I should maybe have called this blog notes from silence. I come back to this place where it seems impossible to say anything. standing looking at the world with mouth agape, hands dumb. one of my other notebooks, a bee curls, is mincemeat, I'm thinking of killing it because I can't the feeling of it. it flowered then the flower shrivelled and now it stinks.

ceaseblur is trickling over here, bits of reading, that's ok. the 'blank' diary has been quiet for most of two months.

I had a dream the other night that someone came to visit and i noticed we had dead rats behind our kitchen door. Two and a half dead rats. i was trying to clean them up, pick them up with plastic bags but one of them was so decayed it was the consistency of mousse.