Summer notebook series 1

My fear of the blank page is also fear of cliches like blank page like fear. The city wafts cotton spores, the city glints. Cotton eddies each car's wake. Cotton coats each catching surface, limp cotton coagulates in puddles and mud. My sense of losing accelerates, each day makes its regrets. My belongings are being wrenched away from me and I have shallowly to mourn.

Some citizens drift light as cotton, some lope, some clump, all primary coloured and buoyed. Melancholy catalogue clashing with bright patter, light shimmering carscape, crass citizens busying. It's a peculiarly unproductive concentration of effort I put into this, slow like carbon crushing into diamonds, random as sea scraping pebbles.