38.

Nothing like a cup of jammy gruel on a goldilocks morning. Three happy crows mixing it up amongst the peachy clouds. Thought it was a couple mobbing someone to begin with but no, just three happy crows playing around, flapping west-southwest without ever seeming to get anywhere. The sun lifting its head above the morning cloud bank as I stock the bird feeders with seed. Walking past that single Snake’s head fritillary saying We really must get you some friends, you’re one of my favourite flowers, in fact you in particular probably are my favourite flower at the moment, little serpent in our Eden. The Absolute Cute is an absolute particularity, that’s clear enough despite completely confounding reason. It’s reason enough for me: I wouldn’t have bothered to come here if everyone was totally dependent on each other. I’m happy my neighbour is a mushroom but as soon as they knock on the door asking for sugar no-one’s here any more. Wow, this is quite far from what I wanted to say: I wouldn’t have come to this world if it was totally by humans for humans. I wish I could say such a state is inconceivable but there are places I’ve been where you don’t even have to imagine it. It probably sounds a bit like I’m saying I don’t like you but in fact it comes from listening to the cry of the world. Injustice is in your fucking face but the world cries really really quietly. Not heard like a sound not heard like a saying more like here-d somehow. Who have nothing in common are belonging together. Beyond the alien the speaking is stranger. That our likeness be breached by an infinite difference makes it no space at all for it all moves in one direction, God to God. The Apocalypse is taking my clothes off just by resting her body against me, breathing a moment. The air is made from moments which we breathe. Having a skin is a political statement. Allez tous vous faire foutre. It isn’t necessarily reality other human beings will keep you in touch with, might even be necessarily not — still the reality is you’re better off being kind of quiet about it, I suppose the Absolute can teach us this, being utterly discrete: let the cities keep their concrete, catch the drift of time, read the slow down slogans on the back of a lady bug overtaken by honking bunnies: it’s Little Cloud’s Roundabout so if you fall far enough behind you’ll end up in front again — can no more count the laps than a grain of sand keeps tally of the comings & goings of the sea. The moon takes all month to complete a winking. I only really live outside. The house is open. My eyes aren’t closed.