A shadow of my former self today. No literally. Behold the silhouette of the boy Dawes against the office wall. For those of you who perchance to watch Points West on the televisual, the shadow-line herewith is as a result of the weather forecast floodlight. If you watch Fergie the weatherman beamed from the BBC into your living rooms, you will notice behind him a Victorian building. For it is this very edifice that I reside during my daily toil at the face of coal. Sharp at 6pm each evening the floodlights are switched on from the building opposite, and, if I'm still awake at my desk, bedazzle me. One day this may be the 'Second Coming' but tonight, as the silence of the light enveloped me, I decided to down tools and head forth into the rain. A flick of the light-switch as I passed the threshold revealed that darkness eluded the cell and today's thought struck me like a wet halibut around the mazzard. That's the thing writing each day, it becomes the norm and ideas gush forth like a couple of cats fighting with a jar of pickled onions. Yet even as I took this image, my view was in the past. My much learned friend Alan from school once tried to explain to me that two people standing talking are seeing and hearing each other in the past. Something to do with nano-seconds over distance and the curvature of the time vortices. I nodded sagely, pretended to understand. But in that instant of taking this image, that conversation flicked through my mind. Like my daily blog, everything being read here, is in my past. And the future never exists.
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