Notiaing in ny thouehts I wish to write - but I do whnt to write something.ihougr I cant see wrat I.m writing
Man with tiny dog . clear sy , sunset. Sitting by tbe buraal mound if it ic one.
Lihhts in the dictance - heavy traffic far away - one aeroplane none or else all of this is imagined.
Getting dark now - I'll move on.
And now I'm back home in the rationality of the familiar I decide to make no corrections but to leave that as I wrote it, by touch, in dim light, my feet on the grass, recalling a wren, and two squirrels, then a magpie, some wrapped-up people, and at the cafe I saw a picture of a tank carrying bearded men into Kabul and waving to other bearded men who were smiling and there was a dead man on the ground with a banknote stuffed into his mouth, 'in disrespect' wrote an editor, the war is half over, I feel relieved and perhaps wrong in my thoughts about it... this is not the way to live and to organise, it's disrespectful to all of us, surely there can be a time when things are different - but perhaps not, perhaps aspirations are unreal, but all this is real, and it's the mistakes that I like best, they really happened, like the war, we don't know what we're doing.