The Future

The future

The birthday walk when I did.

Charlie. On train to IOW. Clerks going to work in the morning. The hateful world of full time work. If one has found a niche for oneself one must be humane, compassionate. One must offer doles, lets outs. Communism not the answer or any kind of one. Massive release of alien will. All the bitterness and vindictiveness of little sisters.


Sex wars, age wars. One does not change sex, but one does change age.

I telephoned Toby who told me what I had was exceptionally good.

Ryde pier.

Train so like the London Tube.

Vectis, IOW a sort of substitute for going abroad. But still under HMG. The pretence of being abroad. Ancient British kingdom…

I come to a deserted beach. I strip naked and walk into the sea.

Quality of the beach. The small, almost orange pebbles At first the dark, ominous sky The clear patch out to sea. And I knew it would not rain hard, though I suppose I ought to have expected it to. And it didn’t. The dark clouds cleared as they did one notable day before, as I recall.

Walked from St Catherine’s point along the beach to Shepherd’s Chine. Blackgang Chine. Shepherd’s Chine. Only 2 clusters of people & one solitary walker.

Then to Godshill. Bus to Shankhill.

Godshill and Shankhill kitsch. Dolls and teddy bears.

Not as underclass as S…….

Joy of sea. Back on ferry. Glimpse myself in a mirror. I look like a vagrant. Comb hair,.

Very smooth Blatantly sniffing in Shankhill High Street. It made me happy. Or as if I was happy. I enjoyed the walk as if I was happy. Very scenic. Road to Godshill, cut through the wood. All the various coloured fields. Harvests, round bales of hay. Venison farms, deer grazing.

Perhaps wasted by not chopping finer. A dense rich wood on the path from Ventnor up to the drive (subsidence} a bad smell, presume some animal corpse. Shanklin village, thatched and twee. Forgot my bag in a pub had to go back for it.

I think I secured something memorable, the exhausting nature of the walk did that. Too tired to visit any churches. But the stuff gave me energy. Footpaths, bridle paths and byways. Very few people about most places. I managed to be genuinely alone.

Now on train.

Recall near H…. on the S…… walk. Like the desire to go insane. This time the knowledge at times that I have gone (temporarily) quite mad. As when walking along the byway by a hedge looking over into a meadow. So the magical operation is at last satisfactorily accomplished.

Cr train moving. Leaving Portsmouth harbour. Feeling like too much.

At first, weighed down by problems. Gloomy, antisocial, did not feel like talking to anyone. Knew I would be strange to others. After going in the sea, I certainly looked strange. I now see clearly that I have been allowing a lot of negativity to enter my life lately. Death thoughts, demoralising feminine values. Suicide was a sort of option, though not a real one. Falling off cliff, drowning in strong current.

The original accusation and purportative guilt. Not being nice to my little sister, Something my father could not understand, not having had a little sister.

Feminism in the campuses, echoing the fanaticism of the suffragettes.

Ryde pier

Picking blackberries as much for the liquid as for food.

Nervous fidgets.

Perhaps try one more.


Line in a train bog. Dark outside. Rowland’s castle. If no more inspiration I should stop. But the temptation to go on and on. Landscape affected as is the cityscape. But a good normal mood can do that. Some good physical rushes.

The star, Woden, the hyperlink, the filter.

Liphook. Never heard of it. Line in bog

More than the individual as work of art the Great Work, the alchemical mystery that is the real aim of life.
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