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Twilight in the Avenue, Outside the supermarket, On a marble ledge. Orange leaves cut silhouettes, Lilac sky above. Curved glass windows, bounce rays from midtown apartments.

Chill of the mild breeze, Broken by intermittent rays. On the horizon, stretches a bridge, obscured by a curtain of rain. City sirens below. A piano plays above. Lament the neighbourhoods, from the seventh hill.

Underneath a radio tower, overlooking the North-East. Shadowed by clouds, the city stretches out to rough hills, suburban outskirts and the coast. Dotted with tankers. City limits marked by a dusty haze. Overlooking the zone within - Windows, concrete, glass structures. Clustered with the glue of traffic noise – Tyres on asphalt. High above, within the confines of pine trees, inbetween two green, rusted cargo containers. Each filled with the detritus of tree cuttings. Nobody is around and the water tower supervising my stay is unguarded. If there were external steps, one could scale to the top. Alone with the breeze and scent of freshly-cut trees. Clouds give way to slight sunshine, a brief chance to absorb.

In need of nourishment from another long, slow walk in the city. Through the gardens, absorbing sun, together on a single bench. Climbing drainpipes, ascending and descending the countless hills of polished cobblestone. Two slices of fresh, brown bread later, sitting on a kitchen table in an apartment. Window is open while a salad is prepared. Capers and a pesto dressing sit in the salad bowl, while olives and seeds await inclusion. A towel is brought to the table, filled with wet lettuce. The towel is wrapped, gripped and spun tightly out of the window, in windmill motion.


Spinning of white towel, Rose water skin on peach sky. Pastel laundry hangs, from small terraces. A few plants, obscured windows, plastic chairs.

Rinsing and wringing a salad dry, wrapped in a towel out the window, spun in a windmill, beads drip down my wrist.

Self reflection in other dimensions, Time ceases to exist. Observing mirrors of ourselves, wrapped in prolonged gaze. Increased, imperceptible silence. Minds scan, and respond. Sharing, exchanging. Ping-Pong of questions, Pasts of recent, or pre-existence. Snapshots of history revealed, through microscopic movement, of responsive mirroring.

Breaths slow and long, Piled close in the mushroom forest. A canopy of pines enclose us. Light shifts as time dissolves, into a mist. Morphing into characters, of the forest. Wet noses, drooling, focused. On secrets of the ground.


Neon glow of the pharmacy clock, emblazoned on wet, glowing marble.

Returning from market, Families of Agave lay by roadside. Hot sun, Parasols above donkeys. Keep us cool, On the short journey home. Collecting branches of dried almond, for a night's warmth. Pieces lie among coarse shrubbery. Agitated land. Mild, golden sheen of dusk. Grey Blue Agave, Erect and smooth. Surrounded by, Grassy outcrops, sleek, dense strands.

Varnish wood, dust odour in the seminar room. Endless sound loops, clicks from projector. Desk lamps blinding. Eye level, at the audience. Two rows from the back, Fellow students attempt to confide. I cannot, and do not try to understand. One of them leaves, singing a familiar melody.


Oranges, Tomatoes, Avocados, etc. Too soft to eat. Overripe, split rind and skin. Throwing the stock, at the breezeblock wall.

Mid-day in still ocean, Orange shorts, Peach skin. Looking up, from below. Glossy surface skin, Turquoise hue, refracting round sun. Looking down, palm open, suspended legs, relaxed muscle. Movement of current, made visible by Orange shorts. Young hammerhead, somersaults slowly, above open palm. Grey skin, Yellow eyes. At peace and no threat, in silent, open water.

Wood floorboards on the soles of my feet. Varnished and smooth. Feel the roughness of well-walked toeprints.

Eavesdropping while soup slurping. Garlic stuffed – side by side, on swivelling stools.


Dark-haired heads, Colourful T-shirts. White table with fruits. A ball rolls - Feet chase. Trainers smacking tile underfoot. Terrace chairs make plastic scraping sounds. As adults shift positions Discussing, laughing and minding.

Concrete cubes below knee height Perfect for impromptu sitting.

Blocks of endless corridors, not knowing the neighbours. In the streets – The sound of rental vans revving away hard from the lights.

Writings > April 2012  

Selection of free-writing, up to april 2013