I started the day in a reenactment of the Battle of Hohenfriedberg artfully frozen in fifteen dimensions (plus time) behind my artificial eyes. June went out with a partially smudged cat while I stayed behind with the entire Prussian army. I had planned to raise myself from the ink blot lake like Excalibur but in the end had to settle for the emergence of a naked hand (which briefly performed a naked hand ballet) and then let it take its antithesis into my mollusc shell study before the rain touched the embroidered hem of my demurely arranged petticoat. I wrote in spirals about the golden mean and not mean - as usual I sided with the not mean - and then fitted together brief glimpses of another reality which I hope to capture and keep for those times when nothing actually makes sense.
My Diary: Life In A Book, Which Is Opened Then Closed
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