horsemouth is up and he has the cup of coffee. he slept solidly. he will draw a veil of discreteness across his mission for this morning.
yesterday he made it across the marshes to the supermarket in the fields and later he made it back out to sit in the marshes to read. he was back with the susan sontag, with her appreciation of victor serge. maybe he should get the tsypkin or the pasternak on the go while the spirit is with him and it can be viewed as a project.
he watched a little of tiger bay (largely based on a zoom conversation he had with john in far off porto who was reading a novel set in cardiff docks in the 50ies). horsemouth's dad was a customs officer at cardiff docks in the 60ies/70ies so he visited it a few times. he remembers either acres of stinky estuarine mud or merchant ships floating at anchor. tiger bay, jim loves julian more than splott. horsemouth supposes there must be a cardiff set film before the ravey davey gravey human traffic. horsemouth's cousin now works at the welsh assembly, the barrage hides the stinky mud.
yesterday he failed to make it to the bank (what's the point?). he found little to thrill him on tv apart from the news.
horsemouth will have to check in a while if his first pay of the new freelance era has come through.
it's a bit of a grey morning but it looks like it might burn off. horsemouth can hear the parakeets. he's on the clock (slightly) to go and do this thing.
mission accomplished. he's got a guitar with him and has had a play and a sing through a few things. he's picked up some rice and some sauce.
there's the sontag discussion of 9/11 (and abu ghraib). horsemouth will read these and then come back to it (seeing as we are moving towards 20 years of the war on terrror with the imminent collapse of afghanistan again).
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