I must not 'write' ...here.
There is something in the power of an image. especially those that cannot be shared. Or may not have been captured.
And a range of images cannot capture a question. Unless I stick here a picture of it. It has been on my desk written in fountain pen, a year ... a truly lovely year or ..more.
But then - this is movement. Behind every keystroke there must be now so much movement. It's daft. Dancing since way before dawn most days a few weeks. All must be tidied away. All exits pure poise and grace. Or they win...
And they don't.
But here's the thing - despite a whole mountain of this and that to finish, sort, and some writing I enjoy to do where poeticals come as if by hocus pocus, I still have that one big question.
What i know is this: only once ...i remember every word, and even recall being so ridiculously tired out from travel the night before, I Miss Credited a wonderful film, Toni Erdmann to being Belgian, when it was not... perhaps i came over as a fool. But, I also remember all that matters which was one good open and no holds barred about the hardest possible past events, you cannot ever find in England.... and they are always the 'answer' says the man who sometimes rows back on his own public persona on openness...nearly always.
That one person can relate the hardest of things in so relaxed a fashion, is only good. And does echo through the years. Maybe did define every moment since - when i was different. You cannot unlearn what you always wanted to know.
But here's the thing. This 'question' - a tough one, about tomorrow and all the rest of life, not mine. I sought and curated mist carefully several whom one would think understood they are being afforded considerable privelage, it suggested they are good people to ask...a question that take si think a lot of real life and depth to ponder and ponder .... as was the case with the Bertrand question...
Maybe I only know...once knew just a little while, the only person who in fact could answer it.... or could be trusted to understand what the question is, and means....
Or maybe 'baby figs' will come back...come here.... it was floated her way...is surely a question to learn from in the long run, universally...
Who knows, i know nothing, except being alive is for some years knowing most days and i live middle of nowhere deliberately, most days almost anything can happen... and that really is the definition of what i do not need for sure any more but a fair few seem to crave, never mind spend a small fortune on the external image, staying the youngest possible version of the self.
Anyway back to the last image before this entry in the diary that isn't finished but must as no one ever actually uses their imagination and does anything interesting. Which is fine too (and why Be Quinn and Ralph in one) ..
i ran ahead of myself. Not here, elsewhere..i had a lovely thoughtful letter prepared... and then a picture i have yet to take. Btt the props - the items, i wish to present - fashion into a statement in one picture, have been in a box on my desk for 3 years.... I know they speak the reality. Of others' truths....maybe her too. It was inspired only by her. The only one whom ever noticed.... I noticed that.
