Lying in a sedate hotel you get the magic of another species transmitted into your head. A short tingle, a percussive niggle, an erection. The knowledge takes strange forms to point you towards a solitary journey. Images fan into the ice & you’re walking through it discovering movement again. The bill unpaid rises to heaven; this is filmic, too. You shouldn’t have left civilisation behind to seek out a bubble of moment & sound. Then being amongst whatever surroundings: it’s chaste, brilliant, a purpled blue kind of beautiful, despite the careful death lying underneath. Movies with towns buried at the bottom of lakes. Movies with ghostly representations of the past, hinted at in absence (or the concord of sine waves & colour). A native beast appears hooded by sun as you piss on a stump. Patches of nothing seem meaningful. You’re never going back & a phone message is being patched through. The most common realisation gleaned from leafless trees this day is sleep.

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