21:03 Elek seat
...tonight (intending to begin the fiction i've been attempting for days) i can't write anything but this... he grumbles...
He looks up and sees the long grass before him, but he feels two ghosts approaching - as the light dims and the imagination strengthens... and now he cannot see them any more but he knows that they are waiting to be called... Arthur, king or emperor of Britain, and Henry James, literary architect of the imaginatively true in the fading folds of the past - these descriptions are becoming pure invention...
21:25 Too dark now to continue on the handheld, he sits up and continues on paper... promising to digitise this later without changing it more than if it had been written on the handheld in the first place, the public writing place, which is calling forth these words and these images... there is no one else about but these ghostly strangers remembered - and now they too have become unimaginable...
He has no idea how these two presences are going to influence us, or call forth or become themselves the story of what is really happening in the world at this moment - but he trusts the occasion to reveal itself if he waits until skepticism, or any wish to hasten what is attempting of itself to take form. He puts this paper in his bag and gets ready to go forth... He takes a sip of water and throws some of it into the grass before someone goes by on a squeaky bicycle... he imagines dogs, and women in religious costumes, habits, and faint figures of the dead on every field, or street, or in the houses...
these pages are designed to be red with the window set to two-thirds of the width of the century he repeats or misquotes before sleeping
...these pages are designed to be read with the window set to two-thirds of the screen width...
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