Location: Train (Strangers)

On first meeting a person, you are too busy trying to familiarise yourself with them – a bodily and intellectual them—to be able to study the face properly: you are encoding onto it. This is why I like public spaces: public transport, parks, city centres. In them you meet strangers with whom you will not form a relationship, and so with a disinterested eye you can study faces.


Location: Home (Intellectual Attraction)

Let's talk about loving people. I don't mean loving someone, which is a more determined affair, but loving en masse. Loving people feels like cupping clear spring-water in your hands – knowing it's going to leave, but also knowing it still available, and knowing the source isn’t far from grasp.  It’s their mind you’re after.… Continue reading Location: Home (Intellectual Attraction)

Location: Train (Books)

It is only through becoming an encyclopedia, a reference book, a resource myself that any doubts are removed. In those moments I know there is a use for these books and for the time I have devoted to them - more use than the act of reading provides alone. 


Location: Liverpool (Birds)

But back to the birds (they, like the ping of a notification, punctuate my day and lasso attention towards them.)


Location: Iceland (2)

First off, the grass I mentioned yesterday has an uncanny resemblance to Donald Trump’s hair, something I hadn’t noticed yesterday because of the ice. It is wheaty, hardy, dry, and the wind has given it the same properties as a rug whose pile runs in one direction. There are tufts which create the crest of a wave, and surrounding them are the broken waves, forming hollows. Given enough force and time, the wind can make an ocean of anything. But this is a hardy, robust ocean. Like the rest of the island, it continues to exist due to a fierceness. Alongside the Trump grass, there is also tiny little ferns attempting to grow. One was stark white like a new shirt, and had the stumpy leaves that all enduring plants do. Grace isn’t compatible with survival. Grace is something which can only exist in a state of abundance. 


Location: Iceland

The island is gorgeous. It is a teardrop shape—a shape of beauty and sadness, of joy and the carnivalesque. It's also silent—except for an odd birdcall from the south-east. It sounds like a wooden peg board, like the sort you get at school in music lessons. It also makes a whooping, taunting sound. It knows my situation.