Here I am writing from a stalled Summer in mid June, grey, damp, cool and humid, moving so slow we may well be going backwards, it’s difficult to tell. A bit like when you’re on a train coasting to stationary, and another train is doing much the same right next to you, with the flicker flicker of windows passing, as if the carriage is being impossibly sucked backwards. It’s a “signal problem on the tracks” Summer, which is quite common for England.
So how to break this spell? Back to writing, and maybe writing backwards the summer will be righted, by the time I’m finished, by sly coincidence.
In May I wrote about a third consciousness, which I termed “mercurial”, which does sound more poetic. It spans both the lunar and the solar, and transcends them also. But there’s something more.
When we deal with these things that we…
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