XI
The fourth of November
on Fridays aiming for the greater thing
sources of light and moments of uncanniness
I AM BORED AND LISTLESS
empathy for everyone who does not want it
the leaves fall down all around, trees as well, entire forests even
fragments of an alternative reality falling into place
concealing behind it a surface of truth
does it make me feel uncomfortable?
XII
The fifth of November
it’s familiar in its unfamiliarity! consistency in life: new situations everywhere and all the time: the way of handling them is where you find yourself over and over again: a pattern woven with the strings of what you are: leading to the outcome of it all
XIII
The sixth of November (22)
a surprise at Richard Roberts Building
Endcliffe Park at dusk: momentary visions of vehicles running over people dear to me
sometimes you are blocked in your thoughts and you only see this small world and you talk way too much about things you do not understand and you are doing everything so fast and you are out of breath it makes you so sick about yourself afterwards and it takes a long time to calm down and return to the default state, floating somewhere between the lives of others
XIV
The seventh of November
another exploration of rural England: all the colours you get to see. very rainy it is. dusk comes early and out here it gets incredibly dark. fearful prospect of having to spend the night in the unknown, it is so cold. in the end allowed to enter the protective city again..
the inn wasn’t exactly A Clean, Well-Lighted Place but it was the only light in the deep dark valley, warm and safe from unconscious dangers inside.
XV
The tenth of November (on the way to east coast)
what did you expect this is not pretty little Peak District this is North Yorkshire flat and broad and brown. maybe like northern Ireland but that was also greener even in very early spring – this, though: still pleasant. ‘England’s Green and Pleasant Land Essays by J.W. Robertson Scott’ – still haven’t read, must be nice though, always wanted to. might as well write a postcard about it (I should also mention William Blake).
eastwards, coastwards, are hills that seem to be more alive. must be the air: you can b r e a t h e here
XVI
The eleventh of November (Scarborough)
I always hoped for, did all this work for some peace of mind – peace of mind is to be found by the seaside at all times
*a scene* person, at the beach, climbing over the rocks to get to the water. collecting seashells and colourful stones on the way and trying not to fall and break every bone. rarely anybody comes down here, would be dangerous with the incoming tide. getting to the sandy part of the beach, bathing feet in water. lying down on the stones to dry. other people, on top of the cliff, looking down occasionally, probably wondering. or does the person blend in with its environments? how small does the person look from up there?
climbing up the steep cliff from the beach. I left some footprints down there for you to see. evidence: some are even in the cold cold water. you can go and have a look some time. whenever you want, you know.
the moment I catch sight of the sea I grow seaweed for hair and breathe salt water
a tourist in November? courious…
XVII
The twelfth of November (Scarborough, York, and the way back to Sheffield)
I feel so Victorian: walking over a footbridge, enjoying the esplanade walk, passing the Spa and the Grand Hotel, surrounding the harbour, looking at luna park and ending up at the train station. everything is from that time still. what is new? a few houses on North Cliff probably. and a shopping centre. you can just feel it in every street.
at the beach: low tide: view of the bay and the buildings: this is ((perhaps)) the prettiest town I’ve ever been to
I then didn’t know anymore where the sun was and the shadows seemed to come from all sides, irksome and winding over the fields. so much green country: interrupted by small towns. there was a heavy raincloud looming in the south and blue skies in every other direction
XIII
The fourteenth of November
I’m not an inch like you and we are not at home
a presence of fishermen in Crookes Valley and a bridge over river Don that ends at a stone wall. at Sheffield Cathedral blood drips from the ceiling and a person, bending over, turns into tree branches.
XIX
18th of November
a man in a state of ecstasy or terror, gripped by hands from below while his skin and clothes slowly melt down into the stranger’s presence
that morning by the seaside I was truly myself I guess
XX
19th of November
I remember watching bulls of the deepest black on hot summer afternoons in southern Europe. I was so hot why were they not hot and dying? but now I am quite in a different place, the sun is hiding and it is chilly on this distant part of the continent
XXI
20th of November
far ahead of me, at Nether Edge or wherever that is, the sun was shining still on the hill. very pretty, of course! the sun always tends to shine on hills and avoids valleys. hills always ahead of me. evacuate to the next hill, stay there, erect a city for the world to see.
XXII
21st of November
goodbye sweet sir of the afternoon
a wave tumbles
the bird glides
weariness of yourself
surrounded by someones
the horizontal sun
the town by the sea (lovely)
feelings of refreshment
followed by often positive outlooks
but now: back to city life
XXIII
22nd of November
there’s something very bright about living in the 21st century
XXIV
24th of November
on modern night streets the light comes horizontal (while heading down Hanover Way) why is city life so orange?
time has passed, time is still passing and, funnily enough, it will continue to do so for all our man-made eternity
XXV
26th of November
I Am Not Sure If I Am What I Think You Mean
Neele was listening first and foremost to All Hour Cymbals by Yeasayer.
