13 May 2010. Sun, early, pale sky. Javed at the ready, just behind 7-11 counter--a little more stocky, a little more gray. Feeding the birds each morning at dawn--a line of a hundred gulls, all along the parapet, swooping down for yesterday's bread... But that was then, now only a line of vertical wires--cultural impediments--the management in action. He smiles, just a little, "These people, they don't love god..."
Allegories and doubles--as in mother and child. Fuller forms, where the knowing of the one implies knowledge of the other. A history of philosophy, written in the flesh--curve and bone, hooked to the meaning of the meat...
Boat awaiting, like something out of Böcklin or Sickert... Or maybe the Boy Scout's Handbook, where each line serves a purpose--the well-tied knot (half-hitch, bowline) or wobbly signal tower--thirty foot lengths of over-sized bamboo, lashed together at the joints.
Odor of hemp, evening fire...
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