4th May 1671

I Speak in spectrals and broken english, language is no longer necessary to a lifeless soul as I. The numbness rises and my poor dead body lays unknown, I am fairy lights in ashes and old cobwebs spun anew. I am a gentle breeze on road side shrubs and storms in far off places, I am the moats of sunlight upon waking and the fog which clouds your windows at night, my story is in your birth cries and settles in the dew upon your grave. I am now all things and nothing, all the things you need and everything you ignore, I have no meaning and life meant nothing. but through the madness and happenstance, the colours and sounds, the quiet moments and the loudness of a life which screamed from cradle to grave, It meant only that I was alive.


3rd May 1671

These little moments are crossed by symbols and threads which lead into lifetimes swollen  with regret, Judy Garland brings roses which she lays upon my knees, and I think about how strange this is and how worried I should be, but these thoughts rise into clouds which drift eastwards into days I shall never see. I am not the man I thought and neither that which I need to be, but brave seas keep rolling and empires rise and fall.