oh yes, that last one, there's a perhaps less personal equally poignant  bit you cannot see. The small quite sublime pathway and gate i pass through to get to the place where the ancient tree can be enjoyed. I call it 'Byron Gate'. Because he did spend hs last summer in England here. That is known. Or rather there down at the nowadays lunatic asylum to quote my new most enjoyed friend ever made just last year. We shall see him soon. But whenever i pass through it - usually three or four times a week i always ask myself "did he come here... just beyond the most sublime perfect nature filled hidden valley way up to hills not far yonder, or did he just stay down at the great house dillettanting around the skirt he was famous for chasing, mum and lass at once..."

Never much liked the chap. Nothing to do with me. Even if she whom this is always all about though you can never know about her, says she loved him. That's England and our dreadful education. I know real books. Mister Bernhard’s passage about how photography simply destroys all humanity i have out on my desk...oh yes it will go to him at last tomorrow. Bit of kairos there too about 2 years late. But now is the time.

As is it time for this. About the most poignant image possible even if not rally of this project. And my handwriting is more usually far neater. The scribble a moment of out-of-project rushed inspiration.  Though relevant in the cliff edginess (now) in one respect. He should...if he is still alive? He disappeared... and he was the one man that meant the most to me for many years from being young man. Even if ...well i like nature and understand what it is really 'for'  - in terms of the human spirit and poor Richard Maybe is a sham lost neurotic compared to actually living it for the actual soul and figuring year in year out what to really 'say' about it that is real.  Not much. Shut up. Just exist in it. And there isn't even that much to 'learn'. 

But i do not close myself off to just as bizarrely overcooked things like Morgan Stanley's books. And fraud. And how he encouraged me to be part of a little of it. But that is not important except how wonderfully grateful i am all these years on to have become relaxed with some of all that even if all that was never me for a moment, because trying to follow the reality of Ronnie and Maggie’s little developments into whatever the heck next is genuinely interesting if you never take it too seriously - knowing him so well, who could....  but i learned so so much about tthe reality of what changed in Britain in the 80s so cannot ever be anything other than eternally grateful. And then there's the other lesson too. That is the true lifesaver as this last year in others once again i have seen and near wept for them.... mothers with children... Polish great artists.... killing themselves. And the one who started it all - that riding club. My riding club, that made me happier than i have been ever in my life. All winterlast...all winter. 

duty done.... I mean if you really are doing your once in a lifetime final pack away as the financialisation of homes his lot started means never again will i live like i have these last 8 years, never be sour becase he gave life that you could never otherwise have known. And no booze drugs or hookers involved don't even dream such things. They are dull compared to what I have to share. And anyway action sopeaks words are fey, that i have kept it all thes eyears says a lot. And not that i like to show off. There is nothing else at all in my cave patterened or decorative. And no art... i like my art to be alive with everything that Thomas Bernhard rightly told us that is the only valuable image there is - that which stays in the mind forever. Because it earned its way into our mind.