I tend to look down anyway, but I’m not seeing what’s down there, until it emerges from behind legs taller than its sea of yellow curls and I can see legs and floor and chairs I’d rather not sit on, and the man shifting his weight back onto his legs freeing up a seat for this smaller mass of curls and precarious limbs. After a lapse into my head, and out again, the seat is empty. Is it a wasted exertion, a lost kindness? I can’t tell by the man’s face. He remains standing, annexed to an architecture of legs, columns this thing manoeuvres, and I remember how I feel between tall buildings – ode to trolls I call them, musings on perspective and mass to grass blade cities well below my eye line. What do these structures do to the navigating body, like these tightly packed legs on the tube? Twisting, curving, touching… It brushes against mine to sit itself in a cave formed of my lower leg, some wall, another leg and floor – cosy. How it makes us feel – these spaces, those spaces, them spaces, whose spaces, my spaces, your spaces, angular, grossly tall, too small for me to squeeze into, too small for me to see, and how bodies now meeting my horizon, get in the way, encroach, walk too slow through these underground veins towards air, and stop, taking too many pictures of buildings, with buildings, zapped into psychic spaces. How do they feel there – if they could talk – how does it feel to carry cities in one hand? What is the architecture of my thoughts, feelings – are they reflective of where I walk, what I walk between, through, on?


18th April 2020,

Today I've been thinking about an altered environment impacts on how much space is or isn't in the mind. I'd written about architectures, so enveloped in them I was, and how they felt like 'the world', rather than 'a world'. Now these are falling away, replaced with wide open skies and organic forms, I feel my mind released - with breathing space and new thoughts (or surfacing thoughts) emerging. What I might think, how I might see the world and myself. A new or surfacing rhythm - maybe a memory....  

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