Moondays
Monday and the moon near full. Spending a couple of days as God's own copywriter, writing some guidelines for a Christian church and charity. Despite this being quite an interesting project, I felt antsy all day. Unshackled myself from my desk and went down to the seafront, feeling vaguely irritable. The beach was still littered with timber, and intermittent signs "Warning - pollution on the beach".
Watching television and writing about skeletons in the evening before, fatally, beginning to read my book about W.B. Yeats. This I did till 4:30am due to moonish insomnia, and coughing. However George's Ghosts is a terrific account of Yeats, and I am learning loads from it, especially the gossip about the numerous ladies in his life. Also about the writing of A Vision. I wrote my university thesis about this in the dark ages. Ah! Fond memories of sitting in the scriptorium scratching away with a swan's feather.
Tuesday, and the moon full. Woke up this morning after a few hours sleep feeling zombified, and got down to the God stuff again, which soaked up the day like blotting paper, and I still haven't finished it. Bah.
Below the moon, and timber on Brighton beach.
Monday and the moon near full. Spending a couple of days as God's own copywriter, writing some guidelines for a Christian church and charity. Despite this being quite an interesting project, I felt antsy all day. Unshackled myself from my desk and went down to the seafront, feeling vaguely irritable. The beach was still littered with timber, and intermittent signs "Warning - pollution on the beach".
Watching television and writing about skeletons in the evening before, fatally, beginning to read my book about W.B. Yeats. This I did till 4:30am due to moonish insomnia, and coughing. However George's Ghosts is a terrific account of Yeats, and I am learning loads from it, especially the gossip about the numerous ladies in his life. Also about the writing of A Vision. I wrote my university thesis about this in the dark ages. Ah! Fond memories of sitting in the scriptorium scratching away with a swan's feather.
Tuesday, and the moon full. Woke up this morning after a few hours sleep feeling zombified, and got down to the God stuff again, which soaked up the day like blotting paper, and I still haven't finished it. Bah.
Below the moon, and timber on Brighton beach.
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