Sitting in the car. In the car park. The picture is red. It is raining. People pass. Something carries on not happening. It is grey.
It is not possible to shoulder the burden. It is only possible to spread cheerfulness. Not happiness.
There are red carpets. There is good taste and there are red carpets. There are red raw knuckles that run along the carpet. There are red raw knuckles that run along by the Stanley knife that cuts the strips that make the room. The carpet is a carpet only just. It is thin of size and on the back is only foam. Now it is thin like cardboard and red. It is a very cheap carpet. It is also not to my taste which is kindness to say it is ugly. It is very thin. There is no pleasure in it. It would make a good bicycle cape. It is not my carpet. It is not my room. It needs to be no more. It does not help the depression of the place. This carpet is found that she prefers a series of low grade conventional solutions to quality absence. The carpet before was nice but only by accident. It is not looking or seeing any quality at all but only to see the conventions. It would still not be nice. It would still not be nice but it would be better. It would be better hung on the wall. Where it is that things are in me that a good or bad. Where is it from that that carpets are good or bad. Where is it found. Why does it have to happen so and why does it follow in patterns as it does the. Why is poor taste bad and what is it that is good.
Lately perhaps because the time has come to be right, I have seen in my poetry directly by more people than before. This has been very strange in itself. What it is to be public with writings is not at all themself. It is very different to be. It is not at all the same poetry that is totally private inside. It is not really at all as nice. It is totally private to be unknown like living alone is by having no problems at all. It is all so. It being private is like living alone. It being in public is at first like a large dinner party but very soon it gets to be sharing the washing up and somebody else using the toothpaste until the razor blade runs out and not getting more. That is rather how it is. Without any other reasons for it to be otherwise it would be best always to be posthumous.
Writing for an audience is much different to writing if someone will be expecting it is. To see it it is.
I was talking to Alan and I like Alan to talk to even though it is strangely difficult and sometimes. Then I thought that Jan and Alan remind me of my parents and that is why it is probably difficult. And where is Toni who will be very lucky therefore and who was born on my birthday. With my parents most of all I am glad that they were no more than they were. That was what was best of all and of all it is seen later. I am glad that they were no more than they were.
It had been raining today but not where I was ever. I drove down the hill to the house and on the left was the grey house where Trelouse died. Now Trelouse goose has a goose house to live in. It is grey and if I was depressed it would be cheerful because although the memory is sad it is cheerful. Trelouse goose was before a long time married to Edminton. Now in the small adverts in the free paper appeared 'Edminton x Trelouse geese, £5pr' so I went to see. And Edminton was an Embden goose and Trelouse was at Toulouse goose. But because this was Cornwall they were not. And Edminton and Trelouse they remained for as long after as they lived happily and then after that they were dead. There was one evening when I was putting Edminton and Trelouse into the goose house for the night. Edminton was very white and shone out in the gloom but looking at him it was not right. So I went with Edminton to the surgery to speak to the vet. And the vet said what is wrong and I said I don't know but something is. And the vet said come back tomorrow if it gets worse and we will see what we can do. So I went back the next day because Edminton was dead. All the pieces of Edminton that no longer worked and were no longer Edminton was sent away for a post mortem. This was to find which piece had not worked first. The report came back that there was nothing wrong with the goose. That was what it had died of. Trelouse was very upset because she was grey and she did not shine in the evening but she was very pretty. When I fed Trelouse now I talk more at the time to her. One morning Trelouse put her head out of the goose house and a fox bit it off. That is the end of the story.
But still it is cheerful to see the goose house still on the hill on a grey day. Edminton looked so good. There is something about being geese that is cheerful even afterwards.