Just lately there has been a spate of people who want to think things are odd or unusual. Things have been called bizarre. And it has been worrying me, but I have not been at all sure why it has been worrying me. Then it happene4d that I saw a judgement being made as having no right to be. I saw a judgement of ordinary being acceptable. That was why I was worried because although everything is quite extraordinary in itself the uis nothing that uis noit ordinary or as it should be. So it was not good to see somebody who was extraordinary say something was bizarre as if that was anything more than simply what it was. Perhaps there will be a chance to say that. I had written an essay and in it were the islands of the Caribbean. And many of the people who have read it so far have said that it is more like poetry than like an essay. I suppose what they mean is that there is no order inside it. I sippose they wanted it to be grammatical, I suppose. To be an essay. And I now want to ask what is the difference at all. Where is it to be found. What is it that makes it so. It can all be cut up into the same pieces and put back more or less together, and really to be still the same thing and in some ways to be more so. And still then there is no actual difference except often in length but that is not real by overlap. It is just a convention. A convention of words. It was all written for Dot really. That was what it was all for. And I would have liked to know exactly what Dot thought of it. I would have liked to know. But I realise that Dot has been teaching far too long foir her to say exactly what it was she thought. So there was very little said except very little. And all there was there was there. Before it had been called slightly precious. I am still not at all sure what was meant entirely by that. I am not really sure what was meant by that.
Even beneath it this is a cold day to be here in. The skin is constantly singing its shrill song constantly. Under the arms, the side of the torso, the ears, the side of the calves. Always here are the places the skin is singing its shrill song. The candle has burnt down because the wind has stopped blowing.
Something of living by the side of a busy road affect you. Always there are people. People close enough to touch. People going away coming towards. Always there are people and they are all totally disregarding you. You are nothing at all to them. Neither at all there. It does something to you all these people who are there not because they have come to see you and not who do. You can start to expect people to totally disregard you and that is how you became.
So where you live is most important.