibly through all our streets as
muffled devils in sheeps' clothing.
Maxwell's
dream demon chooses
these never sleep sheep
sends them stuttering
from the herd
crammed into one head
in a hundred

a warm night spins
the dreamon wool

for care:
wash your skull inside out

I'm thinking I should re-read Dhalgren.

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