The sun was out yesterday afternoon, but from the seventh floor of the call centre, I could see it's effects (making the trees about the viaduct bridge seem hyper-real) but not see it. White humid skies... When I leave at 9:00am it is still light.
I remember the phrase 'walking through someone else's carnival' from that final spring in Worcester, 1999. Walking into town and everything feeling electric and full of potential, kinetic energy spring-coiled, snake ready, and thinking it felt like a fairground was here, and the fairground was somewhere near and I couldn't get to it. Uninvited, all I could do was walk through the ghosts, walk through the echoes leaking from the fairground a few sideways streets away.
White fields under white skies.
This becomes a city of absence, a city of Echoes. Brighton is full of lost things and lost times. The curve of a street in 2002, the Magpie Tree in the autumn of 2008. The summer dawns and it doesn't feel like summer.
The floor of my room is full of clothes. I must open the curtains to my room and get ready for work.
I dreamt last night I was being swallowed by a rainbow coloured snake.
