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A second cup of coffee takes me from a  fragile presence into this world of entities, including me, the table, the saucer, this room, this moment, these words, performing, overlapping affinities. A thought-feeling manifests a word, un-focus. Un-focussed, a condensed thought, condensing, misty, droplets, a leaf, a page, ink, a smudge, a photograph, an un-photograph, un-made, movement, indistinct, indirect, reflected light, soft energies, slowly shaping, never quite forming.

France, a skip and hop away. I imagined going back, along that route, I did, in 1986, 1984, 1968. Another sense, reflecting. Another way of articulating, a feeling. I'll try and dig out stuff from these journeys through life. This reality, a friend of mine. That's also a song, and a dance, and, strangely, a sense of hope.

And this other strangeness, truth, I think I prefer the word trust. Again, not sure why. The distinction between objective and subjective is blurry. I feel part of everything around me, and everything around me feels - and if I think a little longer - 'me' is more like a me-ness, messy, muddy, murky, murmuring, mumbling, mingling with everything here, now, around me. I drink some more water, I am water. I am my index finger tapping this iPhone screen to get these words to appear, this appearance. Words performing. A play. Magic. A dance. A skip and hop, in this way. So many interesting ways. Routes to follow, journeys to make, through each day. Little adventures, exploring, experimenting, a few minutes here, an hour there, this day, and that holiday.

This time has gone - I'll have a think about Foucault and Fromm, and the rhetoric of our articulated everyday lives. I'll walk now, and back home, back to photographs, places, moments in time and leaves embodied in a spine, books, eventually.

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