under another sun

Look at the black rock Had such vividly remembered dreams last night that I got up and wrote them down. I am concious that some people think other people's dreams are the most boring thing imaginable. But here is one of the dreams. I was in a library looking at a volume of Bishop Berkeley, and trying unsuccessfully to read the spines of other books. The library was full of beautiful paintings, and one corner of the room was covered in huge paintings of a cliffy coast. I hurried over to them, thinking they were of Guernsey. But some people, who were somehow my ancestors, were speaking a Scandinavian language I could half understand. One of them said, ‘look at the black rock’, and I looked behind me and saw a standing stone that was grey against the sandy white background of a beach. Then I walked onwards and away from it into what had become a real landscape with my new Scandinavian people. It seems like a new start, and the dream felt very positive. I was intruiged by the fact I w...

Kicking stones Up with the lark this morning, and in a frenzy of completion. A long chat with Richard first thing, some amends from his end, and a fiddle with the map in the middle of the book. Then off to the gym again, and on return printed my poems and took myself to the magic cafe to interrogate them. Lorraine and Rachel, with Sam, Beth and Mark arrived in the cafe before pushing off to the beach again, and I worked until I sent my poems off to Richard and Jane who have kindly offered to have a final sense check. Rather tired after my poetic labours. Watched a programme about Russian art, then took myself to the Batty for a cold beer and a read of my book on Presocratic Philosophy. Ended up being joined at half ten by Lorraine, Sam and Beth. Sam on exhaustingly philosophical form, announcing he was a solipsist he advanced opinions on a wide range of matters. The sooner that boy goes to university to find people he can debate with the better. Despite an interest in philosophy, and h...