near-identical formulas

Time recedes in volume with age.

or

Time's volume recedes with age.

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still

I wake up early, Saturday, peaceful in the absence of scaffolders. In a dream you visited, treating me with your now habitual brand of self-centred disinterest. Which nevertheless I welcomed; for it had been good to see you; after so long. By day I walked the canal, reflecting, in dirty water, that my real mistake was not the one you would like me to think it should be.

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the foundations of shifting sands

Unless one is secure in one's own attractiveness, whatsoever that might be based on, it becomes hard to accept the attractiveness of your partner; preferable to see them as loveable but resistable to the opposite sex.

At which point the other is liable to assume the role delegated to them, in order to play the part the partner desires, in order to please them.

They might play that part so well they come to forget what anyone ever saw in them, (including their partner).

Until someone else comes along and reminds them.

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nature, nurture, and chinese meat-eating habits

A localised sense of decline can affect every corner of it's people's psyche. Likewise a sense of optimism.

This has been one of the reasons the USA has been, and has been seen to be, so successful in my lifetime. And might turn out to be the most significant ramification of the events of September 2001.

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around the city's edges

Relationships demarcate a hinterland of our psyches, souls, or sensibilities that we forget exists when we are not in them.

Those long conversations about marginalia that don’t need to occur for any other reason than they help us to understand who we might be; have been; or might become.

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blurred vision

Last night I got home after two glasses of wine, one game of football, one late-night trip to Euston station, a shakespeare workshop and about twelve thousand scripts, and switched on the laptop.

Everything was fuzzy. The words has furry edges. My head spun trying to read them.

I tried to find a way to correct the problem. I turned the computer on and off. I searched the control panel for screen adjusters. I searched the yellow pages. I thought of which friends I could call for advice after midnight. I gave up. I went to bed.

In the morning I woke and read a script and contemplated the calamity of the fuzzy screen.

I switched the machine on.

Its world was no longer fuzzy.

But then again, neither was my brain.

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