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Here I am with my nice black coffee, milk on the side, sitting at a round table, a few people passing by, heading for breakfast, a child's voice, indistinct words, it's the tone of voice, an attitude behind the words, the feeling behind the words, the child grows with this feeling, the words become what is heard.

Such a delight.
This was where I nearly began, but was distracted by the movement on the edge of my senses, hearing, listening, peripheral, awareness.  Good stories. I lived in Notting Hill, All Saints Road, for a time before moving to Lebanon Court, I'm still not familiar with the dates, early 1970s, maybe 1972? Working on Valentine Magazine, more like playing at something called work.

I walk into the day in one way, I write into the day in another way, and then the day begins, itself, another day. I was  thinking about walking with a camera being akin to writing with a pen. Something to do with holding. This sense of being that is embodied, so many imperceptible senses, rhythms, playing, their part in forming this day, this moment in this day, a presence.

I'm still staying with working on making books each day until the end of September. I'm thinking about photography, as usual, but a photography more akin to writing. Holding a camera, walking with a camera, some sort of intent. Holding a pen, drawing a line, forming a letter, shaping a word, composing a sentence. Using a camera for snapshots is a bit like using a pen for doing a shopping list.

I can use the pen in different ways.
To make a drawing, to draw a letter, to form a word.
I can use a camera in different ways.
To hold a camera, is like holding a pen.
To walk with a camera, to write with a pen.
Each has an intent.
The blank piece of paper, the pen poised.
Walk, a trace, a trail, a line, street, city.
A word forming.
A photograph formed.
Perception.
Speed up the forming of a word, a sentence.
Slow down the forming of a photograph.

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