Seasons

I

I realised that I didn’t look out of the train window anymore, even when the contest for seats subsided during the holidays, and infact my ability to recognise my location by the sway of the tracks was indeed dismal but particularly helpful. The dark mornings and evenings had long passed, and yet the risk of catching the sky- dazzling blue, pink and orange liquid- gave an unbearable transitory glimpse into something which vaguely resembled peace, so I kept typing into my computer [I’m alright. It’s the deadline for Chair’s Actions today, so naturally no-one is adhering to it and I’m fucking stressed. How are you?]. There was a passage in a book I couldn’t recall which might have helped, and I couldn’t read it again- had it ever existed at all- because I didn’t have the time, and nonetheless the book itself was on the other side of town, sandwiched between other books in a box, between other boxes stacked neatly upon each other, inside a rented room at the storage facility – a type of suspended animation I couldn’t afford to resume. There would be other passages in other books that I wouldn’t read again or at all, because of the weather, or because I was busy, or because I would be dead in the future [I hope you are well. I have compiled a short list of outstanding queries regarding the project which I hope you are able to review/answer, if it isn’t too onerous]. Continue reading “Seasons”

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The First Blog

And so it begins; the blog to begin all blogs. For today however there will be no story, or interesting fact, or morbidly fascinating account of how a 60 year old man proposistioned me in a hotel, over fish and chips. No. Today I declare the purpose of this aforementioned and currently particularly scarce blog as being an opportunity for me to merge the reality and inclination to exaggerate within my own head, here in pixel format. This should prove both extremely compelling, and needlessly boring. I apologise for this now, and shall likely do so again in the future.

And thus, the Insanity Aquarium is born: void of fish, but whose author overflows with the desperate need to unload all the various and over-emphasised tales of llamas and horny old men that simply would not be tolerated in normal society.

I sincerely hope that you enjoy.

Anna.