tomato passata, blue biro and icing sugar.

these are the stains i have managed to get on my trousers.

MONDAY 18th JUNE.

Bloody mosquitos. my eyelids are all swollen from his attack on my face last night. still, my sleeping spot was perfect, on a sand dune right in front of Senhor da Pedra, with hollows in the sand in all the right places, if only the mosquitos didnt keep me awake. no fishermen this morning, i stayed in my sleeping bag til 11 and no-one bothered me.
there are a lot of suits at Senhor da Pedra. and an empty building on the other side of the road, but it looks a bit ruined.
Nelo texts, maybe we ll meet tonight in Gaia, he says something about being ‘all mine’ i dont really understand –
i d like to open a squat, but maybe the others have other plans, we cant go anywhere until Om s foot has healed, or can we.. he should rest it for at least a week –
i have food in my bicycle panniers – apples oranges peas sweetcorn and sardines – i will eat today and then fast until midsummer – i will cast some spells – i am looking forward to breathing fire at Senhor da Pedra, on the rocks, the seaspray and the fire –
am realising that i m looking forward to going back to London, to Tonys, that i enjoy that life, but not being able to talk about it (and more so, having to lie about it) is upsetting –

TUESDAY 19th JUNE.
breakfast in bed –
stay roots stay rebel stay sharp
stay positive
on youtube – ponte do equilibro – soja –
we go to fonte da pereira – see moinho do gaviao (Seagulls Mill) where the lovely old lady who shows us inside the mill tells us how she is scared of the fire coming close – she needs someone to cut back the undergrowth – we drink well water (and i hear Robert, in my head – you ll only be well if you drink well water…)

WEDNESDAY 20th JUNE
i eat my yoghurt with a spoon i nicked from the bingo hall yesterday, a tiny one, i didnt want to go but humoured my companion, before and after i called bingo, i won 28euro, then lost 5 on roulette, at one point i was down 35, i ve got to be careful, still i dont play the slots. joao invites me back to coimbra for the night but i dont go. isnt it mad, that he is a follower of prem rawat? little coincedences. i took him to senhor da pedra but he didnt seem as enthralled by the chapel on the rocks by the sea as i am, he marked his territory, wanted to go for a drink, the casino. he lost near 35euro. today it is going to rain heavy so i need to find shelter, i would like to go to the library but have nowhere to put the bike, i am getting fed up of Porto, i want the road, i want to tell a stranger my life story, more than i know of it, more than anyone knows, end of side A, please turn over –
gary has not replied, nothing from cody or darren, no books, i m screwed – dont know what to tell Tony –
i stole sticky plastic to fix the juggling club that Om broke, the security guard was following me, everyone is waiting for something special from me, a novel, a piece of theatre, a work of art –
and nothing really emerges. but then, i m not really trying
well, the security guard didnt expect a work of art from me but rather a miracle
hours standing around, waiting, wait incorporated, waiting for the rain to stop, waiting for Oz to reply and tell me where they are, waiting for inspiration, thanking the tree i stand under for its shelter, empty, thoughtless, clueless, just there –
and then the rain eases off a little –
and i walk, not particularly in any direction, and within 500m, joy of joys, i find a bookstore with english books. it does not have Pessoa s Book of Disquiet (O Libro do Dessasossego – i m still concerned about mistranslation) but it has Saramago s novels, of whom i have read The Gospel According to Jesus Christ (or am i getting it confused with that Greek writers book… Karantzakis?)
ohhh a book… what bliss. the day begins to look up.
Oz, please get in touch, because the strawberries that Nelo left for everyone as a peace offering from his sisters farm are getting all squashed and eaten –
tmoro, midsummers, the longest day, today, still a very long dayto be standing around doing nothing, so will read – and maybe buy the sketching pencils, too –
but then, i dont think Oz wants to make peace with Nelo, he thinks he s a wanker, and has made his mind up – ouf, i dont quite wash my hands of the situation but rather sprinkle them with rainwater –
the deleatur – the proof reader said, the symbol we use when we need to suppress and erase.. it reminds me of a snake that changes its mind just as its about to bite its own tail –
the shoemakers temptation –
is history real life? you mean to say WAS history real life?
neology –
the fly has four legs (Aristotle)
or – ‘the more you read, the less you learn’ (onerat discentem turba, non instruit)

‘The truth is (!) that history could have been written in many different ways and this idea of infinitude and variation are the essence of my writing. the possibility of the impossible, dreams and illusions, are the subject of my novels.’ (Saramago)

inextricable. like depeche mode.

this isnt the song i wrote a month ago
when i wanted you to hear about heartfire
short nights light and long kisses
this isnt the song i wrote a month ago

this isnt the song i wrote a week ago
when i lost my understanding of reality
when black and white seemed yellow to me
when i turned tail on the fox
and counted comets, counted dreams
this isnt the song i wrote a week ago

(unfinished)