Things do not stop just because you look away from them. It all gets left behind one night and then the next morning it all comes back again. Things change while they are away. While you are away. While you are no longer looking. Things change. There is no surprise in that but somehow there is still some surprise in it.
So the world was properly ordered and progressing inits slow methodical way, and then it wasn't. I had to go out so I left the plant and a niote for Mrs Passion Flower, so I went out and when I came back the plant had gone and the money was waiting. more money than I would have asked for. I seem to hve made a profit by not being at home. By not being there to serve I have made more money than I would if I had been. I am being paid for my absence. Anyway, from our brief telephone conversation I doubt I would have liked Mrs Passion Flower, so I'm not sorry to have missed her. She was travelling on to St Marys by blue rinse.
So it all changes moment by moment as you find out more and more. The steady day becomes a chnging day. Meeting first with practical prejudice. Apologetic practical pejudice. And where did the photocopier come from? Still, make use of it, it will go back again next week. Slowly but slowly from the aerial pieces descends a gentle pattern. Time after time progress is made step by step. It comes, it goes. There are pictures in the mind of gardens that may never arrive. There are people here and there assorted to get results and to make space. People ebb and flow. Tides and waves and action after action. One gets a job, one has fainting spells, another calls in to visit, one does the ironing, one sits and smiles, one visits hospital, one drives a car. Wave after wave flow on over a grey carpet. If it looks good it is what the future holds and nobody ever knows for certain. For certain what the future holds.
Once your life was free of time nd now your life is timed. Every four hours you forget to take a pill, regular as clockwork. Now you live by time, life for time. A gentle ticking stirs in the dust.
When it gets dark the unseen rain surprises unexpectant faces with its well placed ferocity. Through the iron gate. From the street to the view of the wind. Passing by step by step unknown people never dreamt your life here, who coul;d dream it away.
Here will sit so long the expectant fish pod. Waiting without end for a never to be fish. Fill this with your mind and hold it. Hold it there. Hold it now. Grapes somehow arive to the ill. Yet they become a cliche so much so still they are very good to eat if you are unwell. I should know, it was not so very long ago I could eat nothing else. So forget even that grapes ever had pips - these are not so cursed.
White spaces are not so white. Clear shapes have grown fur and forms change as they spin. Release. Release. Release it all. Hold. Hold my hand and we will travel there, never back. Release. Release. Release it all. Just the touch. The touch of the earth. The touch of it. Here. Here in my hand. The hand. The hand that feels. Feels. Feels the touch.
So today has followed tomorrow and yesterday. Patterns are patterns they have no choice but to be so. There is no escape from that. In the end the pieces all fall into patterns that have comfort in them. If I have to be awake then I have to be awake then. There is no other way. If it has to be regular it has to be regular.
If everybody tries so hard to help will anything actually change. Will we all hem you in. Will you tell us if we do. Will you say or save it for other ears? No matter.
Some things are found. Some things are found by accident. Some things are never found. Some things are jst never recognised.
The clang of the iron gate. The gentle concrete footfalls, a glimpse, a knock, a face. It all happens time after time.
Can you spare the time. Is there room for a smile. Do I know you. Hello, hello, is there anybody there. it was practical so he stood up for it. A very simple procedure. He knew so he could act. No more. No less.