Musings

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.

As I sit here, there is a sudden rush of energy forcing its way forward. A stretch of milder days is being brought to its end as the wind and rain cascade forward and transform everything around me. It's been nine weeks since I've been outside in the old world, which perhaps does not exist any longe...

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...