I find myself , once again, after nealy a year, above the peckham rye,
pondering for a moment the journey awaiting me,
two hours time il be off
Bournemouth way.
The year before,
so fresh
and so innocent to what awaited me,
a new town,
new life,
i come to realise the fullness of the circle i have completed
an underlying connection which keeps me
within my own place.

I havent stopped traveling
still meeting
with possibilities and influences.
These breaks bring a cetain revelation,
slow burning
in theyre conclusion accompaneyed now as i write
by the Arcade Fire's 'FuneraL'.

It almost seems to encapsulate,
the drive of the drums and the stride of Win's words,
speak to what my distrascted tougne
can only agree with,
the tunnels of connection,
Ive gone underground for three days and nights,
when your bellow the surface of your own
reality you belong to
a nivety which is at the same...

refreshing .

Still the glow of the lighting,
which occupies the imagery of eyes
perceptional perspectives
wash those inhibiting my timlessness and expieriences.

Funeral,
how apt i feel
my journey has been tinted with loss
great and affecting.

I'm rarley this disregarding in spontinaety,
dropped plans for fullfilment and longing,
Time is so fleeting
I want to be living
I grabbed my bags
and i snatched the moments i could,
these eyes were ready to make
such contact

Despite silences bettween spoken words
I could hear such loudness in this instance
As we read eachother
the muted expressions,
behind the surface,
Intesified
And distracting...