Fragments

Perhaps the only thing worth anything are thoughts and memories, sketches of the consciousness – certainly not worth much economically, but worth recording, even for myself and the very few people whom they might interest. It follows then that writing is one way of translating and recording these thoughts and impressions.

It's been eighteen days since I started working from home and in the begining this was staying away from the city but getting outside to have a walk or ride alone, at least. Believe me, before I say anything else, I do appreciate every moment of being able to hold onto some work, and equally know th...

Society, it could be said exists on a very delicate and precarious balance. These days, it all seems to be unravelling. All those times of feeling so frustrated at the injustice and absurdity of the ways that things are organised. But there was always bread on the table. There has always been bread...

It seemed like a regular day. The sky was blue, freckled with clouds and a cool, fresh breeze sharpened the surface of his skin. Cars moved here and there, as they normally did. Really there was nothing that signalled it was different to any other unvarying and ordinary day.

The tightness in his c...

Soderbergh’s version of Tarkovsky’s film, Solaris or Stanislaw Lem’s book, or both (whatever way you choose to look at it) could be read on many levels. It’s referred to as ‘science fiction’ and a Hollywood version of a somewhat difficult rendition by Tarkovsky of Lem’s text. My personal take is tha...

How could he explain this ongoing sensation of being in limbo?

Does time pass by from the present to the future, leaving behind a past, with a linear flow; or does time accumulate all experience and moments into a mass of which we each stand on the edge, drawn by gravity back to the centre of all...