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Writing outside the box, writing inside my head, writings photographs, writing things around me. I arrange things This morning table space, half glass of water, finished cup of coffee, a fresh page of notes, pen placed to one side, overhead lighting sharpening the text for re-reading. Reading. Hotel guests wandering to the restaurant area for their breakfasts, the burble of the coffee machine, clatter of cutlery and crockery, a song, 'would there be no doubt about it' the whirring of the 'food to go' machine. Things arranging themselves around me. And thoughts, about; presence, posture, composure and this sense of the arrangement of things. I ponder the way this artificial reality displaces consciousness, and with artificial intelligence the algorithms begin to create a background, an imperceptible systems of control. I wonder about this frustration, and before I bury this thought in a quagmire I take a deep breath and open up again to a sense of wonder, the music system sings, 'I wanted to be free', a love song; a song about holding on and letting go, this imperceptible dream we live though life, being held, by another, and finding ways to hold one self, this arranging and re-arranging of presence, composure, posture, of body and thought and feeling. This perceptible practice. This body of thought.

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