• Someone standing close to me is shot in the neck. He spins round suddenly very slowly and I can see the hole in his neck where his adam's apple should be. It is edited like a scene from a film. The crowd scatters and meshes and the man falls. Bad thoughts crowd my head. But the worst thing is that I want to get away as quickly as I can and I can't remember where I have left my coat.

    (now I have what we need)

    When things like this are going on it seems luxurious to consider my own responses to them. In the valley the flames are smudges of yellow but I still perambulate around my feelings of horror and disbelief. I used to live there but now I don't. Now I don't live anywhere. Are you worried? Because I'm not.

    A lot of the houses out here are bright red, straight out of the paint tube.
    The fences around their gardens aren't right. But over there, to the east, everything is realistic and local and as it should be, except on fire.

    no one is listening(you can't tell)

    The children play along the canal where the warehouses used to be. They have elaborate games and run across planks over the water. They don't mind when the helicopters come over because they have got used to them. Look, I say. That's where Homebase used to be. They are not interested. It's not their fault. Maybe it's mine.

    hahahahahaha(where is our voice now?)

    Almost everybody I know is insane. They have been concealing it with degrees of success for a long time. They are calm during explosions and I can tell that they don't want to be. I heard the craziest thing about someone I know but I can't write it down because that would be bad. So here I am, in the woods.

    the last thought( murder brings out the best in people )

    nothing like this could ever happen to me that is happening to me. im in a dream this isnt really happening. to my right [closeup] [in detail] a muddied boot in a brutal foot [once a soft baby foot kissed and dried] [who are you why are you] mud on my cuff in my palm. staring at my wrist under the boot. my writing wrist my drawing wrist with just a little arthritis how can i ever have worried about that. back of my wrist feeling gravel under the mud worse and worse [booted muddied bloodied foot rocking twisting] [rockabye what is your name] water in my eyes like needles. and [too loud] [in detail] a cracking and popping

    It is over you can go to bed