Saturday, 11 June 2011

Further and Further Away II

He loved the way each moment gave way to the next one. There, that was a lie, it was fucking shite most of the time, he hated it. It was awkward and he fucking hated it. I'm talking about life. His experience of existing, anyway. At times it was just too awful it was fucking unreal man. Just everyday things, banal things, the weight of it fucking all.
He felt as if he was getting good results but he was working blind. Which sometimes felt counter-intuitive. But sometimes he felt that there must be a a reason for his instinctive adoption of this approach.
He was walking through a field with his dog. The dog was running on ahead, inquisitive as always. It was a foggy afternoon, I remember that.

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